Yes, that was it—the various details were coming back to her now. And he had offered to show her that snapshot. He had got out his wallet and begun hunting through its contents—talking all the time. And then still talking, he had looked up—had looked—not at her—but at something behind her—behind her right shoulder to be accurate. And he had stopped talking, his face had gone purple—and he had started stuffing back everything into his wallet with slightly shaky hands and had begun talking in a loud unnatural voice about elephant tusks!
A moment or two later the Hillingdons and the Dysons had joined them . . .
It was then that she had turned her head over her right shoulder to look . . . But there had been nothing and nobody to see.
To her left, some distance away, in the direction of the hotel, there had been Tim Kendal and his wife, and beyond them a family group of Venezuelans. But Major Palgrave had not been looking in that direction . . . Miss Marple meditated until lunch time. After lunch she did not go for a drive. Instead she sent a message to say that she was not feeling very well, and to ask if Dr. Graham would be kind enough to come and see her.
4
MISS MARPLE SEEKS MEDICAL ATTENTION
DR. GRAHAM was a kindly elderly man of about sixty-five. He had practised in the West Indies for many years, but was now semi-retired, and left most of his work to his West Indian partners. He greeted Miss Marple pleasantly and asked her what the trouble was. Fortunately at Miss Marple’s age, there was always some ailment that could be discussed with slight exaggerations on the patient’s part. Miss Marple hesitated between “her shoulder” and “her knee”, but finally decided upon the knee. Miss Marple’s knee, as she would have put it to herself, was always with her.
Dr. Graham was exceedingly kindly but he refrained from putting into words the fact that at her time of life such troubles were only to be expected. He prescribed for her one of the brands of useful little pills that form the basis of a doctor’s prescriptions. Since he knew by experience that many elderly people could be lonely when they first came to St. Honore, he remained for a while gently chatting. “A very nice man,” thought Miss Marple to herself, “and I really feel rather ashamed of having to tell him lies. But I don’t quite see what else I can do.”
Miss Marple had been brought up to have a proper regard for truth and was indeed by nature a very truthful person. But on certain occasions, when she considered it her duty so to do, she could tell lies with a really astonishing verisimilitude.
She cleared her throat, uttered an apologetic little cough, and said, in an old-ladyish and slightly twittering manner: “There is something. Dr. Graham, I would like to ask you. I don’t really like mentioning it—but I don’t quite see what else I am to do—although of course it’s quite unimportant really. But you see, it’s important to me. And I hope you will understand and not think what I am asking is tiresome or—or unpardonable in any way.”
To this opening Dr. Graham replied kindly. “Something is worrying you? Do let me help.”
“It’s connected with Major Palgrave. So sad about his dying. It was quite a shock when I heard it this morning.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Graham, “it was very sudden, I’m afraid. He seemed in such good spirits yesterday.” He spoke kindly, but conventionally. To him, clearly, Major Palgrave’s death was nothing out of the way. Miss Marple wondered whether she was really making something out of nothing. Was this suspicious habit of mind growing on her? Perhaps she could no longer trust her own judgement. Not that it was judgement really, only suspicion. Anyway she was in for it now! She must go ahead.
“We were sitting talking together yesterday afternoon,” she said. “He was telling me about his very varied and interesting life. So many strange parts of the globe.”
“Yes indeed,” said Dr. Graham, who had been bored many times by the Major’s reminiscences.