The Mirror Crack'd - Agatha Christie [24]
‘Doesn’t sound very promising,’ said Miss Marple. ‘What happened next?’
‘I think Jason Rudd nudged her or something because all of a sudden she seemed to pull herself together and she smiled at Mrs Badcock, and she began to say all the usual things. You know, sweet, unspoilt, natural, charming, the usual bag of tricks.’
‘And then?’
‘And then Jason Rudd gave them drinks.’
‘What kind of drinks?’
‘Daiquiris, I think. He said they were his wife’s favourites. He gave one to her and one to the Badcock woman.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Very interesting indeed. And what happened after that?’
‘I don’t know, because I took a gaggle of women to look at the bathrooms. The next thing I knew was when the secretary woman came rushing along and said someone had been taken ill.’
Chapter 7
The inquest, when it was held, was short and disappointing. Evidence of identification was given by the husband, and the only other evidence was medical. Heather Badcock had died as a result of four grains of hy-ethyl-dexyl-barbo-quinde-lorytate, or, let us be frank, some such name. There was no evidence to show how the drug was administered.
The inquest was adjourned for a fortnight.
After it was concluded, Detective-Inspector Frank Cornish joined Arthur Badcock.
‘Could I have a word with you, Mr Badcock?’
‘Of course, of course.’
Arthur Badcock looked more like a chewed-out bit of string than ever. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he muttered. ‘I simply can’t understand it.’
‘I’ve got a car here,’ said Cornish. ‘We’ll drive back to your house, shall we? Nicer and more private there.’
‘Thank you, sir. Yes, yes, I’m sure that would be much better.’
They drew up at the neat little blue-painted gate of No. 3 Arlington Close. Arthur Badcock led the way and the inspector followed him. He drew out his latch-key but before he had inserted it into the door, it was opened from inside. The woman who opened it stood back looking slightly embarrassed. Arthur Badcock looked startled.
‘Mary,’ he said.
‘I was just getting you ready some tea, Arthur. I thought you’d need it when you came back from the inquest.’
‘That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,’ said Arthur Badcock gratefully. Er —’ he hesitated. ‘This is Inspector Cornish, Mrs Bain. She’s a neighbour of mine.’
‘I see,’ said Inspector Cornish.
‘I’ll get another cup,’ said Mrs Bain.
She disappeared and rather doubtfully Arthur Badcock showed the inspector into the bright cretonne-covered sitting-room to the right of the hall.
‘She’s very kind,’ said Arthur Badcock. ‘Very kind always.’
‘You’ve known her a long time?’
‘Oh, no. Only since we came here.’
‘You’ve been here two years, I believe, or is it three?’
‘Just about three now,’ said Arthur. ‘Mrs Bain only got here six months ago,’ he explained. ‘Her son works near here and so, after her husband’s death, she came down to live here and he boards with her.’
Mrs Bain appeared at this point bringing the tray from the kitchen. She was a dark, rather intense-looking woman of about forty years of age. She had gipsy colouring that went with her dark hair and eyes. There was something a little odd about her eyes. They had a watchful look. She put down the tray on the table and Inspector Cornish said something pleasant and noncommittal. Something in him, some professional instinct, was on the alert. The watchful look in the woman’s eyes, the slight start she had given when Arthur introduced him had not passed unnoticed. He was familiar with that slight uneasiness in the presence of the kind of natural alarm and distrust as of those who might have offended unwittingly against the majesty of the law, but there was a second kind. And it was the second kind that he felt sure was present here. Mrs Bain, he thought, had had at some time some connection with the police, something that had