The Thirteen Problems - Agatha Christie [87]
‘But that can’t be so,’ she said. ‘It was Friday night.’
‘Friday night?’
‘Yes—Friday night. On Friday evenings Mrs Bartlett takes the laundry she has done round to the different people.’
Sir Henry leaned back in his chair. He remembered the boy Jimmy’s story of the whistling man and—yes—it would all fit in.
He rose, taking Miss Marple warmly by the hand.
‘I think I see my way,’ he said. ‘At least I can try…’
Five minutes later he was back at Mrs Bartlett’s cottage and facing Joe Ellis in the little parlour among the china dogs.
‘You lied to us, Ellis, about last night,’ he said crisply. ‘You were not in the kitchen here fixing the dresser between eight and eight-thirty. You were seen walking along the path by the river towards the bridge a few minutes before Rose Emmott was murdered.’
The man gasped.
‘She weren’t murdered—she weren’t. I had naught to do with it. She threw herself in, she did. She was desperate like. I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head, I wouldn’t.’
‘Then why did you lie as to where you were?’ asked Sir Henry keenly.
The man’s eyes shifted and lowered uncomfortably.
‘I was scared. Mrs B. saw me around there and when we heard just afterwards what had happened—well, she thought it might look bad for me. I fixed I’d say I was working here, and she agreed to back me up. She’s a rare one, she is. She’s always been good to me.’
Without a word Sir Henry left the room and walked into the kitchen. Mrs Bartlett was washing up at the sink.
‘Mrs Bartlett,’ he said, ‘I know everything. I think you’d better confess—that is, unless you want Joe Ellis hanged for something he didn’t do…No. I see you don’t want that. I’ll tell you what happened. You were out taking the laundry home. You came across Rose Emmott. You thought she’d given Joe the chuck and was taking up with this stranger. Now she was in trouble—Joe was prepared to come to the rescue—marry her if need be, and if she’d have him. He’s lived in your house for four years. You’ve fallen in love with him. You want him for yourself. You hated this girl—you couldn’t bear that this worthless little slut should take your man from you. You’re a strong woman, Mrs Bartlett. You caught the girl by the shoulders and shoved her over into the stream. A few minutes later you met Joe Ellis. The boy Jimmy saw you together in the distance—but in the darkness and the mist he assumed the perambulator was a wheelbarrow and two men wheeling it. You persuaded Joe that he might be suspected and you concocted what was supposed to be an alibi for him, but which was really an alibi for you. Now then, I’m right, am I not?’
He held his breath. He had staked all on this throw.
She stood before him rubbing her hands on her apron, slowly making up her mind.
‘It’s just as you say, sir,’ she said at last, in her quiet subdued voice (a dangerous voice, Sir Henry suddenly felt it to be). ‘I don’t know what came over me. Shameless—that’s what she was. It just came over me—she shan’t take Joe from me. I haven’t had a happy life, sir. My husband, he was a poor lot—an invalid and cross-grained. I nursed and looked after him true. And then Joe came here to lodge. I’m not such an old woman, sir, in spite of my grey hair. I’m just forty, sir. Joe’s one in a thousand. I’d have done anything for him—anything at all. He was like a little child, sir, so gentle and believing. He was mine, sir, to look after and see to. And this—this—’ She swallowed—checked her emotion. Even at this moment she was a strong woman. She stood up straight and looked at Sir Henry curiously. ‘I’m ready to come, sir. I never thought anyone would find out. I don’t know how you knew, sir—I don’t, I’m sure.’
Sir Henry shook his head gently.
‘It was not I who knew,’ he said—and he thought of the piece of paper still reposing in his pocket with the words on it written in neat old-fashioned handwriting.
‘Mrs Bartlett, with whom Joe Ellis lodges at 2 Mill Cottages.’
Miss Marple had been right again.
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