Miss Marple arrested his departure by a swift question.
“Who was your sister afraid of. Dr. Kennedy?” He turned back to her and stared.
“Afraid of? No one, as far as I know.” “I only wondered…. Pray excuse me if I am asking indiscreet questions — but there was a young man, wasn’t there? — I mean, some entanglement–when she was very young. Somebody called Affiick, I believe.-” “Oh, that. Silly business most girls go through. An undesirable young fellow, shifty — and of course not her class, not her class at all. He got into trouble here afterwards.” “I just wondered if he could have been –revengeful.” Dr. Kennedy smiled rather sceptically.
“Oh, I don’t think it went deep. Anyway, as I say, he got into trouble here, and left the place for good.” “What sort of trouble?” “Oh, nothing criminal. Just indiscretions.
Blabbed about his employer’s affairs.” “And his employer was Mr. Walter Fane?” Dr. Kennedy looked a little surprised.
“Yes — yes — now you say so, I remember, he did work in Fane and Watchman’s.
Not articled. Just an ordinary clerk.” Just an ordinary clerk? Miss Marple wondered, as she stooped again to the bindweed, after Dr. Kennedy had gone…
19 MR. KIMBLE SPEAKS
“I DUNNO, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Kimble.
A Her husband, driven into speech by what was neither more nor less than an outrage, became vocal.
He shoved his cup forward.
“What you thinking of. Lily?” he demanded. “No sugar /” Mrs. Kimble hastily remedied the outrage, and then proceeded to elaborate on her own theme.
“Thinking about this advert, I am,” she said. “Lily Abbott, it says, plain as plain. And ‘formerly house-parlourmaid at St. Catherine’s Dillmouth’. That’s me, all right.” “Ar,” agreed Mr. Kimble.
“After all these years — you must agree it’s odd, Jim.” “Ar,” said Mr. Kimble.
“Well, what am I going to do, Jim?” “Leave it be.” “Suppose there’s money in it?” There was a gurgling sound as Mr.
Kimble drained his teacup to fortify himself for the mental effort of embarking on a long speech. He pushed his cup along and prefaced his remarks with a laconic: “More.” Then he got under way.
“You went on a lot at one time about what ‘appened at St. Catherine’s. I didn’t take much account of it — reckoned as it was mostly foolishness — women’s chatter.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe something did ‘appen. If so it’s police business and you don’t want to be mixed up in it. All over and done with, ain’t it? You leave well alone, my girl.” “All very well to say that. It may be money as has been left me in a will. Maybe Mrs. Halliday’s alive all the time and now she’s dead and left me something in ‘er will.” “Left you something in ‘er will? What for? Ar!” said Mr. Kimble, reverting to his favourite monosyllable to express scorn.
“Even if it’s police…. You know, Jim, there’s a big reward sometimes for anyone as can give information to catch a murderer.”
“And what could you give? All you know you made up yourself in your head!” “That’s what you say. But I’ve been thinking — ” “Ar,” said Mr. Kimble disgustedly.
“Well, I have. Ever since I saw that first piece in the paper. Maybe I got things a bit wrong. That Layonee, she was a bit stupid like all foreigners, couldn’t understand proper what you said to her — and her English was something awful. If she didn’t mean what I thought she meant.
I’ve been trying to remember the name of that man…. Now if it was him she saw.
Remember that picture I told you about? Secret Lover. Ever so exciting. They tracked him down in the end through his car. Fifty thousand dollars he paid the garage man to forget he filled up with petrol that night.
Dunno what that is in pounds…. And the other one was there, too, and the husband crazy with jealousy. All mad about her, they were. And in the end — ” Mr. Kimble pushed backed his chair with a grating sound. He rose to his feet with slow and ponderous authority. Preparatory to leaving the kitchen, he delivered an ultimatum — the ultimatum of a man who, though usually inarticulate, had a certain shrewdness.