They Do It With Mirrors mm-6

by Agatha Christie

  'Don't you?'

  'Not to Christian,' said Carrie Louise simply. 'It matters, of course, to whoever murdered him.'

  'Have you any idea who murdered him?' Mrs Serrocold shook her head in a bewildered fashion.

  'No, I've absolutely no idea. I can't even think of a reason. It must have been something to do with his being here before - just over a month ago. Because otherwise I don't think he would have come here suddenly again for no particular reason. Whatever it was must have started off then. I've thought and I've thought, but I can't remember anything unusual.'

  'Oh! The same people who are here now - yes, Alex was down from London about then. And - oh yes, Ruth was here.'

  'Ruth?'

  'Her usual flying visit.'

  'Ruth,' said Miss Marple again. Her mind was active.

  Christian Gulbrandsen and Ruth? Ruth had come away worried and apprehensive, but had not known why.

  Something was wrong was all that Ruth could say.

  Christian Gulbrandsen had known or suspected some-thing that Ruth did not. He had known or suspected that someone was trying to poison Carrie Louise. How had Christian Gulbrandsen come to entertain those suspicions?

  What had he seen or heard? Was it something that Ruth also had seen or heard but which she had failed to appreciate at its rightful significance? Miss Marple wished that she knew what it could possibly have been.

  Her own vague hunch that it (whatever it was) had to do with Edgar Lawson seemed unlikely since Ruth had not mentioned him.

  She sighed.

  'You're all keeping something from me, aren't you?' asked Carrie Louise.

  Miss Marple jumped a little as the quiet voice spoke.

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Because you are. Not Jolly. But everyone else. Even Lewis. He came in while I was having my breakfast, and he acted very oddly. He drank some of my coffee and even had a bit of toast and marmalade. That's so unlike him, because he always has tea and he doesn't like marmalade, so he must have been thinking of something else - and I suppose he must have forgotten to have his own breakfast. He does forget things like meals, and he looked so concerned and preoccupied.'

  'Murder -' began Miss Marple.

  Carrie Louise said quickly: 'Oh I know. It's a terrible thing. I've never been mixed up in it before. You have, haven't you, Jane?'

  'Well - yes - actually I have,' Miss Marple admitted.

  'So Ruth told me.'

  'Did she tell you that last time she was down here?' asked Miss Marple curiously.

  'No, I don't think it was then. I can't really remember.' Carrie Louise spoke vaguely, almost absentmindedly.

  'What are you thinking about, Carrie Louise?' Mrs Serrocold smiled and seemed to come back from a long way away.

  'I was thinking of Gina,' she said. 'And of what you said about Stephen Restarick. Gina's a dear girl, you know, and she does really love Wally. I'm sure she does.' Miss Marple said nothing.

  'Girls like Gina like to kick up their heels a bit.' Mrs Serrocold spoke in an almost pleading voice. 'They're young and they like to feel their power. It's natural, really. I know Wally Hudd isn't the sort of man we imagined Gina marrying. Normally she'd never have met him. But she did meet him, and fell in love with him - and presumably she knows her own business best.'

  'Probably she does,' said Miss Marple.

  'But it's so very important that Gina should be happy.' Miss Marple looked curiously at her friend.

  'It's important, I suppose, that everyone should be happy.'

  'Oh yes. But Gina's a very special case. When we took her mother - when we took Pippa - we felt that it was an experiment that had simply got to succeed. You see, Pippa's mother -' Carrie Louise paused.

  Miss Marple said: 'Who was Pippa's mother?'

  Carrie Louise said: 'Eric and I agreed that we should never tell anybody that. She never knew herself.'

  'I'd like to know,' said Miss Marple.

  Mrs Serrocold looked at her doubtfully.

  'It isn't just curiosity,' said Miss Marple. 'I really well - need to know. I can hold my tongue, you know.'

  'You could always keep a secret, Jane,' said Carrie Louise with a reminiscent smile. 'Dr Galbraith - he's the Bishop of Cromer now - he knows. But no one else.

  Pippa's mother was Katherine Elsworth.'

  'Elsworth? Wasn't that the woman who administered arsenic to her husband? Rather a celebrated case.'

  'Yes.'

  'She was hanged?'

  'Yes. But you know it's not at all sure that she did it.

  The husband was an arsenic eater - they didn't understand so much about those things then.'

  'She soaked flypapers.'

  'The maid's evidence, we always thought, was definitely malicious.'

  'And Pippa was her daughter?'

  'Yes. Eric and I determined to give the child a fresh start in life - with love and care and all the things a child needs. We succeeded. Pippa was - herself. The sweetest, happiest creature imaginable.' Miss Marple was silent a long time.

  Carrie Louise turned away from the dressing table.

  'I'm ready now. Perhaps you'll ask the Inspector or whatever he is to come up to my sitting-room. He won't mind, I'm sure.'

  Inspector Curry did not mind. In fact he rather welcomed the chance of seeing Mrs Serrocold on her own territory.

  As he stood there waiting for her, he looked round him curiously. It was not his idea of what he termed to himself 'a rich woman's boudoir.' It had an old-fashioned couch and some rather uncomfortable looking Victorian chairs with twisted woodwork backs. The chintzes were old and faded but of an attractive pattern displaying the Crystal Palace. It was one of the smaller rooms, though even then it was larger than the drawing-room of most modem houses. But it had a cosy rather crowded appearance with its little tables, its bric-á-brac, and its photographs. Curry looked at an old snapshot of two little girls, one dark and lively, the other plain and staring out sulkily on the world from under a heavy fringe. He had seen that same expression that morning. 'Pippa and Mildred' was written on the photograph. There was a photograph of Eric Gulbrandsen hanging on the wall, with a gold mount and a heavy ebony frame. Curry had just found a photograph of a good-looking man with eyes crinkling with laughter who he presumed was John Restarick when the door opened and Mrs Serrocold came in.

  She wore black, a floating and diaphanous black. Her little pink and white face looked unusually small under its crown of silvery hair, and there was a frailness about her that caught sharply at Inspector Curry's heart. He understood at that moment a good deal that had perplexed him earlier in the morning. He understood why people were so anxious to spare Caroline Louise Serrocold everything that could be spared her.

  And yet, he thought, she isn't the kind that would ever make a fuss…

  She greeted him, asked him to sit down, and took a chair near him. It was less he who put her at her ease than she who put him at his. He started to ask his questions and she answered them readily and without hesitation.

  The failure of the lights, the quarrel between Edgar Lawson and her husband, the shot they had heard…

  'It did not seem to you that the shot was in the house?'

  'No, I thought it came from outside. I thought it might have been the backfire of a car.'

  'During the quarrel between your husband and this young fellow Lawson in the study, did you notice anybody leaving the Hall?'

  'Wally had already gone to see about the lights. Miss Bellever went out shortly afterwards - to get something, but I can't remember what.'

  'Who else left the Hall?'

  'Nobody, so far as I know.'

  'Would you know, Mrs Serrocold?' She reflected a moment.

  'No, I don't think I should.'

  'You were completely absorbed in what you could hear going on in the study?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you were apprehensive as to what might happen there?'

  'No - no, I wouldn't say that. I didn't think anything
would really happen.'

  'But Lawson had a revolver?'

  'Yes.'

  'And was threatening your husband with it?'

  'Yes. But he didn't mean it.'

  Inspector Curry felt his usual slight exasperation at this statement. So she was another of them!

  'You can't possibly have been sure of that, Mrs Serrocold.'

  'Well, but I was sure. In my own mind, I mean. What is it the young people say - putting on an act? That's what I felt it was. Edgar's only a boy. He was being melodramatic and silly and fancying himself as a bold desperate character. Seeing himself as the wronged hero in a romantic story. I was quite sure he would never fire that revolver.'

  'But he did fire it, Mrs Serrocold.'

  Carrie Louise smiled.

  'I expect it went off by accident.'

  Again exasperation mounted in Inspector Curry.

  'It was not an accident. Lawson fired that revolver twice - and fired it at your husband. The bullets only just missed him.'

  Carrie Louise looked startled and then'grave.

  'I can't really believe that. Oh yes' - she hurried on to forestall the Inspector's protest - 'of course I have to believe it if you tell me so. But I still feel there must be a simple explanation. Perhaps Dr Maverick can explain it to me.'

  'Oh yes, Dr Maverick will explain it all right,' said Curry grimly. 'Dr Maverick can explain anything. I'm sure of that.'

  Unexpectedly Mrs Serrocold said:

  'I know that a lot of what we do here seems to you foolish and pointless, and psychiatrists can be very irritating sometimes. But we do achieve results, you know. We have our failures, but we have successes too.

  And what we try to do is worth doing. And though you probably won't believe it, Edgar is really devoted to my husband. He started this silly business about Lewis's being his father because he wants so much to have a father like Lewis. But what I can't understand is why he should suddenly get violent. He had been so very much better - really practically normal. Indeed he has always seemed normal to me.'

  The Inspector did not argue the point.

  He said: 'The revolver that Edgar Lawson had was one belonging to your granddaughter's husband. Presumably Lawson took it from Walter Hudd's room. Now tell me, have you ever seen this weapon before?'

  On the palm of his hand he held out the small black automatic.

  Carrie Louise looked at it.

  'No, I don't think so.'

  'I found it in the piano stool. It has recently been fired.

  We haven't had time to check on it fully yet, but I should say that it is almost certainly the weapon with which Mr Gulbrandsen was shot.'

  She frowned.

  'And you found it in the piano stool?'

  'Under some very old music. Music that I should say had not been played for years.'

  'Hidden, then?'

  'Yes. You remember who was at the piano last night?'

  'Stephen Restarick.'

  'He was playing?'

  'Yes. Just softly. A funny melancholy little tune.'

  'When did he stop playing, Mrs Serrocold?'

  'When did he stop? I don't know.'

  'But he did stop? He didn't go on playing all through the quarrel.'

  'No. The music just died down.'

  'Did he get up from the piano stool?'

  'I don't know. I've no idea what he did until he came over to the study door to try and fit a key to it.'

  'Can you think of any reason why Stephen Restarick should shoot Mr Gulbrandsen?'

  'None whatever.' She added thoughtfully, 'I don't believe he did.'

  'Gulbrandsen might have found out something discreditable about him.'

  'That seems to me very unlikely.'

  Inspector Curry had a wild wish to reply:

  'Pigs may fly but they're very unlikely birds.' It had been a saying of his grandmother's. Miss Marple, he thought, was sure to know it.

  Carrie Louise came down the broad stairway and three people converged upon her from different directions, Gina from the long corridor, Miss Marple from the library, and Juliet Bellever from the Great Hall.

  Gina spoke first.

  'Darling!' she exclaimed passionately. 'Are you all right? They haven't bullied you or given you third degree or anything?'

  'Of course not, Gina. What odd ideas you have! Inspector Curry was charming and most considerate.'

  'So he ought to be,' said Miss Bellever. 'Now, Carrie, I've got all your letters here and a parcel. I was going to bring them up to you.'

  'Bring them into the library,' said Carrie Louise.

  All four of them went into the library.

  Carrie Louise sat down and began opening her letters.

  There were about twenty or thirty of them.

  As she opened them, she handed them to Miss Bellever, who sorted them into heaps, explaining to Miss Marple as she did so:

  'Three main categories. One - from relations of the boys. Those I hand over to Dr Maverick. Begging letters I deal with myself. And the rest are personal - and Cara gives me notes on how to deal with them.'

  The correspondence once disposed of, Mrs Serrocold turned her attention to the parcel, cutting the string with scissors.

  Out of the neat wrappings there appeared an attractive box of chocolates tied up with gold ribbon.

  'Someone must think it's my birthday,' said Mrs Serrocold with a smile.

  She slipped off the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a visiting card. Carrie Louise looked at it with slight surprise.

  'With love from Alex,' she said. 'How odd of him to send me a box of chocolates by post on the same day he was coming down here.'

  Uneasiness stirred in Miss Marple's mind.

  She said quickly:

  'Wait a minute, Carrie Louise. Don't eat one yet.' Mrs Serrocold looked faintly surprised.

  'I was going to hand them round.'

  'Well, don't. Wait while I ask - Is Alex about the house, do you know, Gina?'

  Gina said quickly: 'Alex was in the Hall just now, I think.'

  She went across, opened the door, and called him.

  Alex Restarick appeared in the doorway a moment later.

  'Madonna darling! So you're up. None the worse?'

  He came across to Mrs Serrocold and kissed her gently on both cheeks.

  Miss Marple said:

  'Carrie Louise wants to thank you for the chocolates.' Alex looked surprised.

  'What chocolates?'

  'These chocolates,' said Carrie Louise.

  'But I never sent you any chocolates, darling.'

  'The box has got your card in,' said Miss Bellever.

  Alex peered down.

  'So it has. How odd. How very odd… I certainly didn't send them.'

  'What a very extraordinary thing,' said Miss Bellever.

  'They look absolutely scrumptious,' said Gina, peering into the box. 'Look, Grandam, there are your favourite Kirsch ones in the middle.'

  Miss Marple gently but firmly took the box away from her. Without a word she took it out of the room and went to find Lewis Serrocold. It took her some time because he had gone over to the College - she found him in Dr Maverick's room there. She put the box on the table in front of him. He listened to her brief account of the circumstances. His face grew suddenly stem and hard.

  Carefully, he and the doctor lifted out chocolate after chocolate and examined them.

  'I think,' said Dr Maverick, 'that these ones I have put aside have almost certainly been tampered with. You see the unevenness of the chocolate coating underneath? The next thing to do is to get them analysed.'

  'But it seems incredible,' said Miss Marple. 'Why, everyone in the house might have been poisoned?

  Lewis nodded. His face was still white and hard.

  'Yes. There is a ruthlessness - a disregard -' he broke off. 'Actually I think all these particular chocolates are Kirsch flavouring. That is Caroline's favourite. So, you see, there is knowledge behind this.'

 
; Miss Marple said quietly:

  'If it is as you suspect - if there is - poison - in these chocolates, then I'm afraid Carrie Louise will have to know what is going on. She must be put upon her guard.' Lewis Serrocold said heavily:

  'Yes. She will have to know that someone wants to kill her. I think that she will find it almost impossible to believe.'

  Chapter 16

  "Ere, Miss. Is it true as there's an 'ideous poisoner at work?'

  Gina pushed the hair back from her forehead and jumped as the hoarse whisper reached her. There was paint on her cheek and paint on her slacks. She and her selected helpers had been busy on the backcloth of the Nile at Sunset for their next theatrical production.

  It was one of these helpers who was now asking the question. Ernie, the boy who had given her such valuable lessons in the manipulation of locks. Ernie's fingers were equally dexterous at stage carpentry, and he was one of the most enthusiastic theatrical assistants.

  His eyes now were bright and beady with pleasurable anticipation.

  Ernie shut one eye.

  'It's all round the dorms,' he said. 'But look 'ere, Miss, it wasn't one of us. Not a thing like that. And nobody wouldn't do a thing to Mrs Serrocold. Even Jenkins wouldn't cosh her. 'Tisn't as though it was the old bitch.

  Wouldn't 'alf like to poison 'er, I wouldn't.'

  'Don't talk like that about Miss Bellever.'

  'Sorry, Miss. It slipped out. What poison was it, Miss?

  Strickline, was it? Makes you arch your back and die in agonies, that does. Or was it Prussian acid?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about, Ernie.' Ernie winked again.

  'Not 'alfyou don't! Mr Alex it was done it, so they say.

  Brought them chocs down from London. But that's a lie.

  Mr Alex wouldn't do a thing like that, would he, Miss?'

  'Of course he wouldn't,' said Gina.

  'Much more likely to be Mr Baumgarten. When he's giving us P.T. he makes the most awful faces, and Don and I think as he's batty.'

  'Just move that turpentine out of the way.'

  Ernie obeyed, murmuring to himself:

  'Don't 'arf see life 'ere! Old Gulbrandsen done in yesterday and now a secret poisoner. D'you think it's the same person doing both? What 'ud you say, Miss, if I told you as I know oo it was done 'im in?'