“And it wasn’t my father who murdered her. It wasn’t, really. Even Dr. Penrose says he wasn’t the right type, and that he couldn’t have murdered anybody. And Dr. Kennedy was quite sure he hadn’t done it, but only thought he had. So you see it was someone who wanted it to seem as though my father had done it, and we think we know who — at least it’s one of two people — ” “Gwenda,” said Giles. “We can’t really — ” “I wonder, Mr. Reed,3′ said the Inspector, “if you would mind going out into the garden and seeing how my men are getting on. Tell them I sent you.” He closed the french windows after Giles and latched them and came back to Gwenda.
“Now just tell me all your ideas, Mrs.
Reed. Never mind if they are rather incoherent.” And Gwenda had poured out all her and Giles’s speculations and reasonings, and the steps they had taken to find out all they could about the three men who might have figured in Helen Halliday’s life, and the final conclusions they had come to — and how both Walter Fane and J. J. AfHick had been rung up, as though by Giles, and had been summoned to Hillside the preceding afternoon.
“But you do see, don’t you. Inspector — that one of them might be lying?” And in a gentle, rather tired voice, the Inspector said: “That’s one of the principal difficulties in my kind of work. So many people may be lying. And so many people usually are…. Though not always for the reasons that you’d think. And some people don’t even know they’re lying.w “Do you think I’m like that?” Gwenda asked apprehensively.
And the Inspector had smiled and said: “I think you’re a very truthful witness, Mrs. Reed.” “And you think I’m right about who murdered her?” The Inspector sighed and said: “It’s not a question of thinking — not with us.
It’s a question of checking up. Where everybody was, what account everybody gives of their movements. We know accurately enough, to within ten minutes or so, when Lily Kimble was killed. Between two-twenty and two-forty-five. Anyone could have killed her and then come on here yesterday afternoon. I don’t see, myself, any reason for those telephone calls. It doesn’t give either of the people you mention an alibi for the time of the murder.59 “But you will find out, won’t you, what they were doing at the time? Between two-twenty and two-forty-five. You will ask them.3′ Inspector Primer smiled.
“We shall ask all the questions necessary, Mrs. Reed, you may be sure of that. All in good time. There’s no good in rushing things. You’ve got to see your way ahead.” Gwenda had a sudden vision of patience and quiet unsensational work. Unhurried, remorseless.
She said: “I see… yes. Because you’re professional. And Giles and I are just amateurs. We might make a lucky hit — but we wouldn’t really know how to follow it up.” “Something of the kind, Mrs. Reed.” The Inspector smiled again. He got up and unfastened the french windows. Then, just as he was about to step through them, he stopped. Rather, Gwenda thought, like a pointing dog.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Reed. That lady wouldn’t be a Miss Jane Marple, would she?” Gwenda had come to stand beside him.
At the bottom of the garden Miss Marple was still waging a losing war with bindweed.
“Yes, that’s Miss Marple. She’s awfully kind in helping us with the garden.” “Miss Marple,” said the Inspector.
” “/ see.” And as Gwenda looked at him inquiringly and said, “She’s rather a dear,” he replied: “She’s a very celebrated lady, is Miss Marple. Got the Chief Constables of at least three counties in her pocket. She’s not got my Chief yet, but I dare say that will come. So Miss Marple’s got her finger in this pie.” “She’s made an awful lot of helpful suggestions,” said Gwenda.
“I bet she has,” said the Inspector. “Was it her suggestion where to look for the deceased Mrs. Halliday?” “She said that Giles and I ought to know quite well where to look,” said Gwenda.