4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [59]
“No,” said Miss Marple. “Murder isn’t a game.”
She was silent for a moment or two before she said:
“Don’t the boys go back to school soon?”
“Yes, next week. They go tomorrow to James Stoddart-West’s home for the last few days of the holidays.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Miss Marple gravely. “I shouldn’t like anything to happen while they’re there.”
“You mean to old Mr. Crackenthorpe. Do you think he’s going to be murdered next?”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Marple. “He’ll be all right. I meant to the boys.”
“Well, to Alexander.”
“But surely—”
“Hunting about, you know—looking for clues. Boys love that sort of thing—but it might be very dangerous.”
Craddock looked at her thoughtfully.
“You’re not prepared to believe, are you, Miss Marple, that it’s a case of an unknown woman murdered by an unknown man? You tie it up definitely with Rutherford Hall?”
“I think there’s a definite connection, yes.”
“All we know about the murderer is that he’s a tall dark man. That’s what your friend says and all she can say. There are three tall dark men at Rutherford Hall. On the day of the inquest, you know, I came out to see the three brothers standing waiting on the pavement for the car to draw up. They had their backs to me and it was astonishing how, in their heavy overcoats, they looked all alike. Three tall dark men. And yet, actually, they’re all three quite different types.” He sighed. “It makes it very difficult.”
“I wonder,” murmured Miss Marple. “I have been wondering—whether it might perhaps be all much simpler than we suppose. Murders so often are quite simple—with an obvious rather sordid motive….”
“Do you believe in the mysterious Martine, Miss Marple?”
“I’m quite ready to believe that Edmund Crackenthorpe either married, or meant to marry, a girl called Martine. Emma Crackenthorpe showed you his letter, I understand, and from what I’ve seen of her and from what Lucy tells me, I should say Emma Crackenthorpe is quite incapable of making up a thing of that kind—indeed, why should she?”
“So granted Martine,” said Craddock thoughtfully, “there is a motive of a kind. Martine’s reappearance with a son would diminish the Crackenthorpe inheritance—though hardly to a point, one would think, to activate murder. They’re all very hard up—”
“Even Harold?” Lucy demanded incredulously.
“Even the prosperous-looking Harold Crackenthorpe is not the sober and conservative financier he appears to be. He’s been plunging heavily and mixing himself up in some rather undesirable ventures. A large sum of money, soon, might avoid a crash.”
“But if so—” said Lucy, and stopped.
“Yes, Miss Eyelesbarrow—”
“I know, dear,” said Miss Marple. “The wrong murder, that’s what you mean.”
“Yes. Martine’s death wouldn’t do Harold—or any of the others—any good. Not until—”
“Not until Luther Crackenthorpe died. Exactly. That occurred to me. And Mr. Crackenthorpe, senior, I gather from his doctor, is a much better life than any outsider would imagine.”
“He’ll last for years,” said Lucy. Then she frowned.
“Yes?” Craddock spoke encouragingly.
“He was rather ill at Christmas-time,” said Lucy. “He said the doctor made a lot of fuss about it—‘Anyone would have thought I’d been poisoned by the fuss he made.’ That’s what he said.”
She looked inquiringly at Craddock.
“Yes,” said Craddock. “That’s really what I want to ask Dr. Quimper about.”
“Well, I must go,” said Lucy. “Heavens, it’s late.”
Miss Marple put down her knitting and picked up The Times with a half-done crossword puzzle.
“I wish I had a dictionary here,” she murmured. “Tontine and Tokay— I always mix those two words up. One, I believe, is a Hungarian wine.”
“That’s Tokay,” said Lucy, looking back from the door. “But one’s a five-letter word and one’s a seven. What’s the clue?”
“Oh, it wasn’t in the crossword,” said Miss Marple vaguely. “It was in my head.”
Inspector Craddock looked at her very hard. Then he said goodbye and went.
Seventeen
I
Craddock had to wait a few minutes