Miss Murgatroyd jumped slightly as a branch knocked against the open window. She shut her eyes. She murmured to herself…
‘The flowers…on the table…the big armchair…the torch didn’t come round as far as you, Hinch—Mrs Harmon, yes…’
The telephone rang sharply. Miss Hinchcliffe went to it.
‘Hallo, yes? The station?’
The obedient Miss Murgatroyd, her eyes closed, was reliving the night of the 29th. The torch, sweeping slowly round…a group of people…the windows…the sofa…Dora Bunner…the wall…the table with lamp…the archway…the sudden spat of the revolver…
‘…but that’s extraordinary!’ said Miss Murgatroyd.
‘What?’ Miss Hinchcliffe was barking angrily into the telephone. ‘Been there since this morning? What time? Damn and blast you, and you only ring me up now? I’ll set the S.P.C.A. after you. An oversight? Is that all you’ve got to say?’
She banged down the receiver.
‘It’s that dog,’ she said. ‘The red setter. Been at the station since this morning—since this morning at eight o’clock. Without a drop of water! And the idiots only ring me up now. I’m going to get her right away.’
She plunged out of the room, Miss Murgatroyd squeaking shrilly in her wake.
‘But listen, Hinch, a most extraordinary thing…I don’t understand it…’
Miss Hinchcliffe had dashed out of the door and across to the shed which served as a garage.
‘We’ll go on with it when I come back,’ she called. ‘I can’t wait for you to come with me. You’ve got your bedroom slippers on as usual.’
She pressed the starter of the car and backed out of the garage with a jerk. Miss Murgatroyd skipped nimbly sideways.
‘But listen, Hinch, I must tell you—’
‘When I come back…’
The car jerked and shot forwards. Miss Murgatroyd’s voice came faintly after it on a high excited note.
‘But, Hinch, she wasn’t there…’
III
Overhead the clouds had been gathering thick and blue. As Miss Murgatroyd stood looking after the retreating car, the first big drops began to fall.
In an agitated fashion, Miss Murgatroyd plunged across to a line of string on which she had, some hours previously, hung out a couple of jumpers and a pair of woollen combinations to dry.
She was murmuring under her breath:
‘Really most extraordinary…Oh, dear, I shall never get these down in time—and they were nearly dry…’
She struggled with a recalcitrant clothes peg, then turned her head as she heard someone approaching.
Then she smiled a pleased welcome.
‘Hallo—do go inside, you’ll get wet.’
‘Let me help you.’
‘Oh, if you don’t mind…so annoying if they all get soaked again. I really ought to let down the line, but I think I can just reach.’
‘Here’s your scarf. Shall I put it round your neck?’
‘Oh, thank you…Yes, perhaps…If I could just reach this peg…’
The woollen scarf was slipped round her neck and then, suddenly, pulled tight…
Miss Murgatroyd’s mouth opened, but no sound came except a small choking gurgle.
And the scarf was pulled tighter still…
IV
On her way back from the station, Miss Hinchcliffe stopped the car to pick up Miss Marple who was hurrying along the street.
‘Hallo,’ she shouted. ‘You’ll get very wet. Come and have tea with us. I saw Bunch waiting for the bus. You’ll be all alone at the Vicarage. Come and join us. Murgatroyd and I are doing a bit of reconstruction of the crime. I rather think we’re just getting somewhere. Mind the dog. She’s rather nervous.’
‘What a beauty!’
‘Yes, lovely bitch, isn’t she! Those fools kept her at the station since this morning without letting me know. I told them off, the lazy b—s. Oh, excuse my language. I was brought up by grooms at home in Ireland.’
The little car turned with a jerk into the small backyard of Boulders.
A crowd of eager ducks and fowls encircled the two ladies as they descended.
‘Curse Murgatroyd,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe, ‘she hasn’t given ’em their corn.’
‘Is it difficult to get corn?’ Miss Marple inquired.
Miss Hincliffe winked.
‘I’m in with most of the farmers,’ she said.
Shooing away the hens, she escorted Miss Marple towards the cottage.
‘Hope you’re not too wet?’
‘No, this is a very good mackintosh.’