Lamp.
Then came the word ‘Violets.’
Then after a space: Where is bottle of aspirin?
The next item in this curious list was more difficult to make out. ‘Delicious death,’ Bunch read. ‘That’s Mitzi’s cake.’
‘Making enquiries,’ read Craddock.
‘Inquiries? What about, I wonder? What’s this? Severe affliction bravely borne…What on earth—!’
‘Iodine,’ read the Inspector. ‘Pearls. Ah, pearls.’
‘And then Lotty—no, Letty. Her e’s look like o’s. And then Berne. And what’s this? Old Age Pension…’
They looked at each other in bewilderment.
Craddock recapitulated swiftly:
‘Lamp. Violets. Where is bottle of aspirin? Delicious Death. Making enquiries. Severe affliction bravely borne. Iodine. Pearls. Letty. Berne. Old Age Pension.’
Bunch asked: ‘Does it mean anything? Anything at all? I can’t see any connection.’
Craddock said slowly: ‘I’ve just a glimmer—but I don’t see. It’s odd that she should have put down that about pearls.’
‘What about pearls? What does it mean?’
‘Does Miss Blacklock always wear that three-tier choker of pearls?’
‘Yes, she does. We laugh about it sometimes. They’re so dreadfully false-looking, aren’t they? But I suppose she thinks it’s fashionable.’
‘There might be another reason,’ said Craddock slowly.
‘You don’t mean that they’re real. Oh! they couldn’t be!’
‘How often have you had an opportunity of seeing real pearls of that size, Mrs Harmon?’
‘But they’re so glassy.’
Craddock shrugged his shoulders.
‘Anyway, they don’t matter now. It’s Miss Marple that matters. We’ve got to find her.’
They’d got to find her before it was too late—but perhaps it was already too late? Those pencilled words showed that she was on the track…But that was dangerous—horribly dangerous. And where the hell was Fletcher?
Craddock strode out of the Vicarage to where he’d left his car. Search—that was all he could do—search.
A voice spoke to him out of the dripping laurels.
‘Sir!’ said Sergeant Fletcher urgently. ‘Sir…’
Chapter 21
Three Women
Dinner was over at Little Paddocks. It had been a silent and uncomfortable meal.
Patrick, uneasily aware of having fallen from grace, only made spasmodic attempts at conversation—and such as he did make were not well received. Phillipa Haymes was sunk in abstraction. Miss Blacklock herself had abandoned the effort to behave with her normal cheerfulness. She had changed for dinner and had come down wearing her necklace of cameos but for the first time fear showed from her darkly circled eyes, and betrayed itself by her twitching hands.
Julia, alone, had maintained her air of cynical detachment throughout the evening.
‘I’m sorry, Letty,’ she said, ‘that I can’t pack my bag and go. But I presume the police wouldn’t allow it. I don’t suppose I’ll darken your roof—or whatever the expression is—for long. I should imagine that Inspector Craddock will be round with a warrant and the handcuffs any moment. In fact I can’t imagine why something of the kind hasn’t happened already.’
‘He’s looking for the old lady—for Miss Marple,’ said Miss Blacklock.
‘Do you think she’s been murdered, too?’ Patrick asked with scientific curiosity. ‘But why? What could she know?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Blacklock dully. ‘Perhaps Miss Murgatroyd told her something.’
‘If she’s been murdered too,’ said Patrick, ‘there seems to be logically only one person who could have done it.’
‘Who?’
‘Hinchcliffe, of course,’ said Patrick triumphantly. ‘That’s where she was last seen alive—at Boulders. My solution would be that she never left Boulders.’
‘My head aches,’ said Miss Blacklock in a dull voice. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. ‘Why should Hinch murder Miss Marple? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It would if Hinch had really murdered Murgatroyd,’ said Patrick triumphantly.
Phillipa came out of her apathy to say:
‘Hinch wouldn’t murder Murgatroyd.’
‘She might have if Murgatroyd had blundered on something to show that she—Hinch—was the criminal.’
‘Anyway, Hinch was at the station when Murgatroyd was killed.’
‘She could have murdered Murgatroyd before she left.’
Startling them all, Letitia Blacklock suddenly screamed out:
‘Murder, murder, murder—! Can’t you talk of anything else? I’m frightened, don’t you understand? I’m frightened. I wasn’t before. I thought I could take care of myself…But what can you do against a murderer who’s waiting—and watching—and biding his time! Oh, God!’
She dropped her head forward on her hands. A moment later she looked up and apologized stiffly.