seems. And she’d been careful—wiped off everything in her bedroom and on the sink.Couldn’t find a single fingerprint in the place!’
‘If you did have fingerprints, would it help?’
‘It might, madam. They may be known at the Yard. This isn’t her first job, I’d say!’
Miss Marple nodded brightly. She opened her bag and extracted a small cardboard box. Inside it, wedged in cotton wool, was a small mirror.
‘From my handbag,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The maid’s prints are on it. I think they should be satisfactory—she touched an extremely sticky substance a moment previously.’
Inspector Slack stared. ‘Did you get her fingerprints on purpose?’
‘Of course.’
‘You suspected her then?’
‘Well, you know, it did strike me that she was a little too good to be true. I practically told Miss Lavinia so. But she simply wouldn’t take the hint! I’m afraid, you know, Inspector, that I don’t believe in paragons. Most of us have our faults—and domestic service shows them up very quickly!’
‘Well,’ said Inspector Slack, recovering his balance, ‘I’m obliged to you, I’m sure. We’ll send these up to the Yard and see what they have to say.’
He stopped. Miss Marple had put her head a little on one side and was regarding him with a good deal of meaning.
‘You wouldn’t consider, I suppose, Inspector, looking a little nearer home?’
‘What do you mean, Miss Marple?’
‘It’s very difficult to explain, but when you come across a peculiar thing you notice it. Although, often, peculiar things may be the merest trifles. I’ve felt that all along, you know; I mean about Gladys and the brooch. She’s an honest girl; she didn’t take that brooch. Then why did Miss Skinner think she did? Miss Skinner’s not a fool; far from it! Why was she so anxious to let a girl go who was a good servant when servants are hard to get? It was peculiar, you know. So I wondered. I wondered a good deal. And I noticed another peculiar thing! Miss Emily’s a hypochondriac, but she’s the first hypochondriac who hasn’t sent for some doctor or other at once. Hypochondriacs love doctors, Miss Emily didn’t!’
‘What are you suggesting, Miss Marple?’
‘Well, I’m suggesting, you know, that Miss Lavinia and Miss Emily are peculiar people. Miss Emily spends nearly all her time in a dark room. And if that hair of hers isn’t a wig I—I’ll eat my own back switch! And what I say is this—it’s perfectly possible for a thin, pale, grey-haired, whining woman to be the same as a black-haired, rosy-cheeked, plump woman. And nobody that I can find ever saw Miss Emily and Mary Higgins at one and the same time.
‘Plenty of time to get impressions of all the keys, plenty of time to find out all about the other tenants, and then—get rid of the local girl. Miss Emily takes a brisk walk across country one night and arrives at the station as Mary Higgins next day. And then, at the right moment, Mary Higgins disappears, and off goes the hue and cry after her. I’ll tell you where you’ll find her, Inspector. On Miss Emily Skinner’s sofa! Get her fingerprints if you don’t believe me, but you’ll find I’m right! A couple of clever thieves, that’s what the Skinners are—and no doubt in league with a clever post and rails or fence or whatever you call it. But they won’t get away with it this time! I’m not going to have one of our village girls’ character for honesty taken away like that! Gladys Holmes is as honest as the day, and everybody’s going to know it! Good afternoon!’
Miss Marple had stalked out before Inspector Slack had recovered.
‘Whew?’ he muttered. ‘I wonder if she’s right?’
He soon found out that Miss Marple was right again.
Colonel Melchett congratulated Slack on his efficiency, and Miss Marple had Gladys come to tea with Edna and spoke to her seriously on settling down in a good situation when she got one.
Miss Marple Tells a Story
I don’t think
‘If you did have fingerprints, would it help?’
‘It might, madam. They may be known at the Yard. This isn’t her first job, I’d say!’
Miss Marple nodded brightly. She opened her bag and extracted a small cardboard box. Inside it, wedged in cotton wool, was a small mirror.
‘From my handbag,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The maid’s prints are on it. I think they should be satisfactory—she touched an extremely sticky substance a moment previously.’
Inspector Slack stared. ‘Did you get her fingerprints on purpose?’
‘Of course.’
‘You suspected her then?’
‘Well, you know, it did strike me that she was a little too good to be true. I practically told Miss Lavinia so. But she simply wouldn’t take the hint! I’m afraid, you know, Inspector, that I don’t believe in paragons. Most of us have our faults—and domestic service shows them up very quickly!’
‘Well,’ said Inspector Slack, recovering his balance, ‘I’m obliged to you, I’m sure. We’ll send these up to the Yard and see what they have to say.’
He stopped. Miss Marple had put her head a little on one side and was regarding him with a good deal of meaning.
‘You wouldn’t consider, I suppose, Inspector, looking a little nearer home?’
‘What do you mean, Miss Marple?’
‘It’s very difficult to explain, but when you come across a peculiar thing you notice it. Although, often, peculiar things may be the merest trifles. I’ve felt that all along, you know; I mean about Gladys and the brooch. She’s an honest girl; she didn’t take that brooch. Then why did Miss Skinner think she did? Miss Skinner’s not a fool; far from it! Why was she so anxious to let a girl go who was a good servant when servants are hard to get? It was peculiar, you know. So I wondered. I wondered a good deal. And I noticed another peculiar thing! Miss Emily’s a hypochondriac, but she’s the first hypochondriac who hasn’t sent for some doctor or other at once. Hypochondriacs love doctors, Miss Emily didn’t!’
‘What are you suggesting, Miss Marple?’
‘Well, I’m suggesting, you know, that Miss Lavinia and Miss Emily are peculiar people. Miss Emily spends nearly all her time in a dark room. And if that hair of hers isn’t a wig I—I’ll eat my own back switch! And what I say is this—it’s perfectly possible for a thin, pale, grey-haired, whining woman to be the same as a black-haired, rosy-cheeked, plump woman. And nobody that I can find ever saw Miss Emily and Mary Higgins at one and the same time.
‘Plenty of time to get impressions of all the keys, plenty of time to find out all about the other tenants, and then—get rid of the local girl. Miss Emily takes a brisk walk across country one night and arrives at the station as Mary Higgins next day. And then, at the right moment, Mary Higgins disappears, and off goes the hue and cry after her. I’ll tell you where you’ll find her, Inspector. On Miss Emily Skinner’s sofa! Get her fingerprints if you don’t believe me, but you’ll find I’m right! A couple of clever thieves, that’s what the Skinners are—and no doubt in league with a clever post and rails or fence or whatever you call it. But they won’t get away with it this time! I’m not going to have one of our village girls’ character for honesty taken away like that! Gladys Holmes is as honest as the day, and everybody’s going to know it! Good afternoon!’
Miss Marple had stalked out before Inspector Slack had recovered.
‘Whew?’ he muttered. ‘I wonder if she’s right?’
He soon found out that Miss Marple was right again.
Colonel Melchett congratulated Slack on his efficiency, and Miss Marple had Gladys come to tea with Edna and spoke to her seriously on settling down in a good situation when she got one.
Miss Marple Tells a Story
I don’t think
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