“Did the Major show you a snapshot?”
“What—a snapshot of the woman? No. Why should he?”
“Oh—” said Miss Marple. She sat there, rather taken aback. Apparently Major Palgrave spent his life telling people not only about tigers he had shot and elephants he had hunted but also about murderers he had met. Perhaps he had a whole repertoire of murder stories. One had to face it. She was startled by Mr. Rafter suddenly giving a roar of “Jackson!” There was no response.
“Shall I find him for you?” said Miss Marple rising.
“You won’t find him. Tomcatting somewhere, that’s what he does. No good, that fellow. Bad character. But he suits me all right.”
“I’ll go and look for him,” said Miss Marple.
Miss Marple found Jackson sitting on the far side of the hotel terrace having a drink with Tim Kendal.
“Mr. Rafter is asking for you,” she said.
Jackson made an expressive grimace, drained his glass, and rose to his feet.
“Here we go again,” he said. “No peace for the wicked. Two telephone calls and a special diet order. I thought that might give me a quarter of an hour’s alibi. Apparently not! Thank you Miss Marple. Thanks for the drink, Mr. Kendal.”
He strode away.
“I feel sorry for that chap,” said Tim. “I have to stand him a drink now and then, just to cheer him up. Can I offer you something, Miss Marple? How about fresh lime? I know you’re fond of that.”
”Not just now, thank you. I suppose looking after someone like Mr. Rafter must always be rather exacting. Invalids are frequently difficult—”
“I didn’t mean only that. It’s very well paid and you expect to put up with a good deal of crotchetiness—old Rafter’s not really a bad sort. I meant more that—” he hesitated.
Miss Marple looked inquiring.
“Well—how shall I put it—it’s difficult for him socially. People are so damned snobbish—there’s no one here of his class. He’s better than a servant—and below the average visitor—or they think he is. Rather like the Victorian governess. Even the secretary woman, Mrs. Walters, feels she’s a cut above him. Makes things difficult.” Tim paused, then said with feeling: “It’s really awful the amount of social problems there are in a place like this.”
Dr. Graham passed them. He had a book in his hand. He went and sat at a table overlooking the sea.
“Dr. Graham looks rather worried,” remarked Miss Marple.
“Oh! We’re all worried.”
“You too? Because of Major Palgrave’s death?”
“I’ve left off worrying about that. People seem to have forgotten it—taken it in their stride. No—it’s my wife—Molly. Do you know anything about dreams?”
“Dreams?” Miss Marple was surprised.
“Yes—bad dreams—nightmares, I suppose. Oh, we all get that sort of thing sometimes. But Molly—she seems to have them nearly all the time. They frighten her. Is there anything one can do about them? Take for them? She’s got some sleeping pills, but she says they make it worse—she struggles to wake up and can’t.”
“What are the dreams about?”
“Oh, something or someone chasing her. Or watching her and spying on her. She can’t shake off the feeling even when she’s awake.”
“Surely a doctor—”
“She’s got a thing against doctors. Won’t hear of it. Oh well, I daresay it will all pass off. But we were so happy. It was all such fun— And now, just lately— Perhaps old Palgrave’s death upset her. She seems like a different person since . . .”
He got up.
“Must get on with the daily chores—are you sure you won’t have that fresh lime?”
Miss Marple shook her head.
She sat there, thinking. Her face was grave and anxious. She glanced over at Dr. Graham. Presently she came to a decision. She rose and went across to his table.
“I have got to apologise to you. Dr. Graham,” she said.
“Indeed?” The doctor looked at her in kindly surprise. He pulled forward a chair and she sat down.
“I am afraid I have done the most disgraceful thing,” said Miss Marple. “I told you, Dr. Graham, a deliberate lie.”
She looked at him apprehensively.
Dr. Graham did not look at all shattered, but he did look a little surprised. “Really?” he said. “Ah well, you mustn’t let that worry you too much.” What had the dear old thing been telling lies about, he wondered; her age? Though as far as he could remember she hadn’t mentioned her age. “Well, let’s hear about it,” he said, since she clearly wished to confess.