When did I begin to suspect her? A long time ago…. Soon after we came to Dillmouth.
… Her manner changed…. She was concealing something…. I used to watch her…. Yes, and she used to watch me.
Did she give me drugs in my food? Those queer awful nightmares. Not ordinary dreams… living nightmares… I know it was drugs…. Only she could have done that.
… Why?… There’s some man…. Some man she was afraid of.
Let me be honest. I suspected, didn’t I, that she had a lover? There was someone — I know there was someone– She said as much to me on the boat…. Someone she loved and couldn’t marry…. It was the same for both of us…. I couldn’t forget Megan…. How like Megan little Gwennie looks sometimes. Helen played with Gwennie so sweetly on the boat…. Helen…. You are so lovely, Helen.
Is Helen alive? Or did I put my hands round her throat and choke the life out of her?
I went through the dining-room door and I saw the note — propped up on the desk, and then — and then — all black –just blackness.
But there’s no doubt about it… I killed her…. Thank God Gwennie’s all right in New Zealand. They’re good people.
They’ll love her for Megan’s sake. Megan — Megan, how I wish you were here.
It’s the best way…. No scandal…. The best way for the child. I can’t go on. Not year after year. I must take the short way out.
Gwennie will never know anything about all this. She’ll never know her father was a murderer.
Tears blinded Gwenda’s eyes. She looked across at Giles, sitting opposite her. But Gileses eyes were riveted on the opposite corner.
Aware of Gwenda’s scrutiny, he motioned faintly with his head.
Their fellow passenger was reading an evening paper. On the outside of it, clearly presented to their view was a melodramatic caption: who were the men in her life?
Slowly, Gwenda nodded her head. She looked down again at the diary.
There was someone — I know there was someone…
11 THE MEN IN HER LIFE
MISS MARPLE crossed Sea Parade and walked along Fore Street, turning up the hill by the Arcade.
The shops here were the old-fashioned ones. A wool and art needlework shop, a confectioner, a Victorian-looking Ladies’ Outfitter and Draper and others of the same kind.
Miss Marple looked in at the window of the art needlework shop. Two young assistants were engaged with customers, but an elderly woman at the back of the shop was free.
Miss Marple pushed open the door and went in. She seated herself at the counter and the assistant, a pleasant woman with grey hair, asked, ‘What can I do for you, madam?” Miss Marple wanted some pale blue wool to knit a baby’s jacket. The proceedings were leisurely and unhurried. Patterns were discussed. Miss Marple looked through various children’s knitting books and in the course of it discussed her greatnephews and nieces. Neither she nor the assistant displayed impatience. The assistant had attended to customers such as Miss Marple for many years. She preferred these gentle, gossipy, rambling old ladies to the impatient, rather impolite young mothers who didn’t know what they wanted and had an eye for the cheap and showy.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. (c! think that will be very nice indeed. And I always find Storkleg so reliable. It really doesn’t shrink. I think I’ll take an extra two ounces.” The assistant remarked that the wind was very cold today, as she wrapped up the parcel.
“Yes, indeed, I noticed it as I was coming along the front. Dillmouth has changed a good deal. I have not been here for, let me see, nearly nineteen years.” “Indeed, madam? Then you will find a lot of changes. The Superb wasn’t built then, I suppose, nor the Southview Hotel?” “Oh no, it was quite a small place. I was staying with friends…. A house called St. Catherine’s — perhaps you know it? On the Leahampton road.” But the assistant had only been in Dillmouth a matter of ten years.
Miss Marple thanked her, took the parcel, and went into the draper’s next door.