“You’re going to be all right now,” said Dr. Graham, “but don’t do it again.”
“She didn’t mean to do it,” said Tim quietly. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it. She just wanted a good night’s rest. Perhaps the pills didn’t work at first and so she took more of them. Is that it, Molly?”
Her head moved very faintly in a negative motion.
“You mean you took them on purpose?” said Tim.
Molly spoke then. “Yes,” she said.
“But why, Molly, why?”
The eyelids faltered. “Afraid.” The word was just heard.
“Afraid? Of what?”
But her eyelids closed down.
“Better let her be,” said Dr. Graham.
Tim spoke impetuously. “Afraid of what? The police? Because they’ve been hounding you, asking you questions? I don’t wonder. Anyone might feel frightened. But it’s just their way, that’s all. Nobody thinks for one moment—” he broke off.
Dr. Graham made him a decisive gesture.
“I want to go to sleep,” said Molly.
“The best thing for you,” said Dr. Graham.
He moved to the door and the others followed him.
“She’ll sleep all right,” said Graham.
“Is there anything I ought to do?” asked Tim. He had the usual, slightly apprehensive attitude of a man in illness.
“I’ll stay if you like,” said Evelyn kindly.
“Oh no. No, that’s quite all right,” said Tim.
Evelyn went back towards the bed. “Shall I stay with you, Molly?”
Molly’s eyes opened again. She said, “No,” and then after a pause, “just Tim.”
Tim came back and sat down by the bed.
“I’m here, Molly,” he said and took her hand.
“Just go to sleep. I won’t leave you.”
She sighed faintly and her eyes closed.
The doctor paused outside the bungalow and the Hillingdons stood with him.
“You’re sure there’s nothing more I can do?” asked Evelyn.
“I don’t think so, thank you, Mrs. Hillingdon. She’ll be better with her husband now. But possibly tomorrow—after all, he’s got this hotel to run—I think someone should be with her.”
“D’you think she might—try again?” asked Hillingdon.
Graham rubbed his forehead irritably. “One never knows in these cases. Actually, it’s most unlikely. As you’ve seen for yourselves, the restorative treatment is extremely unpleasant. But of course one can never be absolutely certain. She may have more of this stuff hidden away somewhere.”
“I should never have thought of suicide in connection with a girl like Molly,” said Hillingdon.
Graham said dryly, “It’s not the people who are always talking of killing themselves, threatening to do so, who do it. They dramatise themselves that way and let off steam.”
“Molly always seemed such a happy girl. I think perhaps”—Evelyn hesitated—”I ought to tell you Dr. Graham.” She told him then about her interview with Molly on the beach the night that Victoria had been killed.
Graham’s face was very grave when she had finished.
“I’m glad you’ve told me, Mrs. Hillingdon. There are very definite indications there of some kind of deep-rooted trouble. Yes. I’ll have a word with her husband in the morning.”
III
“I want to talk to you seriously, Kendal, about your wife.”
They were sitting in Tim’s office. Evelyn Hillingdon had taken his place by Molly’s bedside and Lucky had promised to come and, as she expressed it, “spell her” later.
Miss Marple had also offered her services.
Poor Tim was torn between his hotel commitments and his wife’s condition.
“I can’t understand it,” said Tim, “I can’t understand Molly any longer. She’s changed. Changed out of all seeming.”
“I understand she’s been having bad dreams?”
“Yes. Yes, she complained about them a good deal.”
“For how long?”
“Oh, I don’t know. About—oh I suppose a month—perhaps longer. She—we—thought they were just well, nightmares, you know.”
“Yes, yes, I quite understand. But what’s a much more serious sign is the fact that she seems to have felt afraid of someone. Did she complain about that to you?”
“Well, yes. She said once or twice that—oh, people were following her.”
“Ah! Spying on her?”
“Yes, she did use that term once. She said they were her enemies and they’d followed her here.”
“Did she have enemies, Mr. Kendal?”
“No. Of course she didn’t.”