4_50 From Paddington - Agatha Christie [88]
“No,” said Bryan, “I don’t think I’ve any relations called Wells.”
“He was engaged to a very nice girl,” said Miss Marple. “Very sensible. She tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He was wrong of course. Women have a lot of sense, you know, when it comes to money matters. Not high finance, of course. No woman can hope to understand that, my dear father said. But everyday L.s.d.—that sort of thing. What a delightful view you have from this window,” she added, making her way across and looking out.
Emma joined her.
“Such an expanse of parkland! How picturesque the cattle look against the trees. One would never dream that one was in the middle of a town.”
“We’re rather an anachronism, I think,” said Emma. “If the windows were open now you’d hear far off the noise of the traffic.”
“Oh, of course,” said Miss Marple, “there’s noise everywhere, isn’t there? Even in St. Mary Mead. We’re now quite close to an airfield, you know, and really the way those jet planes fly over! Most frightening. Two panes in my little greenhouse broken the other day. Going through the sound barrier, or so I understand, though what it means I never have known.”
“It’s quite simple, really,” said Bryan, approaching amiably. “You see, it’s like this.”
Miss Marple dropped her handbag and Bryan politely picked it up. At the same moment Mrs. McGillicuddy approached Emma and murmured, in an anguished voice—the anguish was quite genuine since Mrs. McGillicuddy deeply disliked the task which she was now performing:
“I wonder—could I go upstairs for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Emma.
“I’ll take you,” said Lucy.
Lucy and Mrs. McGillicuddy left the room together.
“Very cold, driving today,” said Miss Marple in a vaguely explanatory manner.
“About the sound barrier,” said Bryan, “you see it’s like this… Oh, hallo, there’s Quimper.”
The doctor drove up in his car. He came in rubbing his hands and looking very cold.
“Going to snow,” he said, “that’s my guess. Hallo, Emma, how are you? Good lord, what’s all this?”
“We made you a birthday cake,” said Emma. “D’you remember? You told me today was your birthday.”
“I didn’t expect all this,” said Quimper. “You know it’s years—why, it must be—yes sixteen years since anyone’s remembered my birthday.” He looked almost uncomfortably touched.
“Do you know Miss Marple?” Emma introduced him.
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Marple, “I met Dr. Quimper here before and he came and saw me when I had a very nasty chill the other day and he was most kind.”
“All right again now, I hope?” said the doctor.
Miss Marple assured him that she was quite all right now.
“You haven’t been to see me lately, Quimper,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “I might be dying for all the notice you take of me!”
“I don’t see you dying yet awhile,” said Dr. Quimper.
“I don’t mean to,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe. “Come on, let’s have tea. What’re we waiting for?”
“Oh, please,” said Miss Marple, “don’t wait for my friend. She would be most upset if you did.”
They sat down and started tea. Miss Marple accepted a piece of bread and butter first, and then went on to a sandwich.
“Are they—?” she hesitated.
“Fish,” said Bryan. “I helped make ’em.”
Mr. Crackenthorpe gave a cackle of laughter.
“Poisoned fishpaste,” he said. “That’s what they are. Eat ’em at your peril.”
“Please, Father!”
“You’ve got to be careful what you eat in this house,” said Mr. Crackenthorpe to Miss Marple. “Two of my sons have been murdered like flies. Who’s doing it—that’s what I want to know.”
“Don’t let him put you off,” said Cedric, handing the plate once more to Miss Marple. “A touch of arsenic improves the complexion, they say, so long as you don’t have too much.”
“Eat one yourself, boy,” said old Mr. Crackenthorpe.
“Want me to be official taster?” said Cedric. “Here goes.”
He took a sandwich and put it whole into his mouth.