He made a graphic gesture.
Griselda turned to me.
“Have you ever felt like that, Len?”
“Never,” I said truthfully.
“Yet I hear you were wishing him out of the world not so long ago,” remarked Miss Marple.
(That miserable Dennis! But my fault, of course, for ever making the remark.)
“I’m afraid I was,” I said. “It was a stupid remark to make, but really I’d had a very trying morning with him.”
“That’s disappointing,” said Raymond West. “Because, of course, if your subconscious were really planning to do him in, it would never have allowed you to make that remark.”
He sighed.
“My theory falls to the ground. This is probably a very ordinary murder – a revengeful poacher or something of that sort.”
“Miss Cram came to see me this afternoon,” said Miss Marple. “I met her in the village and I asked her if she would like to see my garden.”
“Is she fond of gardens?” asked Griselda.
“I don’t think so,” said Miss Marple, with a faint twinkle. “But it makes a very useful excuse for talk, don’t you think?”
“What did you make of her?” asked Griselda. “I don’t believe she’s really so bad.”
“She volunteered a lot of information – really a lot of information,” said Miss Marple. “About herself, you know, and her people. They all seem to be dead or in India. Very sad. By the way, she has gone to Old Hall for the week-end.”
“What?”
“Yes, it seems Mrs. Protheroe asked her – or she suggested it to Mrs. Protheroe – I don’t quite know which way about it was. To do some secretarial work for her – there are so many letters to cope with. It turned out rather fortunately. Dr. Stone being away, she has nothing to do. What an excitement this barrow has been.”
“Stone?” said Raymond. “Is that the archæologist fellow?”
“Yes, he is excavating a barrow. On the Protheroe property.”
“He’s a good man,” said Raymond. “Wonderfully keen on his job. I met him at a dinner not long ago and we had a most interesting talk. I must look him up.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “he’s just gone to London for the week-end. Why, you actually ran into him at the station this afternoon.”
“I ran into you. You had a little fat man with you – with glasses on.”
“Yes – Dr. stone.”
“But, my dear fellow – that wasn’t Stone.”
“Not Stone?”
“Not the archæologist. I know him quite well. The man wasn’t Stone – not the faintest resemblance.”
We stared at each other. In particular I stared at Miss Marple.
“Extraordinary,” I said.
“The suit-case,” said Miss Marple.
“But why?” said Griselda.
“It reminds me of the time the man went round pretending to be the gas inspector,” murmured Miss Marple. “Quite a little haul, he got.”
“An impostor,” said Raymond West. “Now this is really interesting.”
“The question is, has it anything to do with the murder?” said Griselda.
“Not necessarily,” I said. “But -” I looked at Miss Marple.
“It is,” she said, “a Peculiar Thing. Another Peculiar Thing.”
“Yes,” I said, rising. “I rather feel the inspector ought to be told about this at once.”
CHAPTER XXII
Inspector Slack’s orders, once I had got him on the telephone, were brief and emphatic. Nothing was to “get about.” In particular, Miss Cram was not to be alarmed. In the meantime, a search was to be instituted for the suit-case in the neighbourhood of the barrow.
Griselda and I returned home very excited over this new development. We could not say much with Dennis present, as we had faithfully promised Inspector Slack to breathe no word to anybody.
In any case, Dennis was full of his own troubles. He came into my study and began fingering things and shuffling his feet and looking thoroughly embarrassed.
“What is it, Dennis?” I said at last.
“Uncle Len, I don’t want to go to sea.”
I was astonished. The boy had been so very decided about his career up to now.
“But you were so keen on it.”
“Yes, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go into finance.”