Miss Marple and Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  ‘I’m so tired, Terry – and remarkably hungry. I can’t believe I’m only twenty-nine – I feel sixty-nine. I’m not really brave – I only pretend to be. And I’m getting awfully mean ideas. I walked all the way to Ealing yesterday to see Cousin Charlotte Green. I thought if I got there at half past twelve she’d be sure to ask me to stop to lunch. And then when I got to the house, I felt it was too cadging for anything. I just couldn’t. So I walked all the way back. And that’s foolish. You should be a determined cadger or else not even think of it. I don’t think I’m a strong character.’

  Terry groaned again and put a black nose into Joyce’s eye.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely nose still, Terry – all cold like ice cream. Oh, I do love you so! I can’t part from you. I can’t have you “put away”, I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’

  The warm tongue licked eagerly. ‘You understand so, my sweet. You’d do anything to help Missus, wouldn’t you?’

  Terry clambered down and went unsteadily to a corner. He came back holding a battered bowl between his teeth.

  Joyce was midway between tears and laughter.

  ‘Was he doing his only trick? The only thing he could think of to help Missus. Oh, Terry – Terry – nobody shall part us! I’d do anything. Would I, though? One says that – and then when you’re shown the thing, you say, “I didn’t mean anything like that.” Would I do anything?’

  She got down on the floor beside the dog.

  ‘You see, Terry, it’s like this. Nursery governesses can’t have dogs, and companions to elderly ladies can’t have dogs. Only married women can have dogs, Terry – little fluffy expensive dogs that they take shopping with them – and if one preferred an old blind terrier – well, why not?’

  She stopped frowning and at that minute there was a double knock from below.

  ‘The post. I wonder.’

  She jumped up and hurried down the stairs, returning with a letter.

  ‘It might be. If only . . .’

  She tore it open.

  Dear Madam,

  We have inspected the picture and our opinion is that it is not a genuine Cuyp and that its value is practically nil.

  Yours truly,

  Sloane & Ryder

  Joyce stood holding it. When she spoke, her voice had changed.

  ‘That’s that,’ she said. ‘The last hope gone. But we won’t be parted. There’s a way – and it won’t be cadging. Terry darling, I’m going out. I’ll be back soon.’

  Joyce hurried down the stairs to where the telephone stood in a dark corner. There she asked for a certain number. A man’s voice answered her, its tone changing as he realized her identity.

  ‘Joyce, my dear girl. Come out and have some dinner and dance tonight.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Joyce lightly. ‘Nothing fit to wear.’

  And she smiled grimly as she thought of the empty pegs in the flimsy cupboard.

  ‘How would it be if I came along and saw you now? What’s the address? Good Lord, where’s that? Rather come off your high horse, haven’t you?’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Well, you’re frank about it. So long.’

  Arthur Halliday’s car drew up outside the house about three quarters of an hour later. An awestruck Mrs Barnes conducted him upstairs.

  ‘My dear girl – what an awful hole. What on earth has got you into this mess?’

  ‘Pride and a few other unprofitable emotions.’

  lShe spoke lightly enough; her eyes looked at the man opposite her sardonically.

  Many people called Halliday handsome. He was a big man with square shoulders, fair, with small, very pale blue eyes and a heavy chin.

  He sat down on the rickety chair she indicated.

  ‘Well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I should say you’d had your lesson. I say – will that brute bite?’

  ‘No, no, he’s all right. I’ve trained him to be rather a – a watchdog.’

  Halliday was looking her up and down.

  ‘Going to climb down, Joyce,’ he said softly. ‘Is that it?’

  Joyce nodded.

  ‘I told you before, my dear girl. I always get what I want in the end. I knew you’d come in time to see which way your bread was buttered.’

  ‘It’s lucky for me you haven’t changed your mind,’ said Joyce.

  He looked at her suspiciously. With Joyce you never knew quite what she was driving at.

  ‘You’ll marry me?’

  She nodded. ‘As soon as you please.’

  ‘The sooner, the better, in fact.’ He laughed, looking round the room. Joyce flushed.

  ‘By the way, there’s a condition.’

  ‘A condition?’ He looked suspicious again. ‘My dog. He must come with me.’

  ‘This old scarecrow? You can have any kind of a dog you choose. Don’t spare expense.’

  ‘I want Terry.’

  ‘Oh! All right, please yourself.’

  Joyce was staring at him. ‘You do know – don’t you – that I don’t love you? Not in the least.’

  ‘I’m not worrying about that. I’m not thin-skinned. But no hankypanky, my girl. If you marry me, you play fair.’

  The colour flashed into Joyce’s cheeks. ‘You will have your money’s worth,’ she said.

  ‘What about a kiss now?’

  He advanced upon her. She waited, smiling. He took her in his arms, kissing her face, her lips, her neck. She neither stiffened nor drew back. He released her at last.

  ‘I’ll get you a ring,’ he said. ‘What would you like, diamonds or pearls?’

  ‘A ruby,’ said Joyce. ‘The largest ruby possible – the colour of blood.’

  ‘That’s an odd idea.’

  ‘I should like it to be a contrast to the little half hoop of pearls that was all that Michael could afford to give me.’

  ‘Better luck this time, eh?’

  ‘You put things wonderfully, Arthur.’

  Halliday went out chuckling.

  ‘Terry,’ said Joyce. ‘Lick me – lick hard – all over my face and my neck – particularly my neck.’

  And as Terry obeyed, she murmured reflectively:

  ‘Thinking of something else very hard – that’s the only way. You’d never guess what I thought of – jam – jam in a grocer’s shop. I said it over to myself. Strawberry, blackcurrant, raspberry, damson. And perhaps, Terry, he’ll get tired of me fairly soon. I hope so, don’t you? They say men do when they’re married to you. But Michael wouldn’t have tired of me – never – never – never – Oh! Michael . . .’

  Joyce rose the next morning with a heart like lead. She gave a deep sigh and immediately Terry, who slept on her bed, had moved up and was kissing her affectionately.

  ‘Oh, darling – darling! We’ve got to go through with it. But if only something would happen. Terry darling, can’t you help Missus? You would if you could, I know.’

  Mrs Barnes brought up some tea and bread and butter and was heartily congratulatory.

  ‘There now, ma’am, to think of you going to marry that gentleman. It was a Rolls he came in. It was indeed. It quite sobered Barnes up to think of one of them Rolls standing outside our door. Why, I declare that dog’s sitting out on the window sill.’

  ‘He likes the sun,’ said Joyce. ‘But it’s rather dangerous. Terry, come in.’

  ‘I’d have the poor dear put out of his misery if I was you,’ said Mrs Barnes, ‘and get your gentleman to buy you one of them plumy dogs as ladies carry in their muffs.’

  Joyce smiled and called again to Terry. The dog rose awkwardly and just at that moment the noise of a dog fight rose from the street below. Terry craned his neck forward and added some brisk barking. The window sill was old and rotten. It tilted and Terry, too old and stiff to regain his balance, fell.

  With a wild cry, Joyce ran down the stairs and out of the front door. In a few seconds she was kneeling by Terry’s side. He was whining pitifully and his position showed her that he was badly hurt.
She bent over him.

  ‘Terry – Terry darling – darling, darling, darling –’

  Very feebly, he tried to wag his tail.

  ‘Terry boy – Missus will make you better – darling boy –’

  A crowd, mainly composed of small boys, was pushing round.

  ‘Fell from the window, ’e did.’

  ‘My, ’e looks bad.’

  ‘Broke ’is back as likely as not.’

  Joyce paid no heed. ‘Mrs Barnes, where’s the nearest vet?’

  ‘There’s Jobling – round in Mere Street – if you could get him there.’

  ‘A taxi.’

  ‘Allow me.’

  It was the pleasant voice of an elderly man who had just alighted from a taxi. He knelt down by Terry and lifted the upper lip, then passed his hand down the dog’s body.

  ‘I’m afraid he may be bleeding internally,’ he said. ‘There don’t seem to be any bones broken. We’d better get him along to the vet’s.’

  Between them, he and Joyce lifted the dog. Terry gave a yelp of pain. His teeth met in Joyce’s arm.

  ‘Terry – it’s all right – all right, old man.’

  They got him into the taxi and drove off. Joyce wrapped a handkerchief round her arm in an absent-minded way. Terry, distressed, tried to lick it.

  ‘I know, darling; I know. You didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s all right. It’s all right, Terry.’

  She stroked his head. The man opposite watched her but said nothing. They arrived at the vet’s fairly quickly and found him in. He was a red-faced man with an unsympathetic manner.

  He handled Terry none too gently while Joyce stood by, agonized. The tears were running down her face. She kept on talking in a low, reassuring voice.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right . . .’

  The vet straightened himself. ‘Impossible to say exactly. I must make a proper examination. You must leave him here.’

  ‘Oh! I can’t.’

  ‘I’m afraid you must. I must take him below. I’ll telephone you in – say – half an hour.’

  Sick at heart, Joyce gave in. She kissed Terry on his nose. Blind with tears, she stumbled down the steps. The man who had helped her was still there. She had forgotten him.

  ‘The taxi’s still here. I’ll take you back.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d rather walk.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you.’

  He paid off the taxi. She was hardly conscious of him as he walked quietly by her side without speaking. When they arrived at Mrs Barnes’, he spoke.

  ‘Your wrist. You must see to it.’

  She looked down at it.

  ‘Oh! That’s all right.’

  ‘It wants properly washing and tying up. I’ll come in with you.’

  He went with her up the stairs. She let him wash the place and bind it up with a clean handkerchief. She only said one thing.

  ‘Terry didn’t mean to do it. He would never, never mean to do it. He just didn’t realize it was me. He must have been in dreadful pain.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

  ‘And perhaps they’re hurting him dreadfully now?’

  ‘I’m sure that everything that can be done for him is being done. When the vet rings up, you can go and get him and nurse him here.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  The man paused, then moved towards the door.

  ‘I hope it will be all right,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Two or three minutes later it occurred to her that he had been kind and that she had never thanked him.

  Mrs Barnes appeared, cup in hand.

  ‘Now, my poor lamb, a cup of hot tea. You’re all to pieces, I can see that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Barnes, but I don’t want any tea.’

  ‘It would do you good, dearie. Don’t take on so now. The doggie will be all right and even if he isn’t that gentleman of yours will give you a pretty new dog –’

  ‘Don’t, Mrs Barnes. Don’t. Please, if you don’t mind, I’d rather be left alone.’

  ‘Well, I never – there’s the telephone.’

  Joyce sped down to it like an arrow. She lifted the receiver. Mrs Barnes panted down after her. She heard Joyce say, ‘Yes – speaking. What? Oh! Oh! Yes. Yes, thank you.’

  She put back the receiver. The face she turned to Mrs Barnes startled that good woman. It seemed devoid of any life or expression.

  ‘Terry’s dead, Mrs Barnes,’ she said.

  ‘He died alone there without me.’ She went upstairs and, going into her room, shut the door very decisively.

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Mrs Barnes to the hall wallpaper.

  Five minutes later she poked her head into the room. Joyce was sitting bolt upright in a chair. She was not crying.

  ‘It’s your gentleman, miss. Shall I send him up?’

  A sudden light came into Joyce’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, please. I’d like to see him.’

  Halliday came in boisterously. ‘Well, here we are. I haven’t lost much time, have I? I’m prepared to carry you off from this dreadful place here and now. You can’t stay here. Come on, get your things on.’

  ‘There’s no need, Arthur.’

  ‘No need? What do you mean?’

  ‘Terry’s dead. I don’t need to marry you now.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘My dog – Terry. He’s dead. I was only marrying you so that we could be together.’

  Halliday stared at her, his face growing redder and redder. ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘I dare say. People who love dogs are.’

  ‘You seriously tell me that you were only marrying me because – Oh, it’s absurd!’

  ‘Why did you think I was marrying you? You knew I hated you.’

  ‘You were marrying me because I could give you a jolly good time – and so I can.’

  ‘To my mind,’ said Joyce, ‘that is a much more revolting motive than mine. Anyway, it’s off. I’m not marrying you!’

  ‘Do you realize that you are treating me damned badly?’

  She looked at him coolly but with such a blaze in her eyes that he drew back before it.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve heard you talk about getting a kick out of life. That’s what you got out of me – and my dislike of you heightened it. You knew I hated you and you enjoyed it. When I let you kiss me yesterday, you were disappointed because I didn’t flinch or wince. There’s something brutal in you, Arthur, something cruel – something that likes hurting . . . Nobody could treat you as badly as you deserve. And now do you mind getting out of my room? I want it to myself.’

  He spluttered a little.

  ‘Wh – what are you going to do? You’ve no money.’

  ‘That’s my business. Please go.’

  ‘You little devil. You absolutely maddening little devil. You haven’t done with me yet.’

  Joyce laughed.

  The laugh routed him as nothing else had done. It was so unexpected. He went awkwardly down the stairs and drove away.

  Joyce heaved a sigh. She pulled on her shabby black felt hat and in her turn went out. She walked along the streets mechanically, neither thinking nor feeling. Somewhere at the back of her mind there was pain – pain that she would presently feel, but for the moment everything was mercifully dulled.

  She passed the Registry Office and hesitated.

  ‘I must do something. There’s the river, of course. I’ve often thought of that. Just finish everything. But it’s so cold and wet. I don’t think I’m brave enough. I’m not brave really.’

  She turned into the Registry Office.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Lambert. I’m afraid we’ve no daily post.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Joyce. ‘I can take any kind of post now. My friend, whom I lived with, has – gone away.’

  ‘Then you’d consider going abroad?’

  Joyce nodded.

  ‘Yes, as far away as possible.’


  ‘Mr Allaby is here now, as it happens, interviewing candidates. I’ll send you in to him.’

  In another minute Joyce was sitting in a cubicle answering questions. Something about her interlocutor seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not place him. And then suddenly her mind awoke a little, aware that the last question was faintly out of the ordinary.

  ‘Do you get on well with old ladies?’ Mr Allaby was asking.

  Joyce smiled in spite of herself.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You see my aunt, who lives with me, is rather difficult. She is very fond of me and she is a great dear really, but I fancy that a young woman might find her rather difficult sometimes.’

  ‘I think I’m patient and good-tempered,’ said Joyce, ‘and I have always got on with elderly people very well.’

  ‘You would have to do certain things for my aunt and otherwise you would have the charge of my little boy, who is three. His mother died a year ago.’

  ‘I see.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Then if you think you would like the post, we will consider that settled. We travel out next week. I will let you know the exact date, and I expect you would like a small advance of salary to fit yourself out.’

  ‘Thank you very much. That would be very kind of you.’

  They had both risen. Suddenly Mr Allaby said awkwardly: ‘I – hate to butt in – I mean I wish – I would like to know – I mean, is your dog all right?’

  For the first time Joyce looked at him. The colour came into her face, her blue eyes deepened almost to black. She looked straight at him. She had thought him elderly, but he was not so very old. Hair turning grey, a pleasant weatherbeaten face, rather stooping shoulders, eyes that were brown and something of the shy kindliness of a dog’s. He looked a little like a dog, Joyce thought.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘I thought afterwards – I never thanked you.’

  ‘No need. Didn’t expect it. Knew what you were feeling like. What about the poor old chap?’

  The tears came into Joyce’s eyes. They streamed down her cheeks. Nothing on earth could have kept them back.

  ‘He’s dead.’