of money has been laid aside to become yours absolutely at the end of one year, but conditional on your accepting a certain proposition, with which I am to make you acquainted.’
He took from the table in front of him a long envelope. It was sealed. He passed it across the table to her.
‘It would be better, I think, that you should read for yourself of what this consists. There is no hurry. Take your time.’
Miss Marple took her time. She availed herself of a small paper knife which Mr Broadribb handed to her, slit up the envelope, took out the enclosure, one sheet of typewriting, and read it. She folded it up again, then re-read it and looked at Mr Broadribb.
‘This is hardly very definite. Is there no more definite elucidation of any kind?’
‘Not so far as I am concerned. I was to hand you this, and tell you the amount of the legacy. The sum in question is twenty thousand pounds free of legacy duty.’
Miss Marple sat looking at him. Surprise had rendered her speechless. Mr Broadribb said no more for the moment. He was watching her closely. There was no doubt of her surprise. It was obviously the last thing Miss Marple had expected to hear. Mr Broadribb wondered what her first words would be. She looked at him with the directness, the severity that one of his own aunts might have done. When she spoke it was almost accusingly.
‘That is a very large sum of money,’ said Miss Marple.
‘Not quite so large as it used to be,’ said Mr Broadribb (and just restrained himself from saying, ‘Mere chicken feed nowadays’).
‘I must admit,’ said Miss Marple, ‘that I am amazed. Frankly, quite amazed.’
She picked up the document and read it carefully through again.
‘I gather you know the terms of this?’ she said.
‘Yes. It was dictated to me personally by Mr Rafiel.’
‘Did he not give you any explanation of it?’
‘No, he did not.’
‘You suggested, I suppose, that it might be better if he did,’ said Miss Marple. There was a slight acidity in her voice now.
Mr Broadribb smiled faintly.
‘You are quite right. That is what I did. I said that you might find it difficult to—oh, to understand exactly what he was driving at.’
‘Very remarkable,’ said Miss Marple.
‘There is no need, of course,’ said Mr Broadribb, ‘for you to give me an answer now.’
‘No,’ said Miss Marple, ‘I should have to reflect upon this.’
‘It is, as you have pointed out, quite a substantial sum of money.’
‘I am old,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Elderly, we say, but old is a better word. Definitely old. It is both possible and indeed probable that I might not live as long as a year to earn this money, in the rather doubtful case that I was able to earn it.’
‘Money is not to be despised at any age,’ said Mr Broadribb.
‘I could benefit certain charities in which I have an interest,’ said Miss Marple, ‘and there are always people. People whom one wishes one could do a little something for but one’s own funds do not admit of it. And then I will not pretend that there are not pleasures and desires—things that one has not been able to indulge in or to afford—I think Mr Rafiel knew quite well that to be able to do so, quite unexpectedly, would give an elderly person a great deal of pleasure.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr Broadribb. ‘A cruise abroad, perhaps? One of these excellent tours as arranged nowadays. Theatres, concerts—the ability to replenish one’s cellars.’
‘My tastes would be a little more moderate than that,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Partridges,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘it is very difficult to get partridges nowadays, and they’re very expensive. I should enjoy a partridge—a whole partridge—to myself, very much. A box of marrons glacés is an expensive taste which I cannot often gratify. Possibly a visit to the opera. It means a car to take one to Covent Garden and back, and the expense of a night in a hotel. But I must not indulge in idle chat,’ she said. ‘I will take this back with me and reflect upon it. Really, what on earth made Mr Rafiel—you have no idea why he should have suggested this particular proposition, and why he should think that I could be of service to him in any way? He must have known that it was over a year, nearly two years since he had seen me and that I might have got much more feeble than I have, and much more unable to exercise such small talents as I might have. He was taking a risk. There are other people surely much better qualified to undertake an investigation of this nature?’
‘Frankly, one would think so,’ said Mr Broadribb, ‘but he selected you, Miss Marple. Forgive me if this is idle curiosity but have you had—oh, how shall I put it?—any connection with crime or the investigation of crime?’
‘Strictly speaking I should say no,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Nothing professional, that is to say. I have never been a probation officer or indeed sat as a magistrate on a Bench or been connected in any way with a detective agency. To explain to you, Mr Broadribb, which I think it is only fair for me to do and which I think Mr Rafiel ought to have done, to explain it in any way all I can say is that during our stay in the West Indies, we both, Mr Rafiel and myself, had a certain connection with a crime that took place there. A rather unlikely and perplexing murder.’
‘And you and Mr Rafiel solved it?’
‘I should not put it quite like that,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Mr Rafiel, by the force of his personality, and I, by putting together one or two obvious indications that came to my notice, were successful in preventing a second murder just as it was about to take place. I could not have done it alone, I was physically far too feeble. Mr Rafiel could not have done it alone, he was a cripple. We acted as allies, however.’
‘Just one other question I should like to ask you, Miss Marple. Does the word “Nemesis” mean anything to you?’
‘Nemesis,’ said Miss Marple. It was not a question. A very slow and unexpected smile dawned on her face. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it does mean something to me. It meant something to me and it meant something to Mr Rafiel. I said it to him, and he was much amused by my describing myself by that name.’
Whatever Mr Broadribb had expected it was not that. He looked at Miss Marple with something of the same astonished surprise that Mr Rafiel had once felt in a bedroom by the Caribbean sea. A nice and quite intelligent old lady. But really—Nemesis!
‘You feel the same, I am sure,’ said Miss Marple.
She rose to her feet.
‘If you should find or receive any further instructions in this matter, you will perhaps let me know, Mr Broadribb. It seems to me extraordinary that there should not be something of that kind. This leaves me entirely in the dark really as to what Mr Rafiel is asking me to do or try to do.’
‘You are not acquainted with his family, his friends, his—’
‘No. I told you. He was a fellow traveller in a foreign part of the world. We had a certain
