at me Christmas-time when I had a bit of a turn - what did I eat? When? Who cooked it? Who served it? Fuss, fuss, fuss! But though I may have indifferent health, I'm well enough to give you all the help that's in my power. Murder in my own house - or at any rate in my own barn! Interesting building, that. Elizabethan. Local architect says not - but fellow doesn't know what he's talking about. Not a day later than 1580 - but that's not what we're talking about. What do you want to know? What's your present theory?”
“It's a little too early for theories, Mr. Crackenthorpe. We are still trying to find out who the woman was?”
“Foreigner, you say?”
“We think so.”
“Enemy agent?”
“Unlikely, I should say.”
“You'd say - you'd say! They're everywhere, these people. Infiltrating! Why the Home Office lets them in beats me. Spying on industrial secrets, I'd bet. That's what she was doing.”
“In Brackhampton?”
“Factories everywhere. One outside my own back gate.”
Craddock shot an inquiring glance at Bacon who responded.
“Metal Boxes.”
“How do you know that's what they're really making? Can't swallow all these fellows tell you. All right, if she wasn't a spy, who do you think she was? Think she was mixed up with one of my precious sons? It would be Alfred, if so. Not Harold, he's too careful. And Cedric doesn't condescend to live in this country. All right, then, she was Alfred's bit of skirt. And some violent fellow followed her down here, thinking she was coming to meet him and did her in. How's that?”
Inspector Craddock said diplomatically that it was certainly a theory. But Mr. Alfred Crackenthorpe, he said, had not recognised her.
“Pah! Afraid, that's all! Alfred always was a coward. But he's a liar, remember, always was! Lie himself black in the face. None of my sons are any good. Crowd of vultures, waiting for me to die, that's their real occupation in life.” He chuckled. “And they can wait. I won't die to oblige them! Well, if that's all I can do for you... I'm tired. Got to rest.”
He shuffled out again.
“Alfred's bit of skirt?” said Bacon questioningly. “In my opinion the old man just made that up.” He paused, hesitated.
“I think, personally, Alfred's quite all right - perhaps a shifty customer in some ways - but not our present cup of tea. Mind you - I did just wonder about that Air Force chap.”
“Bryan Eastley?”
“Yes. I've run into one or two of his type. They're what you might call adrift in the world - had danger and death and excitement too early in life. Now they find life tame. Tame and unsatisfactory. In a way, we've given them a raw deal. Though I don't really know what we could do about it. But there they are, all past and no future, so to speak. And they're the kind that don't mind taking chances - the ordinary fellow plays safe by instinct, it's not so much morality as prudence. But these fellows aren't afraid - playing safe isn't really in their vocabulary. If Eastley were mixed up with a woman and wanted to kill her...”
He stopped, threw out a hand hopelessly. “But why should he want to kill her? And if you do kill a woman, why plant her in your father-in-law's sarcophagus? No, if you ask me, none of this lot had anything to do with the murder. If they had, they would have gone to all the trouble of planting the body on their own back door step, so to speak.”
Craddock agreed that that hardly made sense.
“Anything more you want to do here?”
Craddock said there wasn't.
Bacon suggested coming back to Brackhampton and having a cup of tea - but Inspector Craddock said that he was going to call on an old acquaintance.
4.50 From Paddington
Chapter 10
Miss Marple, sitting erect against a background of china dogs and presents from Margate, smiled approvingly at Inspector Dermot Craddock.
“I'm so glad,” she said, “that you have been assigned to the case. I hoped you would be.”
“When I got your letter,” said
“It's a little too early for theories, Mr. Crackenthorpe. We are still trying to find out who the woman was?”
“Foreigner, you say?”
“We think so.”
“Enemy agent?”
“Unlikely, I should say.”
“You'd say - you'd say! They're everywhere, these people. Infiltrating! Why the Home Office lets them in beats me. Spying on industrial secrets, I'd bet. That's what she was doing.”
“In Brackhampton?”
“Factories everywhere. One outside my own back gate.”
Craddock shot an inquiring glance at Bacon who responded.
“Metal Boxes.”
“How do you know that's what they're really making? Can't swallow all these fellows tell you. All right, if she wasn't a spy, who do you think she was? Think she was mixed up with one of my precious sons? It would be Alfred, if so. Not Harold, he's too careful. And Cedric doesn't condescend to live in this country. All right, then, she was Alfred's bit of skirt. And some violent fellow followed her down here, thinking she was coming to meet him and did her in. How's that?”
Inspector Craddock said diplomatically that it was certainly a theory. But Mr. Alfred Crackenthorpe, he said, had not recognised her.
“Pah! Afraid, that's all! Alfred always was a coward. But he's a liar, remember, always was! Lie himself black in the face. None of my sons are any good. Crowd of vultures, waiting for me to die, that's their real occupation in life.” He chuckled. “And they can wait. I won't die to oblige them! Well, if that's all I can do for you... I'm tired. Got to rest.”
He shuffled out again.
“Alfred's bit of skirt?” said Bacon questioningly. “In my opinion the old man just made that up.” He paused, hesitated.
“I think, personally, Alfred's quite all right - perhaps a shifty customer in some ways - but not our present cup of tea. Mind you - I did just wonder about that Air Force chap.”
“Bryan Eastley?”
“Yes. I've run into one or two of his type. They're what you might call adrift in the world - had danger and death and excitement too early in life. Now they find life tame. Tame and unsatisfactory. In a way, we've given them a raw deal. Though I don't really know what we could do about it. But there they are, all past and no future, so to speak. And they're the kind that don't mind taking chances - the ordinary fellow plays safe by instinct, it's not so much morality as prudence. But these fellows aren't afraid - playing safe isn't really in their vocabulary. If Eastley were mixed up with a woman and wanted to kill her...”
He stopped, threw out a hand hopelessly. “But why should he want to kill her? And if you do kill a woman, why plant her in your father-in-law's sarcophagus? No, if you ask me, none of this lot had anything to do with the murder. If they had, they would have gone to all the trouble of planting the body on their own back door step, so to speak.”
Craddock agreed that that hardly made sense.
“Anything more you want to do here?”
Craddock said there wasn't.
Bacon suggested coming back to Brackhampton and having a cup of tea - but Inspector Craddock said that he was going to call on an old acquaintance.
4.50 From Paddington
Chapter 10
Miss Marple, sitting erect against a background of china dogs and presents from Margate, smiled approvingly at Inspector Dermot Craddock.
“I'm so glad,” she said, “that you have been assigned to the case. I hoped you would be.”
“When I got your letter,” said
Similar Books
