Mrs. Erskine came striding round the corner of the house.
Her husband went towards her.
“Mrs. Reed dropped one of her rings in the garden yesterday,” he said.
Mrs. Erskine said abruptly: “Indeed?” “Good-morning,” said Gwenda. “Yes, luckily I have found it.” “That’s very fortunate.” “Oh, it is. I should have hated to lose it.
Well, I must be going.” Mrs. Erskine said nothing. Major Erskine said: “I’ll see you to your car.” He started to follow Gwenda along the terrace. His wife’s voice came sharply.
“Richard. If Mrs. Reed will excuse you, there is a very important call — ” Gwenda said hastily, “Oh, that’s quite all right. Please don’t bother.” She ran quickly along the terrace and round the side of the house to the drive.
Then she stopped. Mrs. Erskine had drawn up her car in such a way that Gwenda doubted whether she could get her own car past and down the drive. She hesitated, then slowly retraced her steps to the terrace.
Just short of the french windows she stopped dead. Mrs. Erskine’s voice, deep and resonant, came distinctly to her ears.
“I don’t care what you say. You arranged it—arranged it yesterday. You fixed it up with that girl to come here whilst I was in Daith. You’re always the same — any pretty girl. I won’t stand it, I tell you.
I won’t stand it.” Erskine’s voice cut in—quiet, almost despairing.
“Sometimes, Janet, I really think you’re insane.” “I’m not the one who’s insane. It’s you!
You can’t leave women alone.” “You know that’s not true, Janet.” “It is true! Even long ago — in the place where this girl comes from — Dillmouth.
Do you dare tell me that you weren’t in love with that yellow-haired Halliday woman?” “Can you never forget anything? Why must you go on harping on these things?
You simply work yourself up and — ” “It’s you! You break my heart… I won’t stand it, I tell you! I won’t stand it!
Planning assignations! Laughing at me behind my back! You don’t care for me — you’ve never cared for me. I’ll kill myself!
I’ll throw myself over a cliff–I wish I were dead — ” “Janet — Janet — for God’s sake…” The deep voice had broken. The sound of passionate sobbing floated out into the summer air.
On tip-toe Gwenda crept away and round into the drive again. She cogitated for a moment, then rang the front-door bell.
“I wonder,” she said, “if there is anyone who — er — could move this car. I don’t think I can get out.” The servant went into the house. Presently a man came round from what had been the stable yard. He touched his cap to Gwenda, got into the Austin and drove it into the yard. Gwenda got into her car and drove rapidly back to the hotel where Giles was waiting for her.
“What a time you’ve been,” he greeted her. “Get anything?” “Yes. I know all about it now. It’s really rather pathetic. He was terribly in love with Helen.” She narrated the events of the morning.
“I really think,” she ended, “that Mrs.
Erskine is a bit insane. She sounded quite mad. I see now what he meant by jealousy.
It must be awful to feel like that. Anyway, we know now that Erskine wasn’t the man who went away with Helen, and that he knows nothing about her death. She was alive that evening when he left her.” “Yes,” said Giles. “At least–that’s what he says.” Gwenda looked indignant.
“That,” repeated Giles firmly, “is what he says.”
18 BINDWEED
MISS MARPLE bent down on the terrace outside the french window and dealt with some insidious bindweed. It was only a minor victory, since beneath the surface the bindweed remained in possession as always. But at least the delphiniums knew a temporary deliverance.
Mrs. Cocker appeared in the drawingroom window.
“Excuse me, madam, but Dr. Kennedy has called. He is anxious to know how long Mr. and Mrs. Reed will be away, and I told him I couldn’t take it upon myself to say exactly, but that you might know.
Shall I ask him to come out here?’ “Oh. Oh, yes please, Mrs. Cocker.” Mrs. Cocker reappeared shortly afterwards with Dr. Kennedy.