Agatha Christie – A Murder Is Announced

‘I’m not really as stupid as I look,’ Miss Bunner continued with simplicity. ‘I can see, you know, when Letty’s being imposed upon. Some people—I won’t name names—but they take advantage. Dear Miss Blacklock is, perhaps, just a shade too trusting.’

Miss Marple shook her head.

‘That’s a mistake.’

‘Yes, it is. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world. Dear Miss Blacklock—’ She shook her head.

Miss Marple thought that as the secretary of a big financier Miss Blacklock might be presumed to know the world too. But probably what Dora Bunner meant was that Letty Blacklock had always been comfortably off, and that the comfortably off do not know the deeper abysses of human nature.

‘That Patrick!’ said Miss Bunner with a suddenness and an asperity that made Miss Marple jump. ‘Twice, at least, to my knowledge, he’s got money out of her. Pretending he’s hard up. Run into debt. All that sort of thing. She’s far too generous. All she said to me when I remonstrated with her was: “The boy’s young, Dora. Youth is the time to have your fling.”’

‘Well, that’s true enough,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Such a handsome young man, too.’

‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ said Dora Bunner. ‘Much too fond of poking fun at people. And a lot of going on with girls, I expect. I’m just a figure of fun to him—that’s all. He doesn’t seem to realize that people have their feelings.’

‘Young people are rather careless that way,’ said Miss Marple.

Miss Bunner leaned forward suddenly with a mysterious air.

‘You won’t breathe a word, will you, my dear?’ she demanded. ‘But I can’t help feeling that he was mixed up in this dreadful business. I think he knew that young man—else Julia did. I daren’t hint at such a thing to dear Miss Blacklock—at least I did, and she just snapped my head off. And, of course, it’s awkward—because he’s her nephew—or at any rate her cousin—and if the Swiss young man shot himself Patrick might be held morally responsible, mightn’t he? If he’d put him up to it, I mean. I’m really terribly confused about the whole thing. Everyone making such a fuss about that other door into the drawing-room. That’s another thing that worries me—the detective saying it had been oiled. Because you see, I saw—’

She came to an abrupt stop.

Miss Marple paused to select a phrase.

‘Most difficult for you,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Naturally you wouldn’t want anything to get round to the police.’

‘That’s just it,’ Dora Bunner cried. ‘I lie awake at nights and worry—because, you see, I came upon Patrick in the shrubbery the other day. I was looking for eggs—one hen lays out—and there he was holding a feather and a cup—an oily cup. And he jumped most guiltily when he saw me and he said: “I was just wondering what this was doing here.” Well, of course, he’s a quick thinker. I should say he thought that up quickly when I startled him. And how did he come to find a thing like that in the shrubbery unless he was looking for it, knowing perfectly well it was there? Of course, I didn’t say anything.’

‘No, no, of course not.’

‘But I gave him a look, if you know what I mean.’

Dora Bunner stretched out her hand and bit abstractedly into a lurid salmon-coloured cake.

‘And then another day I happened to overhear him having a very curious conversation with Julia. They seemed to be having a kind of quarrel. He was saying: “If I thought you had anything to do with a thing like that!” and Julia (she’s always so calm, you know) said: “Well, little brother, what would you do about it?” And then, most unfortunately, I trod on that board that always squeaks, and they saw me. So I said, quite gaily: “You two having a quarrel?” and Patrick said, “I’m warning Julia not to go in for these black-market deals.” Oh, it was all very slick, but I don’t believe they were talking about anything of the sort! And if you ask me, I believe Patrick had tampered with that lamp in the drawing-room—to make the lights go out, because I remember distinctly that it was the shepherdess—not the shepherd. And the next day—’