Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger
Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger
Agatha Christie
The first three full-length Miss Marple novels, set before and during the Second World War, see the world's most accomplished amateur sleuth unravelling the dark side of human nature to uncover three cases of Murder Most Foul!The Murder at the VicarageAgatha Christie’s first ever Miss Marple mystery. It was a careless remark for a man of the cloth. And one which was to come back and haunt the clergyman just a few hours later. From seven potential murderers, Miss Marple must seek out the suspect who has both motive and opportunity.The Body in the LibraryIt’s seven in the morning. The Bantrys wake to find the body of a young woman in their library. She is wearing evening dress and heavy make-up, which is now smeared across her cheeks.The Moving FingerLymstock is a town with more than its share of shameful secrets – a town where even a sudden outbreak of anonymous hate-mail causes only a minor stir. But all that changes when one of the recipients, Mrs Symmington, commits suicide. Only Miss Marple questions the coroner’s verdict of suicide. Was this the work of a poison-pen? Or of a poisoner?
Copyright (#ulink_8d866381-445c-5ad3-9fcd-b5e1566f2769)
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Murder At The Vicarage first published in Great Britain by Collins 1930
The Body In The Library first published in Great Britain by Collins 1942
The Moving Finger first published in Great Britain by Collins 1943
Copyright © 1930, 1942, 1943 Agatha Christie Ltd. All rights reserved.
www.agathachristie.com (http://www.agathachristie.com/)
Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007431724
Version: 2017-10-02
Contents
Title Page (#udb47e685-d342-55be-8cdb-b601e4c02418)
Copyright
The Murder at the Vicarage (#ub59afe1c-66d4-529f-a91c-f90db471cc4b)
The Body in the Library (#u2a4c23c1-dffc-5a0e-919c-dc1b2a539f5d)
The Moving Finger (#u22563efa-0394-5410-9561-2d560c070057)
Keep Reading (#uf1728ed3-3b44-583c-b4d1-59d07527294a)
About Agatha Christie
The Agatha Christie Collection
www.agathachristie.com
About the Publisher
The Murder at the Vicarage (#ulink_0a503ba1-6fa7-5d84-8fd7-0b7d51b2e985)
To Rosalind
Contents
Cover (#ub59afe1c-66d4-529f-a91c-f90db471cc4b)
Title Page (#ue31bbb1a-3ee0-5e8b-8bfd-d51508d57f9a)
Chapter 1
It is difficult to know quite where to begin this…
Chapter 2
Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon…
Chapter 3 ‘Nasty old cat,’ said Griselda, as soon as the door…
Chapter 4 I had entirely forgotten that we had asked Lawrence Redding…
Chapter 5 It was nearer seven than half-past six when I…
Chapter 6 We puzzled over the business of the clock for some…
Chapter 7 Colonel Melchett is a dapper little man with a habit…
Chapter 8 We were rather silent on our way down to the…
Chapter 9 After leaving a message at the police station, the Chief…
Chapter 10 His remarks on the subject of Miss Marple as we…
Chapter 11 I saw at a glance that Colonel Melchett and Inspector…
Chapter 12 I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived.
Chapter 13 I hardly thought it likely that Mrs Price Ridley had…
Chapter 14 On my way home, I ran into Miss Hartnell and…
Chapter 15 Hawes’s appearance distressed me very much. His hands were shaking…
Chapter 16 As I went out I ran into Haydock on the…
Chapter 17 Inspector Slack came round to see me the following morning.
Chapter 18 The inquest was held that afternoon (Saturday) at two o’clock…
Chapter 19 ‘Very glad to have met you,’ said Lawrence. ‘Come to…
Chapter 20 When I got back to the Vicarage I found that…
Chapter 21 I cannot say that I have at any time had…
Chapter 22 Inspector Slack’s orders, once I had got him on the…
Chapter 23 On the way back, I proposed to Griselda that we…
Chapter 24 I returned to the Vicarage to find Hawes waiting for…
Chapter 25 I found it hard to shake off the impression left…
Chapter 26 I was in a strange mood when I mounted the…
Chapter 27 Griselda and Dennis had not yet returned. I realized that…
Chapter 28 I hurried down the village street. It was eleven o’clock,…
Chapter 29 I don’t know how long I sat there—only a…
Chapter 30 We stared at her. I really think that for a…
Chapter 31 Colonel Melchett and I both stared at her.
Chapter 32 There is little more to be told. Miss Marple’s plan…
Credits
Chapter 1 (#u04b8872f-0303-5345-8ae0-3fef39498551)
It is difficult to know quite where to begin this story, but I have fixed my choice on a certain Wednesday at luncheon at the Vicarage. The conversation, though in the main irrelevant to the matter in hand, yet contained one or two suggestive incidents which influenced later developments.
I had just finished carving some boiled beef (remarkably tough by the way) and on resuming my seat I remarked, in a spirit most unbecoming to my cloth, that anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world at large a service.
My young nephew, Dennis, said instantly:
‘That’ll be remembered against you when the old boy is found bathed in blood. Mary will give evidence, won’t you, Mary? And describe how you brandished the carving knife in a vindictive manner.’
Mary, who is in service at the Vicarage as a stepping-stone to better things and higher wages, merely said in a loud, businesslike voice, ‘Greens’, and thrust a cracked dish at him in a truculent manner.
My wife said in a sympathetic voice: ‘Has he been very trying?’
I did not reply at once, for Mary, setting the greens on the table with a bang, proceeded to thrust a dish of singularly moist and unpleasant dumplings under my nose. I said, ‘No, thank you,’ and she deposited the dish with a clatter on the table and left the room.
‘It is a pity that I am such a shocking housekeeper,’ said my wife, with a tinge of genuine regret in her voice.
I was inclined to agree with her. My wife’s name is Griselda – a highly suitable name for a parson’s wife. But there the suitability ends. She is not in the least meek.
I have always been of the opinion that a clergyman should be unmarried. Why I should have urged Griselda to marry me at the end of twenty-four hours’ acquaintance is a mystery to me. Marriage, I have always held, is a serious affair, to be entered into only after long deliberation and forethought, and suitability of tastes and inclinations is the most important consideration.
Griselda is nearly twenty years younger than myself. She is most distractingly pretty and quite incapable of taking anything seriously. She is incompetent in every way, and extremely trying to live with. She treats the parish as a kind of huge joke arranged for her amusement. I have endeavoured to form her mind and failed. I am more than ever convinced that celibacy is desirable for the clergy. I have frequently hinted as much to Griselda, but she has only laughed.
‘My dear,’ I said, ‘if you would only exercise a little care –’
‘I do sometimes,’ said Griselda. ‘But, on the whole, I think things go worse when I’m trying. I’m evidently not a housekeeper by nature. I find it better to leave things to Mary and just make up my mind to be uncomfortable and have nasty things to eat.’
‘And what about your husband, my dear?’ I said reproachfully, and proceeding to follow the example of the devil in quoting Scripture for his own ends I added: ‘She looketh to the ways of her household…’
‘Think how lucky you are not to be torn to pieces by lions,’ said Griselda, quickly interrupting. ‘Or burnt at the stake. Bad food and lots of dust and dead wasps is really nothing to make a fuss about. Tell me more about Colonel Protheroe. At any rate the early Christians were lucky enough not to have churchwardens.’
‘Pompous old brute,’ said Dennis. ‘No wonder his first wife ran away from him.’
‘I don’t see what else she could do,’ said my wife.
‘Griselda,’ I said sharply. ‘I will not have you speaking in that way.’
‘Darling,’ said my wife affectionately. ‘Tell me about him. What was the trouble? Was it Mr Hawes’s becking and nodding and crossing himself every other minute?’
Hawes is our new curate. He has been with us just over three weeks. He has High Church views and fasts on Fridays. Colonel Protheroe is a great opposer of ritual in any form.
‘Not this time. He did touch on it in passing. No, the whole trouble arose out of Mrs Price Ridley’s wretched pound note.’
Mrs Price Ridley is a devout member of my congregation. Attending early service on the anniversary of her son’s death, she put a pound note in the offertory bag. Later, reading the amount of the collection posted up, she was pained to observe that one ten-shilling note was the highest item mentioned.
She complained to me about it, and I pointed out, very reasonably, that she must have made a mistake.
‘We’re none of us so young as we were,’ I said, trying to turn it off tactfully. ‘And we must pay the penalty of advancing years.’
Strangely enough, my words only seemed to incense her further. She said that things had a very odd look and that she was surprised I didn’t think so also. And she flounced away and, I gather, took her troubles to Colonel Protheroe. Protheroe is the kind of man who enjoys making a fuss on every conceivable occasion. He made a fuss. It is a pity he made it on a Wednesday. I teach in the Church Day School on Wednesday mornings, a proceeding that causes me acute nervousness and leaves me unsettled for the rest of the day.
‘Well, I suppose he must have some fun,’ said my wife, with the air of trying to sum up the position impartially. ‘Nobody flutters round him and calls him “the dear Vicar”, and embroiders awful slippers for him, and gives him bed-socks for Christmas. Both his wife and his daughter are fed up to the teeth with him. I suppose it makes him happy to feel important somewhere.’
‘He needn’t be offensive about it,’ I said with some heat. ‘I don’t think he quite realized the implications of what he was saying. He wants to go over all the Church accounts – in case of defalcations – that was the word he used. Defalcations! Does he suspect me of embezzling the Church funds?’
‘Nobody would suspect you of anything, darling,’ said Griselda. ‘You’re so transparently above suspicion that really it would be a marvellous opportunity. I wish you’d embezzle the S.P.G. funds. I hate missionaries – I always have.’
I would have reproved her for that sentiment, but Mary entered at that moment with a partially cooked rice pudding. I made a mild protest, but Griselda said that the Japanese always ate half-cooked rice and had marvellous brains in consequence.
‘I dare say,’ she said, ‘that if you had a rice pudding like this every day till Sunday, you’d preach the most marvellous sermon.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ I said with a shudder.
‘Protheroe’s coming over tomorrow evening and we’re going over the accounts together,’ I went on. ‘I must finish preparing my talk for the C.E.M.S. today. Looking up a reference, I became so engrossed in Canon Shirley’s Reality that I haven’t got on as well as I should. What are you doing this afternoon, Griselda?’
‘My duty,’ said Griselda. ‘My duty as the Vicaress. Tea and scandal at four-thirty.’
‘Who is coming?’
Griselda ticked them off on her fingers with a glow of virtue on her face.
‘Mrs Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell, and that terrible Miss Marple.’
‘I rather like Miss Marple,’ I said. ‘She has, at least, a sense of humour.’
‘She’s the worst cat in the village,’ said Griselda. ‘And she always knows every single thing that happens – and draws the worst inferences from it.’
Griselda, as I have said, is much younger than I am. At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.
‘Well, don’t expect me in for tea, Griselda,’ said Dennis.
‘Beast!’ said Griselda.
‘Yes, but look here, the Protheroes really did ask me for tennis today.’
‘Beast!’ said Griselda again.
Dennis beat a prudent retreat and Griselda and I went together into my study.
‘I wonder what we shall have for tea,’ said Griselda, seating herself on my writing-table. ‘Dr Stone and Miss Cram, I suppose, and perhaps Mrs Lestrange. By the way, I called on her yesterday, but she was out. Yes, I’m sure we shall have Mrs Lestrange for tea. It’s so mysterious, isn’t it, her arriving like this and taking a house down here, and hardly ever going outside it? Makes one think of detective stories. You know – “Who was she, the mysterious woman with the pale, beautiful face? What was her past history? Nobody knew. There was something faintly sinister about her.” I believe Dr Haydock knows something about her.’
‘You read too many detective stories, Griselda,’ I observed mildly.
‘What about you?’ she retorted. ‘I was looking everywhere for The Stain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon. And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did I find?’
I had the grace to blush.
‘I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and…’
‘I know those chance sentences,’ said Griselda. She quoted impressively, “And then a very curious thing happened – Griselda rose, crossed the room and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.”’ She suited the action to the word.
‘Is that a very curious thing?’ I inquired.
‘Of course it is,’ said Griselda. ‘Do you realize, Len, that I might have married a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, three subalterns and a ne’er-do-weel with attractive manners, and that instead I chose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?’
‘At the time it did,’ I replied. ‘I have often wondered why you did it.’
Griselda laughed.
‘It made me feel so powerful,’ she murmured. ‘The others thought me simply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them to have me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yet you couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you up the wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adore me madly, don’t you?’
‘Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.’
‘Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up in town and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sister was having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got into and you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.’
There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really been strangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:
‘If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.’
Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end, smoothed it down again, said:
‘You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with the artist. I will – really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the parish.’
‘There’s a good deal already,’ I said mildly.
Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.
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Agatha Christie
The first three full-length Miss Marple novels, set before and during the Second World War, see the world's most accomplished amateur sleuth unravelling the dark side of human nature to uncover three cases of Murder Most Foul!The Murder at the VicarageAgatha Christie’s first ever Miss Marple mystery. It was a careless remark for a man of the cloth. And one which was to come back and haunt the clergyman just a few hours later. From seven potential murderers, Miss Marple must seek out the suspect who has both motive and opportunity.The Body in the LibraryIt’s seven in the morning. The Bantrys wake to find the body of a young woman in their library. She is wearing evening dress and heavy make-up, which is now smeared across her cheeks.The Moving FingerLymstock is a town with more than its share of shameful secrets – a town where even a sudden outbreak of anonymous hate-mail causes only a minor stir. But all that changes when one of the recipients, Mrs Symmington, commits suicide. Only Miss Marple questions the coroner’s verdict of suicide. Was this the work of a poison-pen? Or of a poisoner?
Copyright (#ulink_8d866381-445c-5ad3-9fcd-b5e1566f2769)
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Murder At The Vicarage first published in Great Britain by Collins 1930
The Body In The Library first published in Great Britain by Collins 1942
The Moving Finger first published in Great Britain by Collins 1943
Copyright © 1930, 1942, 1943 Agatha Christie Ltd. All rights reserved.
www.agathachristie.com (http://www.agathachristie.com/)
Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007431724
Version: 2017-10-02
Contents
Title Page (#udb47e685-d342-55be-8cdb-b601e4c02418)
Copyright
The Murder at the Vicarage (#ub59afe1c-66d4-529f-a91c-f90db471cc4b)
The Body in the Library (#u2a4c23c1-dffc-5a0e-919c-dc1b2a539f5d)
The Moving Finger (#u22563efa-0394-5410-9561-2d560c070057)
Keep Reading (#uf1728ed3-3b44-583c-b4d1-59d07527294a)
About Agatha Christie
The Agatha Christie Collection
www.agathachristie.com
About the Publisher
The Murder at the Vicarage (#ulink_0a503ba1-6fa7-5d84-8fd7-0b7d51b2e985)
To Rosalind
Contents
Cover (#ub59afe1c-66d4-529f-a91c-f90db471cc4b)
Title Page (#ue31bbb1a-3ee0-5e8b-8bfd-d51508d57f9a)
Chapter 1
It is difficult to know quite where to begin this…
Chapter 2
Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon…
Chapter 3 ‘Nasty old cat,’ said Griselda, as soon as the door…
Chapter 4 I had entirely forgotten that we had asked Lawrence Redding…
Chapter 5 It was nearer seven than half-past six when I…
Chapter 6 We puzzled over the business of the clock for some…
Chapter 7 Colonel Melchett is a dapper little man with a habit…
Chapter 8 We were rather silent on our way down to the…
Chapter 9 After leaving a message at the police station, the Chief…
Chapter 10 His remarks on the subject of Miss Marple as we…
Chapter 11 I saw at a glance that Colonel Melchett and Inspector…
Chapter 12 I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived.
Chapter 13 I hardly thought it likely that Mrs Price Ridley had…
Chapter 14 On my way home, I ran into Miss Hartnell and…
Chapter 15 Hawes’s appearance distressed me very much. His hands were shaking…
Chapter 16 As I went out I ran into Haydock on the…
Chapter 17 Inspector Slack came round to see me the following morning.
Chapter 18 The inquest was held that afternoon (Saturday) at two o’clock…
Chapter 19 ‘Very glad to have met you,’ said Lawrence. ‘Come to…
Chapter 20 When I got back to the Vicarage I found that…
Chapter 21 I cannot say that I have at any time had…
Chapter 22 Inspector Slack’s orders, once I had got him on the…
Chapter 23 On the way back, I proposed to Griselda that we…
Chapter 24 I returned to the Vicarage to find Hawes waiting for…
Chapter 25 I found it hard to shake off the impression left…
Chapter 26 I was in a strange mood when I mounted the…
Chapter 27 Griselda and Dennis had not yet returned. I realized that…
Chapter 28 I hurried down the village street. It was eleven o’clock,…
Chapter 29 I don’t know how long I sat there—only a…
Chapter 30 We stared at her. I really think that for a…
Chapter 31 Colonel Melchett and I both stared at her.
Chapter 32 There is little more to be told. Miss Marple’s plan…
Credits
Chapter 1 (#u04b8872f-0303-5345-8ae0-3fef39498551)
It is difficult to know quite where to begin this story, but I have fixed my choice on a certain Wednesday at luncheon at the Vicarage. The conversation, though in the main irrelevant to the matter in hand, yet contained one or two suggestive incidents which influenced later developments.
I had just finished carving some boiled beef (remarkably tough by the way) and on resuming my seat I remarked, in a spirit most unbecoming to my cloth, that anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world at large a service.
My young nephew, Dennis, said instantly:
‘That’ll be remembered against you when the old boy is found bathed in blood. Mary will give evidence, won’t you, Mary? And describe how you brandished the carving knife in a vindictive manner.’
Mary, who is in service at the Vicarage as a stepping-stone to better things and higher wages, merely said in a loud, businesslike voice, ‘Greens’, and thrust a cracked dish at him in a truculent manner.
My wife said in a sympathetic voice: ‘Has he been very trying?’
I did not reply at once, for Mary, setting the greens on the table with a bang, proceeded to thrust a dish of singularly moist and unpleasant dumplings under my nose. I said, ‘No, thank you,’ and she deposited the dish with a clatter on the table and left the room.
‘It is a pity that I am such a shocking housekeeper,’ said my wife, with a tinge of genuine regret in her voice.
I was inclined to agree with her. My wife’s name is Griselda – a highly suitable name for a parson’s wife. But there the suitability ends. She is not in the least meek.
I have always been of the opinion that a clergyman should be unmarried. Why I should have urged Griselda to marry me at the end of twenty-four hours’ acquaintance is a mystery to me. Marriage, I have always held, is a serious affair, to be entered into only after long deliberation and forethought, and suitability of tastes and inclinations is the most important consideration.
Griselda is nearly twenty years younger than myself. She is most distractingly pretty and quite incapable of taking anything seriously. She is incompetent in every way, and extremely trying to live with. She treats the parish as a kind of huge joke arranged for her amusement. I have endeavoured to form her mind and failed. I am more than ever convinced that celibacy is desirable for the clergy. I have frequently hinted as much to Griselda, but she has only laughed.
‘My dear,’ I said, ‘if you would only exercise a little care –’
‘I do sometimes,’ said Griselda. ‘But, on the whole, I think things go worse when I’m trying. I’m evidently not a housekeeper by nature. I find it better to leave things to Mary and just make up my mind to be uncomfortable and have nasty things to eat.’
‘And what about your husband, my dear?’ I said reproachfully, and proceeding to follow the example of the devil in quoting Scripture for his own ends I added: ‘She looketh to the ways of her household…’
‘Think how lucky you are not to be torn to pieces by lions,’ said Griselda, quickly interrupting. ‘Or burnt at the stake. Bad food and lots of dust and dead wasps is really nothing to make a fuss about. Tell me more about Colonel Protheroe. At any rate the early Christians were lucky enough not to have churchwardens.’
‘Pompous old brute,’ said Dennis. ‘No wonder his first wife ran away from him.’
‘I don’t see what else she could do,’ said my wife.
‘Griselda,’ I said sharply. ‘I will not have you speaking in that way.’
‘Darling,’ said my wife affectionately. ‘Tell me about him. What was the trouble? Was it Mr Hawes’s becking and nodding and crossing himself every other minute?’
Hawes is our new curate. He has been with us just over three weeks. He has High Church views and fasts on Fridays. Colonel Protheroe is a great opposer of ritual in any form.
‘Not this time. He did touch on it in passing. No, the whole trouble arose out of Mrs Price Ridley’s wretched pound note.’
Mrs Price Ridley is a devout member of my congregation. Attending early service on the anniversary of her son’s death, she put a pound note in the offertory bag. Later, reading the amount of the collection posted up, she was pained to observe that one ten-shilling note was the highest item mentioned.
She complained to me about it, and I pointed out, very reasonably, that she must have made a mistake.
‘We’re none of us so young as we were,’ I said, trying to turn it off tactfully. ‘And we must pay the penalty of advancing years.’
Strangely enough, my words only seemed to incense her further. She said that things had a very odd look and that she was surprised I didn’t think so also. And she flounced away and, I gather, took her troubles to Colonel Protheroe. Protheroe is the kind of man who enjoys making a fuss on every conceivable occasion. He made a fuss. It is a pity he made it on a Wednesday. I teach in the Church Day School on Wednesday mornings, a proceeding that causes me acute nervousness and leaves me unsettled for the rest of the day.
‘Well, I suppose he must have some fun,’ said my wife, with the air of trying to sum up the position impartially. ‘Nobody flutters round him and calls him “the dear Vicar”, and embroiders awful slippers for him, and gives him bed-socks for Christmas. Both his wife and his daughter are fed up to the teeth with him. I suppose it makes him happy to feel important somewhere.’
‘He needn’t be offensive about it,’ I said with some heat. ‘I don’t think he quite realized the implications of what he was saying. He wants to go over all the Church accounts – in case of defalcations – that was the word he used. Defalcations! Does he suspect me of embezzling the Church funds?’
‘Nobody would suspect you of anything, darling,’ said Griselda. ‘You’re so transparently above suspicion that really it would be a marvellous opportunity. I wish you’d embezzle the S.P.G. funds. I hate missionaries – I always have.’
I would have reproved her for that sentiment, but Mary entered at that moment with a partially cooked rice pudding. I made a mild protest, but Griselda said that the Japanese always ate half-cooked rice and had marvellous brains in consequence.
‘I dare say,’ she said, ‘that if you had a rice pudding like this every day till Sunday, you’d preach the most marvellous sermon.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ I said with a shudder.
‘Protheroe’s coming over tomorrow evening and we’re going over the accounts together,’ I went on. ‘I must finish preparing my talk for the C.E.M.S. today. Looking up a reference, I became so engrossed in Canon Shirley’s Reality that I haven’t got on as well as I should. What are you doing this afternoon, Griselda?’
‘My duty,’ said Griselda. ‘My duty as the Vicaress. Tea and scandal at four-thirty.’
‘Who is coming?’
Griselda ticked them off on her fingers with a glow of virtue on her face.
‘Mrs Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell, and that terrible Miss Marple.’
‘I rather like Miss Marple,’ I said. ‘She has, at least, a sense of humour.’
‘She’s the worst cat in the village,’ said Griselda. ‘And she always knows every single thing that happens – and draws the worst inferences from it.’
Griselda, as I have said, is much younger than I am. At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.
‘Well, don’t expect me in for tea, Griselda,’ said Dennis.
‘Beast!’ said Griselda.
‘Yes, but look here, the Protheroes really did ask me for tennis today.’
‘Beast!’ said Griselda again.
Dennis beat a prudent retreat and Griselda and I went together into my study.
‘I wonder what we shall have for tea,’ said Griselda, seating herself on my writing-table. ‘Dr Stone and Miss Cram, I suppose, and perhaps Mrs Lestrange. By the way, I called on her yesterday, but she was out. Yes, I’m sure we shall have Mrs Lestrange for tea. It’s so mysterious, isn’t it, her arriving like this and taking a house down here, and hardly ever going outside it? Makes one think of detective stories. You know – “Who was she, the mysterious woman with the pale, beautiful face? What was her past history? Nobody knew. There was something faintly sinister about her.” I believe Dr Haydock knows something about her.’
‘You read too many detective stories, Griselda,’ I observed mildly.
‘What about you?’ she retorted. ‘I was looking everywhere for The Stain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon. And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did I find?’
I had the grace to blush.
‘I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and…’
‘I know those chance sentences,’ said Griselda. She quoted impressively, “And then a very curious thing happened – Griselda rose, crossed the room and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.”’ She suited the action to the word.
‘Is that a very curious thing?’ I inquired.
‘Of course it is,’ said Griselda. ‘Do you realize, Len, that I might have married a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, three subalterns and a ne’er-do-weel with attractive manners, and that instead I chose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?’
‘At the time it did,’ I replied. ‘I have often wondered why you did it.’
Griselda laughed.
‘It made me feel so powerful,’ she murmured. ‘The others thought me simply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them to have me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yet you couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you up the wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adore me madly, don’t you?’
‘Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.’
‘Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up in town and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sister was having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got into and you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.’
There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really been strangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:
‘If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.’
Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end, smoothed it down again, said:
‘You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with the artist. I will – really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the parish.’
‘There’s a good deal already,’ I said mildly.
Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.
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Агата Кристи
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The first three full-length Miss Marple novels, set before and during the Second World War, see the world′s most accomplished amateur sleuth unravelling the dark side of human nature to uncover three cases of Murder Most Foul!The Murder at the VicarageAgatha Christie’s first ever Miss Marple mystery. It was a careless remark for a man of the cloth. And one which was to come back and haunt the clergyman just a few hours later. From seven potential murderers, Miss Marple must seek out the suspect who has both motive and opportunity.The Body in the LibraryIt’s seven in the morning. The Bantrys wake to find the body of a young woman in their library. She is wearing evening dress and heavy make-up, which is now smeared across her cheeks.The Moving FingerLymstock is a town with more than its share of shameful secrets – a town where even a sudden outbreak of anonymous hate-mail causes only a minor stir. But all that changes when one of the recipients, Mrs Symmington, commits suicide. Only Miss Marple questions the coroner’s verdict of suicide. Was this the work of a poison-pen? Or of a poisoner?