Miss Marple's final cases - Agatha Christie [56]
‘I looked at the clock as well.’
The inspector turned to Raymond West.
‘It appears, sir, that about a week ago you and a Mr Horace Bindler were witnesses to Miss Greenshaw’s will?’
Briefly, Raymond recounted the events of the afternoon visit that he and Horace Bindler had paid to Greenshaw’s Folly.
‘This testimony of yours may be important,’ said Welch. ‘Miss Greenshaw distinctly told you, did she, that her will was being made in favour of Mrs Cresswell, the housekeeper, that she was not paying Mrs Cresswell any wages in view of the expectations Mrs Cresswell had of profiting by her death?’
‘That is what she told me—yes.’
‘Would you say that Mrs Cresswell was definitely aware of these facts?’
‘I should say undoubtedly. Miss Greenshaw made a reference in my presence to beneficiaries not being able to witness a will and Mrs Cresswell clearly understood what she meant by it. Moreover, Miss Greenshaw herself told me that she had come to this arrangement with Mrs Cresswell.’
‘So Mrs Cresswell had reason to believe she was an interested party. Motive’s clear enough in her case, and I dare say she’d be our chief suspect now if it wasn’t for the fact that she was securely locked in her room like Mrs Oxley here, and also that Miss Greenshaw definitely said a man shot her—’
‘She definitely was locked in her room?’
‘Oh yes. Sergeant Cayley let her out. It’s a big old-fashioned lock with a big old-fashioned key. The key was in the lock and there’s not a chance that it could have been turned from inside or any hanky-panky of that kind. No, you can take it definitely that Mrs Cresswell was locked inside that room and couldn’t get out. And there were no bows and arrows in the room and Miss Greenshaw couldn’t in any case have been shot from a window—the angle forbids it—no, Mrs Cresswell’s out of it.’
He paused and went on:
‘Would you say that Miss Greenshaw, in your opinion, was a practical joker?’
Miss Marple looked up sharply from her corner.
‘So the will wasn’t in Mrs Cresswell’s favour after all?’ she said.
Inspector Welch looked over at her in a rather surprised fashion.
‘That’s a very clever guess of yours, madam,’ he said. ‘No. Mrs Cresswell isn’t named as beneficiary.’
‘Just like Mr Naysmith,’ said Miss Marple, nodding her head. ‘Miss Greenshaw told Mrs Cresswell she was going to leave her everything and so got out of paying her wages; and then she left her money to somebody else. No doubt she was vastly pleased with herself. No wonder she chortled when she put the will away in Lady Audley’s Secret.’
‘It was lucky Mrs Oxley was able to tell us about the will and where it was put,’ said the inspector. ‘We might have had a long hunt for it otherwise.’
‘A Victorian sense of humour,’ murmured Raymond West. ‘So she left her money to her nephew after all,’ said Lou.
The inspector shook his head.
‘No,’ he said, ‘she didn’t leave it to Nat Fletcher. The story goes around here—of course I’m new to the place and I only get the gossip that’s second-hand—but it seems that in the old days both Miss Greenshaw and her sister were set on the handsome young riding master, and the sister got him. No, she didn’t leave the money to her nephew—’ He paused, rubbing his chin, ‘She left it to Alfred,’ he said.
‘Alfred—the gardener?’ Joan spoke in a surprised voice.
‘Yes, Mrs West. Alfred Pollock.’
‘But why?’ cried Lou.
Miss Marple coughed and murmured:
‘I should imagine, though perhaps I am wrong, that there may have been—what we might call family reasons.’
‘You could call them that in a way,’ agreed the inspector. ‘It’s quite well known in the village, it seems, that Thomas Pollock, Alfred’s grandfather, was one of old Mr Greenshaw’s by-blows.’
‘Of course,’ cried Lou, ‘the resemblance! I saw it this morning.’
She remembered how after passing Alfred she had come into the house and looked up at old Greenshaw’s portrait.
‘I dare say,’ said Miss Marple, ‘that she thought Alfred Pollock might have a pride in the house, might even want to live in it, whereas her nephew would almost certainly have no use for it whatever