Nemesis - Agatha Christie [59]
‘No, no, no. The other girl. Verity Hunt.’
There was a pause and then, ‘Jane Marple. You’re old — older than when he talked about you. You’re older, but you can still find out things, can’t you?’
Her voice became slightly higher, more insistent.
‘You can, can’t you? Say you can. I’ve not much time. I know that. I know it quite well. One of them, but which? Find out. Henry would have said you can. It may be dangerous for you — but you’ll find out, won’t you?’
‘With God’s help, I will,’ said Miss Marple. It was a vow.
‘Ah.’
The eyes closed, then opened again. Something like a smile seemed to try and twitch the lips.
‘The big stone from above. The Stone of Death.’
‘Who rolled that stone down?’
‘Don’t know. No matter — only — Verity. Find out about Verity. Truth. Another name for truth, Verity.’
Miss Marple saw the faint relaxation of the body on the bed. There was a faintly whispered: ‘Goodbye. Do your best…’
Her body relaxed, the eyes closed. The nurse came again to the bedside. This time she took up the pulse, felt it, and beckoned to Miss Marple. Miss Marple rose obediently and followed her out of the room.
‘That’s been a big effort for her,’ said the nurse. ‘She won’t regain consciousness again for some time. Perhaps not at all. I hope you learnt something?’
‘I don’t think I did,’ said Miss Marple, ‘but one never knows, does one.’
‘Did you get anything?’ asked Professor Wanstead, as they went out to the car.
‘A name,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Verity. Was that the girl’s name?’
‘Yes. Verity Hunt.’
Elizabeth Temple died an hour and a half later. She died without regaining consciousness.
Chapter 14
Mr Broadribb Wonders
‘Seen The Times this morning?’ said Mr Broadribb to his partner, Mr Schuster.
Mr Schuster said he couldn’t afford The Times, he took the Telegraph.
‘Well, it may be in that too,’ said Mr Broadribb. ‘In the deaths, Miss Elizabeth Temple, D.Sc.’
Mr Schuster looked faintly puzzled.
‘Headmistress of Fallowfield. You’ve heard of Fallowfield, haven’t you?’
‘Of course,’ said Schuster. ‘Girls’ school. Been going for fifty years or so. First class, fantastically expensive. So she was the Headmistress of it, was she? I thought the Headmistress had resigned some time ago. Six months at least. I’m sure I read about it in the paper. That is to say there was a bit about the new Headmistress. Married woman. Youngish. Thirty-five to forty. Modern ideas. Give the girls lessons in cosmetics, let ’em wear trouser suits. Something of that kind.’
‘Hum,’ said Mr Broadribb, making the noise that solicitors of his age are likely to make when they hear something which elicits criticism based on long experience. ‘Don’t think she’ll ever make the name that Elizabeth Temple did. Quite someone, she was. Been there a long time, too.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Schuster, somewhat uninterested. He wondered why Broadribb was so interested in defunct school-mistresses.
Schools were not really of particular interest to either of the two gentlemen. Their own offspring were now more or less disposed of. Mr Broadribb’s two sons were respectively in the Civil Service and in an oil firm, and Mr Schuster’s rather younger progeny were at different universities where both of them respectively were making as much trouble for those in authority as they possibly could do. He said,
‘What about her?’
‘She was on a coach tour,’ said Mr Broadribb.
‘Those coaches,’ said Mr Schuster. ‘I wouldn’t let any of my relations go on one of those. One went off a precipice in Switzerland last week and two months ago one had a crash and twenty were killed. Don’t know who drives these things nowadays.’
‘It was one of those Country Houses and Gardens and Objects of Interest in Britain — or whatever they call it — tours,’ said Mr Broadribb. ‘That’s not quite the right name, but you know what I mean.’
‘Oh yes, I know. Oh the — er — yes, that’s the one we sent Miss What’s-a-name on. The one old Rafiel booked.’
‘Miss Jane Marple was on it.’
‘She didn’t get killed too, did she?’ asked Mr