The Mirror Crack'd - Agatha Christie [52]
Don’t think you’ll escape next time.
Craddock said sharply, ‘When did you get this?’
‘It was on my dressing-table when I came back from the bath.’
‘So someone in the house —’
‘Not necessarily. Someone could have climbed up the balcony outside my window and pushed it through there. I think they meant it to frighten me still more, but actually it didn’t. I just felt furiously angry and sent word to you to come and see me.’
Dermot Craddock smiled. ‘Possibly a rather unexpected result for whoever sent it. Is this the first kind of message like that you’ve had?’
Again Marina hesitated. Then she said, ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Will you tell me about any other?’
‘It was three weeks ago, when we first came here. It came to the studio, not here. It was quite ridiculous. It was just a message. Not typewritten that time. In capital letters. It said, “Prepare to die.” ’ She laughed. There was perhaps a very faint tinge of hysteria in the laugh. The mirth was genuine enough. ‘It was so silly,’ she said. ‘Of course one often gets crank messages, threats, things like that. I thought it was probably religious you know. Someone who didn’t approve of film actresses. I just tore it up and threw it into the waste-paper basket.’
‘Did you tell anyone about it, Miss Gregg?’
Marina shook her head. ‘No, I never said a word to anyone. As a matter of fact, we were having a bit of worry at the moment about the scene we were shooting. I just couldn’t have thought of anything but that at the moment. Anyway, as I say, I thought it was either a silly joke or one of those religious cranks who write and disapprove of play-acting and things like that.’
‘And after that, was there another?’
‘Yes. On the day of the fête. One of the gardeners brought it to me, I think. He said someone had left a note for me and was there any answer? I thought perhaps it had to do with the arrangements. I just tore it open. It said “Today will be your last day on earth.” I just crumpled it up and said, “No answer.” Then I called the man back and asked him who gave it to him. He said it was a man with spectacles on a bicycle. Well, I mean, what could you think about that? I thought it was more silliness. I didn’t think — I didn’t think for a moment, it was a real genuine threat.’
‘Where’s that note now, Miss Gregg?’
‘I’ve no idea. I was wearing one of those coloured Italian silk coats and I think, as far as I remember, that I crumpled it up and shoved it into the pocket of it. But it’s not there now. It probably fell out.’
‘And you’ve no idea who wrote these silly notes, Miss Gregg? Who inspired them? Not even now?’
Her eyes opened widely. There was a kind of innocent wonder in them that he took note of. He admired it, but he did not believe in it.
‘How can I tell? How can I possibly tell?’
‘I think you might have quite a good idea, Miss Gregg.’
‘I haven’t. I assure you I haven’t.’
‘You’re a very famous person,’ said Dermot. ‘You’ve had great successes. Successes in your profession, and personal successes, too. Men have fallen in love with you, wanted to marry you, have married you. Women have been jealous and envied you. Men have been in love with you and been rebuffed by you. It’s a pretty wild field, I agree, but I should think you must have some idea who could have written these notes.’
‘It could have been anybody.’
‘No, Miss Gregg, it couldn’t have been anybody. It could possibly have been one of quite a lot of people. It could be someone quite humble, a dresser, an electrician, a servant; or it could be someone among the ranks of your friends, or so-called friends. But you must have some idea. Some name, more than one name, perhaps, to suggest.’
The door opened and Jason Rudd came in. Marina turned to him. She swept out an arm appealingly.
‘Jinks, darling, Mr Craddock is insisting that I must know who wrote those horrid notes. And I don’t. You know I don’t. Neither of us knows. We haven’t got the least idea.’
‘Very urgent about that,’ thought Craddock. ‘Very urgent.