Miss Marple's final cases - Agatha Christie [18]
‘That’s the idea.’
‘Well, of course, there’s been a great deal of talk and speculation. And there are really two distinct camps, if you understand me. To begin with, there are the people who think that the husband did it. A husband or a wife is, in a way, the natural person to suspect, don’t you think so?’
‘Maybe,’ said the inspector cautiously.
‘Such close quarters, you know. Then, so often, the money angle. I hear that it was Mrs Spenlow who had the money, and therefore Mr Spenlow does benefit by her death. In this wicked world I’m afraid the most uncharitable assumptions are often justified.’
‘He comes into a tidy sum, all right.’
‘Just so. It would seem quite plausible, wouldn’t it, for him to strangle her, leave the house by the back, come across the fields to my house, ask for me and pretend he’d had a telephone call from me, then go back and find his wife murdered in his absence—hoping, of course, that the crime would be put down to some tramp or burglar.’
The inspector nodded. ‘What with the money angle—and if they’d been on bad terms lately—’
But Miss Marple interrupted him. ‘Oh, but they hadn’t.’
‘You know that for a fact?’
‘Everyone would have known if they’d quarrelled! The maid, Gladys Brent—she’d have soon spread it round the village.’
The inspector said feebly, ‘She mightn’t have known—’ and received a pitying smile in reply.
Miss Marple went on. ‘And then there’s the other school of thought. Ted Gerard. A good-looking young man. I’m afraid, you know, that good looks are inclined to influence one more than they should. Our last curate but one—quite a magical effect! All the girls came to church—evening service as well as morning. And many older women became unusually active in parish work—and the slippers and scarfs that were made for him! Quite embarrassing for the poor young man.
‘But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes, this young man, Ted Gerard. Of course, there has been talk about him. He’s come down to see her so often. Though Mrs Spenlow told me herself that he was a member of what I think they call the Oxford Group. A religious movement. They are quite sincere and very earnest, I believe, and Mrs Spenlow was impressed by it all.’
Miss Marple took a breath and went on. ‘And I’m sure there was no reason to believe that there was anything more in it than that, but you know what people are. Quite a lot of people are convinced that Mrs Spenlow was infatuated with the young man, and that she’d lent him quite a lot of money. And it’s perfectly true that he was actually seen at the station that day. In the train—the two twenty-seven down train. But of course it would be quite easy, wouldn’t it, to slip out of the other side of the train and go through the cutting and over the fence and round by the hedge and never come out of the station entrance at all. So that he need not have been seen going to the cottage. And, of course, people do think that what Mrs Spenlow was wearing was rather peculiar.’
‘Peculiar?’
‘A kimono. Not a dress.’ Miss Marple blushed. ‘That sort of thing, you know, is, perhaps, rather suggestive to some people.’
‘You think it was suggestive?’
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so, I think it was perfectly natural.’
‘You think it was natural?’
‘Under the circumstances, yes.’ Miss Marple’s glance was cool and reflective.
Inspector Slack said, ‘It might give us another motive for the husband. Jealousy.’
‘Oh, no, Mr Spenlow would never be jealous. He’s not the sort of man who notices things. If his wife had gone away and left a note on the pincushion, it would be the first he’d know of anything of that kind.’
Inspector Slack was puzzled by the intent way she was looking at him. He had an idea that all her conversation was intended to hint at something he didn’t understand. She said now, with some emphasis, ‘Didn’t you find any clues, Inspector—on the spot?’
‘People don’t leave fingerprints and cigarette ash nowadays, Miss Marple.’
‘But this, I think,’ she suggested, ‘was an old-fashioned crime—’
Slack said sharply,