She moved gently round the bedroom, pausing at both of the windows, which gave out in two different directions.
The hotel grounds seemed quiet and deserted. Miss Marple came back and was standing a little uncertainly before regaining her seat, when she thought she heard a faint sound outside. Like the scrape of a shoe on the loggia? She hesitated a moment then she went to the window, pushed it a little farther open, stepped out and turned her head back into the room as she spoke.
“I shall be gone only a very short time, dear,” she said, “just back to my bungalow, to see where I could possibly have put that pattern. I was so sure I had brought it with me. You’ll be quite all right till I come back, won’t you?”
Then turning her head back, she nodded to herself. “Asleep, poor child. A good thing.”
She went quietly along the loggia, down the steps and turned sharp right to the path there. Passing along between the screen of some hibiscus bushes an observer might have been curious to see that Miss Marple veered sharply on to the flowerbed, passed round to the back of the bungalow and entered it again through the second door there. This led directly into a small room that Tim sometimes used as an unofficial office and from that into the sitting room.
Here there were wide curtains semi-drawn to keep the room cool. Miss Marple slipped behind one of them. Then she waited. From the window here she had a good view of anyone who approached Molly’s bedroom. It was some few minutes, four or five, before she saw anything.
The neat figure of Jackson in his white uniform went up the steps of the loggia.
He paused for a minute at the balcony there, and then appeared to be giving a tiny discreet tap on the door of the window that was ajar. There was no response that Miss Marple could hear. Jackson looked around him, a quick furtive glance, then he slipped inside the open doors. Miss Marple moved to the door which led directly into the bedroom. She did not go through it but applied her eye to the hinge.
Jackson had walked into the room. He approached the bed and looked down for a minute on the sleeping girl. Then he turned away and walked not to the sitting room door but to the far door which led into the adjoining bathroom. Miss Marple’s eyebrows rose in slight surprise. She reflected a minute or two, then walked out into the passageway and into the bathroom by the other door.
Jackson spun round from examining the shelf over the wash-basin. He looked taken aback, which was not surprising.
“Oh,” he said, “I—I didn’t . . .”
“Mr. Jackson,” said Miss Marple, in great surprise.
“I thought you would be here somewhere,” said Jackson.
“Did you want anything?” inquired Miss Marple.
“Actually,” said Jackson, “I was just looking at Mrs. Kendal’s brand of face cream.”
Miss Marple appreciated the fact that as Jackson was standing with a jar of face cream in his hand he had been adroit in mentioning the fact at once.
“Nice smell,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “Fairly good stuff, as these preparations go. The cheaper brands don’t suit every skin. Bring it out in a rash as likely as not. The same thing with face powders sometimes.”
“You seem to be very knowledgeable on the subject,” said Miss Marple.
“Worked in the pharmaceutical line for a bit,” said Jackson. “One learns to know a good deal about cosmetics there. Put stuff in a fancy jar, package it expensively, and it’s astonishing what you could rook women for.”
“Is that what you—?” Miss Marple broke off deliberately.
“Well no, I didn’t come in here to talk about cosmetics,” Jackson agreed.
“You’ve not had much time to think up a lie,” thought Miss Marple to herself. “Let’s see what you’ll come out with.”
“Matter of fact,” said Jackson, “Mrs. Walters lent her lipstick to Mrs. Kendal the other day. I came in to get it back for her. I tapped on the window and then I saw Mrs. Kendal was fast asleep, so I thought it would be quite all right if I just walked across into the bathroom and looked for it.”