“Two people really one?” Inspector Curry looked desperate.
“Yes. Not for long. How long did your constable take in the park to run to this house and back? Two minutes and forty-five seconds, wasn’t it? This would be less than that. Well under two minutes.”
“What was under two minutes?”
“The conjuring trick. The trick when it wasn’t two people but one person. In there—in the study. We’re only looking at the visible part of the stage. Behind the scenes, there is the terrace and a row of windows. So easy when there are two people in the study to open the study window, get out, run along the terrace (those footsteps Alex heard), in at the side door, shoot Christian Gulbrandsen and run back, and during that time, the other person in the study does both voices so that we’re all quite sure there are two people in there. And so there were most of the time, but not for that little period of under—two minutes.”
Inspector Curry found his breath and his voice.
“Do you mean that it was Edgar Lawson who ran along the terrace and shot Gulbrandsen? Edgar Lawson who poisoned Mrs. Serrocold?”
“But you see, Inspector, no one has been poisoning Mrs. Serrocold at all. That’s where the misdirection comes in. Someone very cleverly used the fact that Mrs. Serrocold’s sufferings from arthritis were not unlike the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. It’s the old conjurer’s trick of forcing a card on you. Quite easy to add arsenic to a bottle of tonic—quite easy to add a few lines to a typewritten letter. But the real reason for Mr. Gulbrandsen’s coming here was the most likely reason—something to do with the Gulbrandsen Trust. Money, in fact. Suppose that there had been embezzlement—embezzlement on a very big scale—you see where that points? To just one person—”
“Lewis Serrocold?”
“Lewis Serrocold….”
Twenty-two
Part of a letter from Gina Hudd to her aunt Mrs. Van Rydock:
—and so you see, darling Aunt Ruth, the whole thing has been just like a nightmare—especially the end of it. I’ve told you all about this funny young man Edgar Lawson. He always was a complete rabbit—and when the Inspector began questioning him and breaking him down, he lost his nerve completely and scuttled like a rabbit. Just lost his nerve and ran—literally ran. Jumped out of the window and round the house and down the drive, and then there was a policeman coming to head him off, and he swerved and ran full tilt for the lake. He leaped into a rotten old punt that’s mouldered there for years and pushed off. Quite a mad, senseless thing to do, of course, but as I say he was just a panic-stricken rabbit. And then Lewis gave a great shout and said, “That punt’s rotten” and raced off to the lake, too. The punt went down and there was Edgar struggling in the water. He couldn’t swim. Lewis jumped in and swam out to him. He got to him, but they were both in difficulty because they’d got among the reeds. One of the Inspector’s men went in with a rope round him, but he got entangled, too, and they had to pull him in. Aunt Mildred said “They’ll drown—they’ll drown—they’ll both drown …” in a silly sort of way, and Grandam just said “Yes.” I can’t describe to you just how she made that one word sound. Just “yes” and it went through you like—like a sword.
Am I being just silly and melodramatic? I suppose I am. But it did sound like that….
And then—when it was all over, and they’d got them out and tried artificial respiration (but it was no good), the Inspector came to us and said to Grandam:
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Serrocold, there’s no hope.”
Grandam said very quietly:
“Thank you, Inspector.”
Then she looked at us all. Me, longing to help but not knowing how, and Jolly, looking grim and tender and ready to minister as usual, and Stephen, stretching out his hands, and funny old Miss Marple looking so sad, and tired, and even Wally looking upset. All so fond of her and wanting to do something.
But Grandam just said, “Mildred.” And Aunt Mildred said, “Mother.” And they went away together into the house, Grandam looking so small and frail and leaning on Aunt Mildred. I never realised, until then, how fond of each other they were. It didn’t show much, you know.
Gina paused and sucked the end of her fountain pen. She resumed:
About me and Wally—we’re coming back to the States as soon as we can….
Twenty-three
“What made you guess, Jane?”
Miss Marple took her time about replying. She looked thoughtfully at the other two—Carrie Louise thinner and frailer and yet curiously untouched—and the old man with the sweet smile and the thick white hair. Dr. Galbraith, Bishop of Cromer.
The Bishop took Carrie Louise’s hand in his.
“This has been a great sorrow to you, my poor child, and a great shock.”
“A sorrow, yes, but not really a shock.”
“No,” said Miss Marple. “That’s what I discovered, you know. Everyone kept saying how Carrie Louise lived in another world from this and was out of touch with reality. But actually, Carrie Louise, it was reality you were in touch with, and not the illusion. You are never deceived by illusion like most of us are. When I suddenly realised that, I saw that I must go by what you thought and felt. You were quite sure that no one would try to poison you, you couldn’t believe it—and you were quite right not to believe it, because it wasn’t so! You never believed that Edgar would harm Lewis—and again you were right. He never would have harmed Lewis. You were sure that Gina did not love anyone but her husband—and that, again, was quite true.
“So therefore, if I was to go by you, all the things that seemed to be true were only illusions. Illusions created for a definite purpose—in the same ways that conjurers create illusions, to deceive an audience. We were the audience.
“Alex Restarick got an inkling of the truth first because he had the chance of seeing things from a different angle—from the outside angle. He was with the Inspector in the drive, and he looked at the house and realised the possibilities of the windows—and he remembered the sound of running feet he had heard that night, and then, the timing of the constable showed him what a very short time things take to what we should imagine they would take. The constable panted a lot, and later, thinking of a puffing constable, I remembered that Lewis Serrocold was out of breath that night when he opened the study door. He’d just been running hard, you see….
“But it was Edgar Lawson that was the pivot of it all to me. There was always something wrong to me about Edgar Lawson. All the things he said and did were exactly right for what he was supposed to be, but he himself wasn’t right. Because he was actually a normal young man playing the part of a schizophrenic—and he was always, as it were, a little larger than life. He was always theatrical.
“It must have all been very carefully planned and thought out. Lewis must have realised on the occasion of Christian’s last visit that something had aroused his suspicions. And he knew Christian well enough to know that if he suspected he would not rest until he had satisfied himself that his suspicions were either justified or unfounded.”
Carrie Louise stirred.
“Yes,” she said. “Christian was like that. Slow and painstaking, but actually very shrewd. I don’t know what it was aroused his suspicions but he started investigating—and he found out the truth.”
The Bishop said: “I blame myself for not having been a more conscientious trustee.”
“It was never expected of you to understand finance,” said Carrie Louise. “That was originally Mr. Gilroy’s province. Then, when he died, Lewis’ great experience put him in what amounted to complete control. And that, of course, was what went to his head.”
The pink colour came up in her cheeks.
“Lewis was a great man,” she said. “A man of great vision, and a passionate believer in what could be accomplished—with money. He didn’t want it for himself—or, at least, not in the greedy vulgar sense—he did want the power of it—he wanted the power to do great good with it—”
“He wanted,” sai
d the Bishop, “to be God.” His voice was suddenly stern. “He forgot that man is only the humble instrument of God’s will.”
“And so he embezzled the Trust funds?” said Miss Marple.
Dr. Galbraith hesitated.
“It wasn’t only that….”
“Tell her,” said Carrie Louise. “She is my oldest friend.”
The Bishop said:
“Lewis Serrocold was what one might call a financial wizard. In his years of highly technical accountancy, he had amused himself by working out various methods of swindling which were practically foolproof. This had been merely an academic study, but when he once began to envisage the possibilities that a vast sum of money could encompass, he put these methods into practice. You see, he had at his disposal some first class material. Amongst the boys who passed through here, he chose out a small select band. They were boys whose bent was naturally criminal, who loved excitement, and who had a very high order of intelligence. We’ve not got nearly to the bottom of it all, but it seems clear that this esoteric circle was secret and specially trained and by and by were placed in key positions, where, by carrying out Lewis’ directions, books were falsified in such a way that large sums of money were converted without any suspicion being aroused. I gather that the operations and the ramifications are so complicated that it will be months before the auditors can unravel it all. But the net result seems to be that under various names and banking accounts and companies, Lewis Serrocold would have been able to dispose of a colossal sum with which he intended to establish an overseas colony for a cooperative experiment in which juvenile delinquents should eventually own this territory and administer it. It may have been a fantastic dream—”
“It was a dream that might have come true,” said Carrie Louise.
“Yes, it might have come true. But the means Lewis Serrocold adopted were dishonest means, and Christian Gulbrandsen discovered that. He was very upset, particularly by the realisation of what the discovery and the probable prosecution of Lewis would mean to you, Carrie Louise.”
“That’s why he asked me if my heart was strong, and seemed so worried about my health,” said Carrie Louise. “I couldn’t understand it.”
“Then Lewis Serrocold arrived back from the North, and Christian met him outside the house and told him that he knew what was going on. Lewis took it calmly, I think. Both men agreed they must do all they could to spare you. Christian said he would write to me and ask me to come here, as a co-trustee, to discuss the position.”
“But of course,” said Miss Marple. “Lewis Serrocold had already prepared for this emergency. It was all planned. He had brought the young man who was to play the part of Edgar Lawson to the house. There was a real Edgar Lawson—of course—in case the police looked up his record. This false Edgar knew exactly what he had to do—act the part of a schizophrenic victim of persecution—and give Lewis Serrocold an alibi for a few vital minutes.
“The next step had been thought out too. Lewis’ story that you, Carrie Louise, were being slowly poisoned—when one actually came to think of it there was only Lewis’ story of what Christian had told him—that, and a few lines added on the typewriter whilst he was waiting for the police. It was easy to add arsenic to the tonic. No danger for you there—since he was on the spot to prevent you drinking it. The chocolates were just an added touch—and of course the original chocolates weren’t poisoned—only those he substituted before turning them over to Inspector Curry.”
“And Alex guessed,” said Carrie Louise.
“Yes—that’s why he collected your nail parings. They would show if arsenic actually had been administered over a long period.”
“Poor Alex—poor Ernie.”
There was a moment’s silence as the other two thought of Christian Gulbrandsen, of Alexis Restarick, and of the boy Ernie—and of how quickly the act of murder could distort and deform.
“But surely,” said the Bishop, “Lewis was taking a big risk in persuading Edgar to be his accomplice—even if he had some hold over him—”
Carrie shook her head.
“It wasn’t exactly a hold over him. Edgar was devoted to Lewis.”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “Like Leonard Wylie and his father. I wonder perhaps if—”
She paused delicately.
“You saw the likeness, I suppose?” said Carrie Louise.
“So you knew that all along?”
“I guessed. I knew Lewis had once had a short infatuation for an actress, before he met me. He told me about it. It wasn’t serious, she was a golddigging type of woman and she didn’t care for him, but I’ve no doubt at all that Edgar was actually Lewis’ son….”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “That explains everything….”
“And he gave his life for him in the end,” said Carrie Louise. She looked pleadingly at the Bishop. “He did, you know.”
There was a silence, and then Carrie Louise said:
“I’m glad it ended that way … with his life given in the hope of saving the boy … people who can be very good can be very bad, too. I always knew that was true about Lewis … But—he loved me very much—and I loved him.”
“Did you—ever suspect him?” asked Miss Marple.
“No,” said Carrie Louise. “Because I was puzzled by the poisoning. I knew Lewis would never poison me, and yet that letter of Christian’s said definitely that someone was poisoning me—so I thought that everything I thought I knew about people must be wrong….”
Miss Marple said, “But when Alex and Ernie were found killed. You suspected then?”
“Yes,” said Carrie Louise. “Because I didn’t think anyone else but Lewis would have dared. And I began to be afraid of what he might do next….”
She shivered slightly.
“I admired Lewis. I admired his—what shall I call it—his goodness? But I do see that if you’re—good, you have to be humble as well.”
Dr. Galbraith said gently:
“That, Carrie Louise, is what I have always admired in you—your humility.”
The lovely blue eyes opened wide in surprise.
“But I’m not clever—and not particularly good. I can only admire goodness in other people.”
“Dear Carrie Louise,” said Miss Marple.
Epilogue
“I think Grandam will be quite all right with Aunt Mildred,” said Gina. “Aunt Mildred seems much nicer now—not so peculiar, if you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” said Miss Marple.
“So Wally and I will go back to the States in a fortnight’s time.”
Gina cast a look sideways at her husband.
“I shall forget all about Stonygates and Italy and all my girlish past and become a hundred percent American. Our son will be always addressed as Junior. I can’t say fairer than that, can I, Wally?”
“You certainly cannot, Kate,” said Miss Marple.
Wally, smiling indulgently at an old lady who got names wrong, corrected her gently:
“Gina, not Kate.”
But Gina laughed.
“She knows what she’s saying! You see—she’ll call you Petruchio in a moment!”
“I just think,” said Miss Marple to Walter, “that you have acted very wisely, my dear boy.”
“She thinks you’re just the right husband for me,” said Gina.
Miss Marple looked from one to the other. It was very nice, she thought, to see two young people so much in love, and Walter Hudd was completely transformed from the sulky young man she had first encountered, into a good-humoured smiling giant….
“You two remind me,” she said, “of—”
Gina rushed forward and placed a hand firmly over Miss Marple’s mouth.
“No, darling,” she exclaimed. “Don’t say it. I’m suspicious of these village parallels. They’ve always got a sting in the tail. You really are a wicked old woman, you know.”
Her eyes went misty.
“When I think of you, and Aunt Ruth and
Grandam all being young together … how I wonder what you were all like! I can’t imagine it somehow….”
“I don’t suppose you can,” said Miss Marple. “It was all a long time ago….”
Credits
Cover illustration and design by Sara Wood
A Pocket Full of Rye
A Miss Marple Mystery
Agatha Christie
Dedication
For Bruce Ingram who liked and published my first short stories
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Complete Miss Marple Collection Page 99
