Caribbean Mystery - Agatha Christie [47]
“Everyone seemed to be sending cables this morning,” said Esther. “What with that, and people trying to check out—”
“Trying to check out, are they? A result of this murder business?”
“I suppose so. Poor Tim Kendal is worried to death.”
“And well he might be. Bad luck for that young couple, I must say.”
“I know. I gather it was rather a big undertaking for them to take on this place. They’ve been worried about making a success of it. They were doing very well, too.”
“They were doing a good job,” agreed Mr. Rafiel. “He’s very capable and a damned hard worker. She’s a very nice girl—attractive too. They’ve both worked like blacks, though that’s an odd term to use out here, for blacks don’t work themselves to death at all, so far as I can see. Was looking at a fellow shinning up a coconut tree to get his breakfast, then he goes to sleep for the rest of the day. Nice life.”
He added, “We’ve been discussing the murder here.”
Esther Walters looked slightly startled. She turned her head towards Miss Marple.
“I’ve been wrong about her,” said Mr. Rafiel, with characteristic frankness. “Never been much of a one for the old pussies. All knitting wool and tittle-tattle. But this one’s got something. Eyes and ears, and she uses them.”
Esther Walters looked apologetically at Miss Marple, but Miss Marple did not appear to take offence.
“That’s really meant to be a compliment, you know,” Esther explained.
“I quite realize that,” said Miss Marple. “I realize, too, that Mr. Rafiel is privileged, or thinks he is.”
“What do you mean—privileged?” asked Mr. Rafiel.
“To be rude if you want to be rude,” said Miss Marple.
“Have I been rude?” said Mr. Rafiel, surprised. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“You haven’t offended me,” said Miss Marple, “I make allowances.”
“Now, don’t be nasty. Esther, get a chair and bring it here. Maybe you can help.”
Esther walked a few steps to the balcony of the bungalow and brought over a light basket chair.
“We’ll go on with our consultation,” said Mr. Rafiel. “We started with old Palgrave, deceased, and his eternal stories.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed Esther. “I’m afraid I used to escape from him whenever I could.”
“Miss Marple was more patient,” said Mr. Rafiel. “Tell me, Esther, did he ever tell you a story about a murderer?”
“Oh yes,” said Esther. “Several times.”
“What was it exactly? Let’s have your recollection.”
“Well—” Esther paused to think. “The trouble is,” she said apologetically, “I didn’t really listen very closely. You see, it was rather like that terrible story about the lion in Rhodesia which used to go on and on. One did get rather in the habit of not listening.”
“Well, tell us what you do remember.”
“I think it arose out of some murder case that had been in the papers. Major Palgrave said that he’d had an experience not every person had had. He’d actually met a murderer face to face.”
“Met?” Mr. Rafiel exclaimed. “Did he actually use the word ‘met?’”
Esther looked confused.
“I think so.” She was doubtful. “Or he may have said, ‘I can point you out a murderer.’”
“Well, which was it? There’s a difference.”
“I can’t really be sure … I think he said he’d show me a picture of someone.”
“That’s better.”
“And then he talked a lot about Lucrezia Borgia.”
“Never mind Lucrezia Borgia. We know all about her.”
“He talked about poisoners and that Lucrezia was very beautiful and had red hair. He said there were probably far more women poisoners going about the world than anyone knew.”
“That I fear is quite likely,” said Miss Marple.
“And he talked about poison being a woman’s weapon.”
“Seems to have been wandering from the point a bit,” said Mr. Rafiel.
“Well, of course, he always did wander from the point in his stories. And then one used to stop listening and just say ‘Yes’ and ‘Really?’ And ‘You don’t say so.’”
“What about this picture he was going to show you?”
“I don’t remember. It may have been something he’d seen in the paper—”
“He didn’t actually show you a snapshot?”
“A snapshot? No.” She shook her head. “I’m quite sure of that. He