A Murder Is Announced

‘Hyoup, Cutie-Cutie. Damn’ silly name but that’s what they called her apparently. We must find her another name. Hiyah, Cutie.’

The red setter was sniffing at something lying below the taut string where a row of garments swirled in the wind.

‘Murgatroyd’s not even had the sense to bring the washing in. Whereis she?’

Again the red setter nosed at what seemed to be a pile of clothes, and raised her nose high in the air and howled again.

‘What’s thematter with the dog?’

Miss Hinchcliffe strode across the grass.

And quickly, apprehensively, Miss Marple ran after her. They stood there, side by side, the rain beating down on them, and the older woman’s arm went round the younger one’s shoulders.

She felt the muscles go stiff and taut as Miss Hinchcliffe stood looking down on the thing lying there, with the blue congested face and the protruding tongue.

‘I’ll kill whoever did this,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe in a low quiet voice, ‘if I once get my hands on her…’

Miss Marple said questioningly:

‘Her?’

Miss Hinchcliffe turned a ravaged face towards her.

‘Yes. I know who it is-near enough…That is, it’s one of three possibles.’

She stood for another moment, looking down at her dead friend, and then turned towards the house. Her voice was dry and hard.

‘We must ring up the police,’ she said. ‘And while we’re waiting for them, I’ll tell you. My fault, in a way, that Murgatroyd’s lying out there. I made a game of it…Murder isn’t a game…’

‘No,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Murder isn’t a game.’

‘You know something about it, don’t you?’ said Miss Hinchcliffe as she lifted the receiver and dialled.

She made a brief report and hung up.

‘They’ll be here in a few minutes…Yes, I heard that you’d been mixed up in this sort of business before…I think it was Edmund Swettenham told me so…Do you want to hear what we were doing, Murgatroyd and I?’

Succinctly she described the conversation held before her departure for the station.

‘She called after me, you know, just as I was leaving…That’s how I know it’s a woman and not a man…If I’d waited-if only I’dlistened! God dammit, the dog could have stopped where she was for another quarter of an hour.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, my dear. That does no good. One can’t foresee.’

‘No, one can’t…Something tapped against the window, I remember. Perhapsshe was outside there, then-yes, of course, she must have been…coming to the house…and there were Murgatroyd and I shouting at each other. Top of our voices…She heard…She heard it all…’

‘You haven’t told me yet what your friend said.’

‘Just one sentence! “She wasn’t there.”’

She paused. ‘You see? There were three women we hadn’t eliminated. Mrs Swettenham, Mrs Easterbrook, Julia Simmons. And one of those three-wasn’t there…She wasn’t there in the drawing-room because she had slipped out through the other door and was out in the hall.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Marple, ‘I see.’ 

‘It’sone of those three women. I don’t know which. But I’ll find out!’

‘Excuse me,’ said Miss Marple. ‘But did she-did Miss Murgatroyd, I mean, say it exactly as you said it?’

‘How d’you mean-as I said it?’

‘Oh, dear, how can I explain? You said it like this.She-wasn’t-there. An equal emphasis on every word. You see, there are three ways you could say it. You could say, “Shewasn’t there.” Very personal. Or again, “Shewasn’t there.” Confirming, some suspicion already held. Or else you could say (and this is nearer to the way you said it just now), “She wasn’tthere…” quite blankly-with the emphasis, if there was emphasis-on the “there”.’

‘I don’t know.’ Miss Hinchcliffe shook her head. ‘I can’t remember…How the hell can I remember? I think, yes, surely she’d say ‘Shewasn’t there.” That would be the natural way, I should think. But I simply don’t know. Does it make any difference?’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Marple, thoughtfully. ‘I think so. It’s a veryslight indication, of course, but I think itis an indication. Yes, I should think it makes a lot of difference…’

Chapter 20. Miss Marple Is Missing

The postman, rather to his disgust, had lately been given orders to make an afternoon delivery of letters in Chipping Cleghorn as well as a morning one.

On this particular afternoon he left three letters at Little Paddocks at exactly ten minutes to five.

One was addressed to Phillipa Haymes in a schoolboy’s hand; the other two were for Miss Blacklock. She opened them as she and Phillipa sat down at the tea table. The torrential rain had enabled Phillipa to leave Dayas Hall early today, since once she had shut up the greenhouses there was nothing more to do.

Miss Blacklock tore open her first letter which was a bill for repairing a kitchen boiler. She snorted angrily.

‘Dymond’s prices arepreposterous -quite preposterous. Still, I suppose all the other people are just as bad.’ 

She opened the second letter which was in a handwriting quite unknown to her.

Dear Cousin Letty(it said),