The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side mm-8

by Agatha Christie

  Then as he took an unconscious step towards her she shook her head vehemently.

  'Relax, Inspector,' she said. 'I'm only teasing you. Somebody's out for Marina 's blood, but who it is I've no idea. Really. I've no idea at all.'

  Chapter 16

  I

  At No. 16 Aubrey Close, young Mrs Baker was talking to her husband. Jim Baker, a big good-looking blond giant of a man, was intent on assembling a model construction unit.

  'Neighbours!' said Cherry. She gave a toss of her black curly head. 'Neighbours!' she said with venom.

  She carefully lifted the frying pan from the stove, then neatly shot its contents on to two plates, one rather fuller than the other. She placed the fuller one before her husband.

  'Mixed grill,' she announced.

  Jim looked up and sniffed appreciatively.

  'That's something like,' he said. 'What is today? My birthday?'

  'You have to be well nourished,' said Cherry.

  She was looking very pretty in a cerise and white striped apron with little frills on it. Jim Baker shifted the component parts of a strato-cruiser to make room for his meal. He grinned at his wife and asked:

  'Who says so?'

  'My Miss Marple for one!' said Cherry. 'And if it comes to that,' she added, sitting down opposite Jim and pulling her plate towards her, 'I should say she could do with a bit more solid nourishment herself. That old cat of a White Knight of hers, gives her nothing but carbohydrates. It's all she can think of! A "nice custard," a "nice bread and butter pudding," a "nice macaroni cheese." Squashy puddings with pink sauce. And gas, gas, gas, all day. Talks her head off she does.'

  'Oh well,' said Jim vaguely, 'it's invalid diet, I suppose.'

  'Invalid diet!' said Cherry and snorted. 'Miss Marple isn't an invalid – she's just old. Always interfering, too.'

  'Who, Miss Marple?'

  'No. That Miss Knight. Telling me how to do things! She even tries to tell me how to cook! I know a lot more about cooking than she does.'

  'You're top for cooking, Cherry,' said Jim appreciatively.

  'There's something to cooking,' said Cherry, 'something you can get your teeth into.'

  Jim laughed. 'I'm getting my teeth into this all right. Why did your Miss Marple say that I needed nourishing? Did she think I looked run-down, the other day when I came in to fit the bathroom shelf?'

  Cherry laughed. 'I'll tell you what she said to me. She said, "You've got a handsome husband, my dear. A very handsome husband." Sounds like one of those period books they read aloud on the telly.'

  'I hope you agreed with her?' said Jim with a grin.

  'I said you were all right.'

  'All right indeed! That's a nice lukewarm way of talking.'

  'And then she said "You must take care of your husband, my dear. Be sure you feed him properly. Men need plenty of good meat meals, well cooked."'

  'Hear, hear!'

  'And she told me to be sure and prepare fresh food for you and not to buy ready-made pies and things and slip them in the oven to warm up. Not that I do that often,' added Cherry virtuously.

  'You can't do it too seldom for me,' said Jim. 'They don't taste a bit the same.'

  'So long as you notice what you eat,' said Cherry, 'and aren't so taken up with those strato-cruisers and things you're always building. And don't tell me you bought that set as a Christmas present for your nephew Michael. You bought it so that you could play will it yourself.'

  'He's not quite old enough for it yet,' said Jim apologetically.

  'And I suppose you're going on dithering about with it all the evening. What about some music? Did you get that new record you were talking about?'

  'Yes, I did. Tchaikovsky 1812.'

  'That's the loud one with the battle, isn't it?' said Cherry. She made a face. 'Our Mrs Hartwell won't half like that! Neighbours! I'm fed up with neighbours. Always grousing and complaining. I don't know which is the worst. The Hartwells or the Barnabys. The Hartwells start rapping on the wall as early as twenty to eleven sometimes. It's a bit thick! After all even the telly and the B.B.C. go on later than that. Why shouldn't we have a bit of music if we like? And always asking us to turn it down low.'

  'You can't turn these things down low,' said Jim with authority. 'You don't get the tone unless you've got the volume. Everyone knows that. It's absolutely recognized in musical circles. And what about their cat – always coming over into our garden, digging up the beds, just when I've got it nice.'

  'I tell you what, Jim. I'm fed up with this place.'

  'You didn't mind your neighbours up in Huddersfield,' remarked Jim.

  'It wasn't the same there,' said Cherry. 'I mean, you're all independent there. If you're in trouble, somebody'd give you a hand and you'd give a hand to them. But you don't interfere. There's something about a new estate like this that makes people look sideways at their neighbours. Because we're all new I suppose. The amount of back-biting and tale-telling and writing to the council and one thing and another round here beats me! People in real towns are too busy for it.'

  'You may have something there, my girl.'

  'D'you like it here, Jim?'

  'The job's all right. And after all, this is a brand new house. I wish there was a bit more room in it so that I could spread myself a bit more. It would be fine if I could have a workshop.'

  'I thought it was lovely at first,' said Cherry, 'but now I'm not so sure. The house is all right and I love the blue paint and the bathroom's nice, but I don't like the people and the feeling round here. Did I tell you that Lily Price and that Harry of hers have broken off? It was a funny business that day in that house they went to look over. You know when she more or less fell out of the window. She said Harry just stood there like a stuck pig.'

  'I'm glad she's broken off with him. He's a no-good if I ever saw one,' said Jim.

  'No good marrying a chap just because a baby's on the way,' said Cherry. 'He didn't want to marry her, you know. He's not a very nice fellow. Miss Marple said he wasn't,' she added thoughtfully. 'She spoke to Lily about him. Lily thought she was crackers.'

  'Miss Marple? I didn't know she'd ever seen him?'

  'Oh yes, she was round here walking the day she fell down and Mrs Badcock picked her up and took her into her house. Do you think Arthur and Mrs Bain will make a match of it?'

  Jim frowned as he picked up a bit of strato-cruiser and consulted the instructional diagram.

  'I do wish you'd listen when I'm talking,' said Cherry.

  'What did you say?'

  'Arthur Badcock and Mary Bain.'

  'For the Lord's sake, Cherry, his wife's only just dead! You women! I've heard he's in a terrible state of nerves still – jumps if you speak to him.'

  'I wonder why… I shouldn't have thought he'd take it that way, would you?'

  'Can you clear off this end of the table a bit?' said Jim, relinquishing even a passing interest in the affairs of his neighbours. 'Just so that I can spread some of these pieces out a bit.'

  Cherry heaved an exasperated sigh.

  'To get any attention round here, you have to be a super jet, or a turbo prop,' she said bitterly. 'You and your construction models!'

  She piled the tray with the remains of supper and carried it over to the sink. She decided not to wash up, a necessity of dally life she always put off as long as possible. Instead, she piled everything into the sink, haphazard, slipped on a corduroy jacket and went out of the house, pausing to call over her shoulder:

  'I'm just going to slip along to see Gladys Dixon. I want to borrow one of her Vogue patterns.'

  'All right, old girl.' Jim bent over his model.

  Casting a venomous look at her next-door neighbour's front door as she passed, Cherry went round the corner into Blenheim Close and stopped at No. 16. The door was open and Cherry tapped on it and went into the hall calling out:

  'Is Gladdy about?'

  'Is that you, Cherry?' Mrs Dixon looked out of the kitchen. 'She's upstairs in her room,
dressmaking.'

  'Right. I'll go up.'

  Cherry went upstairs to a small bedroom in which Gladys, a plump girl with a plain face, was kneeling on the floor, her cheeks flushed, and several pins in her mouth, tacking up a paper pattern.

  'Hallo, Cherry. Look, I got a lovely bit of stuff at Harper's sale at Much Benham. I'm going to do that cross-over pattern with frills again, the one I did in Terylene before.'

  'That'll be nice,' said Cherry.

  Gladys rose to her feet, panting a little.

  'Got indigestion now,' she said.

  'You oughtn't to do dressmaking right after supper,' said Cherry, 'bending over like that.'

  'I suppose I ought to slim a bit,' said Gladys. She sat down on the bed.

  'Any news from the studios?' asked Cherry, always avid for film news.

  'Nothing much. There's a lot of talk still. Marina Gregg came back on the set yesterday – and she created something frightful.'

  'What about?'

  'She didn't like the taste of her coffee. You know, they have coffee in the middle of the morning. She took one sip and said there was something wrong with it. Which was nonsense, of course. There couldn't have been. It comes in a jug straight from the canteen. Of course I always put hers in a special china cup, rather posh – different from the others – but it's the same coffee. So there couldn't have been anything wrong with it, could there?'

  'Nerves, I suppose,' said Cherry. 'What happened?'

  'Oh, nothing. Mr Rudd just calmed everyone down. He's wonderful that way. He took the coffee from her and poured it down the sink.'

  'That seems to be rather stupid,' said Cherry slowly.

  'Why – what do you mean?'

  'Well, if there was anything wrong with it – now nobody will ever know.'

  'Do you think there really might have been?' asked Gladys looking alarmed.

  'Well -' Cherry shrugged her shoulders, '- there was something wrong with her cocktail the day of the fête, wasn't there, so why not the coffee? If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.'

  Gladys shivered.

  'I don't half like it, Cherry,' she said. 'Somebody's got it in for her all right. She's had more letters, you know, threatening her – and there was that bust business the other day.'

  'What bust business?'

  'A marble bust. On the set. It's a corner of a room in some Austrian palace or other. Funny name like Shotbrown. Pictures and china and marble busts. This one was up on a bracket – suppose it hadn't been pushed back enough. Anyway, a heavy lorry went past out in the road and jarred it off – right on to the chair where Marina sits for her big scene with Count Somebody-or-other. Smashed to smithereens! Lucky they weren't shooting at the time. Mr Rudd, he said not to say a word to her, and he put another chair there, and when she came yesterday and asked why the chair had been changed, he said the other chair was the wrong period, and this gave a better angle for the camera. But he didn't half like it – I can tell you that.'

  The two girls looked at each other.

  'It's exciting in a way,' said Cherry slowly. 'And yet – it isn't…'

  'I think I'm going to give up working in the canteen at the studios,' said Gladys.

  'Why? Nobody wants to poison you or drop marble busts on your head!'

  'No. But it's not always the person who's meant to get done in who gets done in. It may be someone else. Like Heather Badcock that day.'

  'True enough,' said Cherry.

  'You know,' said Gladys, 'I've been thinking. I was at the Hall that day, helping. I was quite close to them at the time.'

  'When Heather died?'

  'No, when she spilt the cocktail. All down her dress. A lovely dress it was, too, royal blue nylon taffeta. She'd got it quite new for the occasion. And it was funny.'

  'What was funny?'

  'I didn't think anything of it at the time. But it does seem funny when I think it over.'

  Cherry looked at her expectantly. She accepted the adjective 'funny' in the sense that it was meant. It was not intended humorously.

  'For goodness' sake, what was funny?' she demanded.

  'I'm almost sure she did it on purpose.'

  'Spilt the cocktail on purpose?'

  'Yes. And I do think that was funny, don't you?'

  'On a brand new dress? I don't believe it.'

  'I wonder now,' said Gladys, 'what Arthur Badcock will do with all Heather's clothes. That dress would clean all right. Or I could take out half a breadth, it's a lovely full skirt. Do you think Arthur Badcock would think it very awful of me if I wanted to buy it off him? It would need hardly any alteration – and it's lovely stuff.'

  'You wouldn't' – Cherry hesitated – 'mind?'

  'Mind what?'

  'Well – having a dress that a woman had died in – I mean died that way…'

  Gladys stared at her.

  'I hadn't thought of that,' she admitted. She considered for a moment or two. Then she cheered up.

  'I can't see that it really matters,' she said. 'After all, every time you buy something second-hand, somebody's usually worn it who has died, haven't they?'

  'Yes. But it's not quite the same.'

  'I think you're being fanciful,' said Gladys. 'It's a lovely bright shade of blue, and really expensive stuff. About that funny business,' she continued thoughtfully, 'I think I'll go up to the hall tomorrow morning on my way to work and have a word with Mr Giuseppe about it.'

  'Is he the Italian butler?'

  'Yes. He's awfully handsome. Flashing eyes. He's got a terrible temper. When we go and help there, he chivvies us girls something terrible.' She giggled. 'But none of us really mind. He can be awfully nice sometimes… Anyway, I might just tell him about it, and ask him what I ought to do.'

  'I don't see that you've got anything to tell,' said Cherry.

  'Well, it was funny,' said Gladys, defiantly clinging to her favourite adjective.

  'I think,' said Cherry, 'that you just want an excuse to go and talk to Mr Giuseppe – and you'd better be careful, my girl. You know what these wops are like! Affiliation orders all over the place. Hot-blooded and passionate, that's what these Italians are.'

  Gladys sighed ecstatically.

  Cherry looked at her friend's fat slightly spotted face and decided that her warnings were unnecessary. Mr Giuseppe, she thought, would have better fish to fry elsewhere.

  II

  'Aha!' said Dr Haydock, 'unravelling, I see.'

  He looked from Miss Marple to a pile of fluffy white fleecy wool.

  'You advised me to try unravelling if I couldn't knit,' said Miss Marple.

  'You seem to have been very thorough about it.'

  'I made a mistake in the pattern right at the beginning. That made the whole thing go out of proportion, so I've had to unravel it all. It's a very elaborate pattern, you see.'

  'What are elaborate patterns to you? Nothing at all.'

  'I ought really, I suppose, with my bad eyesight, to stick to plain knitting.'

  'You'd find that very boring. Well, I'm flattered that you took my advice.'

  'Don't I always take your advice, Doctor Haydock?'

  'You do when it suits you,' said Dr Haydock.

  'Tell me, Doctor, was it really knitting you had in mind when you gave me that advice?'

  He met the twinkle in her eyes and twinkled back at her.

  'How are you getting on with unravelling the murder?' he asked.

  'I'm afraid my faculties aren't quite what they were,' said Miss Marple, shaking her head with a sigh.

  'Nonsense,' said Dr Haydock. 'Don't tell me you haven't formed some conclusions.'

  'Of course I have formed conclusions. Very definite ones.'

  'Such as?' asked Haydock inquiringly.

  'If the cocktail glass was tampered with that day – and I don't see quite how that could have been done -'

  'Might have had the stuff ready in an eyedropper,' suggested Haydock.

  'You are so professional,' said Mis
s Marple admiringly. 'But even then it seems to me so very peculiar that nobody saw it happen.'

  'Murder should not only be done, but be seen done! Is that it?'

  'You know exactly what I mean,' said Miss Marple.

  'That was a chance the murderer had to take,' said Haydock.

  'Oh quite so. I'm not disputing that for a moment. But there were, I have found by inquiry and adding up the persons, at least eighteen to twenty people on the spot. It seems to me that amongst twenty people somebody must have seen that action occur.'

  Haydock nodded. 'One would think so, certainly. But obviously no one did.'

  'I wonder,' said Miss Marple thoughtfully.

  'What have you got in mind exactly?'

  'Well, there are three possibilities. I'm assuming that at least one person would have seen something. One out of twenty. I think it's only reasonable to assume that.'

  'I think you're begging the question,' said Haydock, 'and I can see looming ahead one of those terrible exercises in probability where six men have white hats and six men have black and you have to work it out by mathematics how likely it is that the hats will get mixed up and in what proportion. If you start thinking about things like that you would go round the bend. Let me assure you of that!'

  'I wasn't thinking of anything like that,' said Miss Marple. 'I was just thinking of what is likely -'

  'Yes,' said Haydock thoughtfully, 'you're very good at that. You always have been.'

  'It is likely, you know,' said Miss Marple, 'that out of twenty people one at least should be an observant one.'

  'I give in,' said Haydock. 'Let's have the three possibilities.'

  'I'm afraid I'll have to put them in rather sketchily,' said Miss Marple. 'I haven't quite thought it out. Inspector Craddock, and probably Frank Cornish before him, will have questioned everybody who was there so the natural thing would be that whoever saw anything of the kind would have said so at once.'

  'Is that one of the possibilities?'