“And it did seem stupid of us not to have thought of it before.” The Inspector gave a soft little laugh, and went down to stand by Miss Marple. He said: “I don’t think we’ve been introduced, Miss Marple. But you were pointed out to me once by Colonel Melrose.” Miss Marple stood up, flushed and grasping a handful of clinging green.
“Oh yes. Dear Colonel Melrose. He has always been most kind. Ever since — ” “Ever since a churchwarden was shot in the Vicar’s study. Quite a while ago. But you’ve had other successes since then. A little poison pen trouble down near Lymstock.” “You seem to know quite a lot about me. Inspector — ” “Primer, my name is. And you’ve been busy here, I expect.” “Well, I try to do what I can in the garden. Sadly neglected. This bindweed, for instance, such nasty stuff. Its roots,” said Miss Marple, looking very earnestly at the Inspector, “go down underground a long way. A very long way–they run along underneath the soil.” c(! think you’re right about that,” said the Inspector. “A long way down. A long way back… this murder, I mean.
Eighteen years.” “And perhaps before that,” said Miss Marple. “Running underground…. And terribly harmful. Inspector, squeezing the life out of the pretty growing flowers…” One of the police constables came along the path. He was perspiring and had a smudge of earth on his forehead.
“We’ve come to — something, sir. Looks as though it’s her all right.” II And it was then, Gwenda reflected, that the nightmarish quality of the day had begun.
Giles coming in, his face rather pale, saying: “It’s — she’s there all right, Gwenda.” Then one of the constables had telephoned and the police surgeon, a short, bustling man, had arrived.
And it was then that Mrs. Cocker, the calm and imperturbable Mrs. Cocker, had gone out into the garden–not led, as might have been expected, by ghoulish curiosity, but solely in the quest of culinary herbs for the dish she was preparing for lunch. And Mrs. Cocker, whose reaction to the news of a murder on the preceding day had been shocked censure and an anxiety for the effect upon Gwenda’s health (for Mrs. Cocker had made up her mind that the nursery upstairs was to be tenanted after the due number of months), had walked straight in upon the gruesome discovery, and had been immediately “taken queer” to an alarming extent.
“Too horrible, madam. Bones is a thing I never could abide. Not skeleton bones, as one might say. And here in the garden, just by the mint and all. And my heart’s beating at such a rate — palpitations — I can hardly get my breath. And if I might make so bold, just a thimbleful of brandy…” Alarmed by Mrs. Cocker’s gasps and her ashy colour, Gwenda had rushed to the sideboard, poured out some brandy and brought it to Mrs. Cocker to sip.
And Mrs. Cocker had said: “That’s just what I needed, madam — ” when, quite suddenly, her voice had failed, and she had looked so alarming, that Gwenda had screamed for Giles, and Giles had yelled to the police surgeon.
“And it’s fortunate I was on the spot,55 the latter said afterwards. “It was touch and go anyway. Without a doctor, that woman would have died then and there.” And then Inspector Primer had taken the brandy decanter, and then he and the doctor had gone into a huddle over it, and Inspector Primer had asked Gwenda when she and Giles had last had any brandy out of it.
Gwenda said she thought not for some days. They’d been away — up North, and the last few times they’d had a drink, they’d had gin. “But I nearly had some brandy yesterday,” said Gwenda. “Only it makes me think of Channel steamers, so Giles opened a new bottle of whisky.” “That was very lucky for you, Mrs.
Reed. If you’d drunk brandy yesterday, I doubt if you would be alive today.” “Giles nearly drank some — but in the end he had whisky with me.” Gwenda shivered.
Even now, alone in the house, with the police gone and Giles gone with them after a hasty lunch scratched up out of tins (since Mrs. Cocker had been removed to hospital), Gwenda could hardly believe in the morning turmoil of events.