suppose?”
“Yes. This one hasn’t turned out quite
according to plan. It’s all been very
unfortunate from my point of view.”
Inspector Neele agreed.
“Yes, it put you in rather a difficult
328
position, didn’t it? I mean, it was quite likely
that at any moment we might have to look
into your antecedents.”
Mary Dove, cool once more, allowed her
eyebrows to rise.
“Really, Inspector, my past is quite
blameless, I assure you.”
“Yes, it is,” Inspector Neele agreed,
cheerfully. “We’ve nothing against you at all,
Miss Dove. It’s a curious coincidence,
though, that in the last three places which
you have filled so admirably, there have
happened to be robberies about three months
after you left. The thieves have seemed
remarkably well informed as to where mink
coats, jewels, etc., were kept. Curious
coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Coincidences do happen. Inspector.”
“Oh, yes,” said Neele. “They happen. But
they mustn’t happen too often. Miss Dove. I
dare say,” he added, “that we may meet again
in the future.”
“I hope”—said Mary Dove—”I don’t mean
to be rude. Inspector Neele—but I hope we
don’t.”
329
28
MISS MARPLE smoothed over the
top of her suitcase, tucked in an end
of woolly shawl and shut the lid
She looked round her bedroom. No, she had
left nothing behind. Crump came in to fetch
down her luggage. Miss Marple went into the
next room to say good-bye to Miss Ramsbottom.
“I’m
afraid,” said Miss Marple, “that I’ve
made a very poor return for your hospitality.
I hope you will be able to forgive me some
day.”
“Hah,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
She was as usual playing patience.
“Black knave, red queen,” she observed,
then she darted a shrewd, sideways glance at
Miss Marple. “You found out what you
wanted to, I suppose,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose you’ve told that police
inspector all about it? Will he be able to prove
a case?”
330
“I’m almost sure he will,” said Miss
Marple. “It may take a little time.”
“I’m not asking you any questions,” said
Miss Ramsbottom. “You’re a shrewd woman.
I knew that as soon as I saw you. I don’t
blame you for what you’ve done. Wickedness
is wickedness and has got to be punished.
There’s a bad streak in this family. It didn’t
come from our side, I’m thankful to say.
Elvira, my sister, was a fool. Nothing worse.
“Black knave,” repeated Miss Ramsbottom, fingering the card. “Handsome, but a black
heart. Yes, I was afraid of it. Ah, well, you
can’t always help loving a sinner. The boy
always had a way with him. Even got round
me. … Told a lie about the time he left me
that day. I didn’t contradict him, but I
wondered. . . . I’ve wondered ever since. But
he was Elvira’s boy–I couldn’t bring myself
to say anything. Ah, well, you’re a righteous
woman, Jane Marple, and right must prevail.
I’m sorry for his wife, though.”
“So am I,” said Miss Marple.
In the hall Pat Fortescue was waiting to say
goodbye.
“I wish you weren’t going,” she said. “I
shall miss you.”
“It’s time for me to go,” said Miss Marple.
331
“I’ve finished what I came here to do. It
hasn’t been—altogether pleasant. But it’s
important, you know, that wickedness
shouldn’t triumph.”
Pat looked puzzled.
“I don’t understand.”
“No, my dear. But perhaps you will, some
day. If I might venture to advise, if anything
ever—goes wrong in your life—1 think the
happiest thing for you would be to go back to
where you were happy as a child. Go back to
Ireland, my dear. Horses and dogs. All that.”
Pat nodded.
“Sometimes I wish I’d done just that when
Freddy died. But if I had”—her voice
changed and softened—”I’d never have met
Lance.”
Miss Marple sighed.
“We’re not staying here, you know,” said
Pat. “We’re going back to East Africa as soon
as everything’s cleared up. I’m so glad.”
“God bless you, dear child,” said Miss
Marple. “One needs a great deal of courage to
get through life. I think you have it.”
She patted the girl’s hand and, releasing it,
went through the front door to the waiting