Not exactly unfriendly, but not sympathetic, you know. She never wanted to go up to
London and shop, or go to a matinee or
anything of that kind. She wasn’t even
interested in clothes.” Mrs. Percival sighed
again and murmured, “But of course I don’t
want to complain in any way.” A qualm of
compunction came over her. She said, hurriedly:
“You must think it most odd, talking
to you like this when you are a comparative
stranger. But really, what with all the strain
and shock–1 think really it’s the shock that
matters most. Delayed shock. I feel so
nervous, you know, that I really–well, I
really must speak to someone. You remind me
so much of a dear old lady, Miss Trefusis
James. She fractured her femur when she was
seventy-five. It was a very long business
nursing her and we became great friends. She
gave me a fox fur cape when I left and I did
think it was kind other.”
“I know just how you feel,” said Miss
Marple.
And this again was true. Mrs. Percival’s
husband was obviously bored by her and paid
255
very little attention to her, and the poor
woman had managed to make no local
friends. Running up to London and shopping,
matinees and a luxurious house to live
in did not make up for the lack of humanity
in her relations with her husband’s family.
“I hope it’s not rude of me to say so,” said
Miss Marple in a gentle old lady’s voice, “but
I really feel that the late Mr. Fortescue cannot
have been a very nice man.”
“He wasn’t,” said his daughter-in-law.
“Quite frankly my dear, between you and
me, he was a detestable old man. I don’t
wonder–I really don’t–that someone put
him out of the way.”
“You’ve no idea at all who—-” began
Miss Marple and broke off. “Oh dear,
perhaps this is a question I should not
ask–not even an idea who–who–well, who
it might have been?”
“Oh, I think it was that horrible man,
Crump,” said Mrs. Percival. “I’ve always
disliked him very much. He’s got a manner,
not really rude, you know, but yet it is rude.
Impertinent, that’s more it.”
“Still, there would have to be a motive, I
l^ri.J.J.J.)
suppose.”
256
“I really don’t know that that sort of person
requires much motive. I dare say Mr. Fortescue
ticked him off about something, and I
rather suspect that sometimes he drinks too
much. But what I really think is that he’s a
bit unbalanced, you know. Like that footman,
or butler, whoever it was, who went round
the house shooting everybody. Of course, to
be quite honest with you, I did suspect that it
was Adele who poisoned Mr. Fortescue. But
now, of course, one can’t suspect that since
she’s been poisoned herself. She may have
accused Crump, you know. And then he lost
his head and perhaps managed to put
something in the sandwiches and Gladys saw
him do it and so he killed her too—I think it’s
really dangerous having him in the house at
all. Oh dear, I wish I could get away, but I
suppose these horrible policemen won’t let
one do anything of the kind.” She leant
forward impulsively and put a plump hand
on Miss Marple’s arm. “Sometimes I feel I
must get away—that if it doesn’t all stop soon
I shall—I shall actually run away.”
She leant back studying Miss Marple’s
face.
“But perhaps—that wouldn’t be wise?”
“No—I don’t think it would be very
257
wise–the police could soon find you, you
know.”
“Could they? Could they really? You think
they’re clever enough for that?”
“It is very foolish to under-estimate the
police. Inspector Neele strikes me as a
particularly intelligent man.”
“Oh! I thought he was rather stupid.”
Miss Marple shook her head.
“I can’t help feeling”–Jennifer Fortescue
hesitated–“that it’s dangerous to stay here.”
“Dangerous for you, you mean?”
“Ye-es–well, yes—-”
“Because of something you–know?”
Mrs. Percival seemed to take breath.
“Oh no–of course I don’t know anything.
What should I know? It’s just–just that I’m
nervous. That man Crump—-”
But it was not. Miss Marple thought, of
Crump that Mrs. Percival Fortescue was