The Mirror Crack'd: from Side to Side by Agatha Christie Page A

Galbraith—something like that. Then there was a big black man. I don’t mean a negro—I just mean very dark, forceful looking. And an actress with him. A bit over-blonde and the minky kind. And old General Barnstaple from Much Benham. He’s practically ga-ga now, poor old boy. I don’t think he could have been anybody’s doom. Oh! and the Grices from the farm.”
    â€œThose are all the people you can remember?”
    â€œWell, there may have been others. But you see I wasn’t—well, I mean I wasn’t noticing particularly. I know that the mayor and General Barnstaple and the Americans did arrive about that time. And there were people taking photographs. One I think was a local man, and there was a girl from London, an arty-looking girl with long hair and a rather large camera.”
    â€œAnd you think it was one of those people who brought that look to Marina Gregg’s face?”
    â€œI didn’t really think anything,” said Mrs. Bantry with complete frankness. “I just wondered what on earth made her look like that and then I didn’t think of it anymore. But afterwards one remembers about these things. But of course,” added Mrs. Bantry with honesty, “I may have imagined it. After all, she may have had a suddentoothache or a safety pin run into her or a sudden violent colic. The sort of thing where you try to go on as usual and not to show anything, but your face can’t help looking awful.”
    Dermot Craddock laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re a realist, Mrs. Bantry,” he said. “As you say, it may have been something of that kind. But it’s certainly just one interesting little fact that might be a pointer.”
    He shook his head and departed to present his official credentials in Much Benham.

Nine
    I
    â€œS o locally you’ve drawn a blank?” said Craddock, offering his cigarette case to Frank Cornish.
    â€œCompletely,” said Cornish. “No enemies, no quarrels, on good terms with her husband.”
    â€œNo question of another woman or another man?”
    The other shook his head. “Nothing of that kind. No hint of scandal anywhere. She wasn’t what you’d call the sexy kind. She was on a lot of committees and things like that and there were some small local rivalries, but nothing beyond that.”
    â€œThere wasn’t anyone else the husband wanted to marry? No one in the office where he worked?”
    â€œHe’s in Biddle & Russell, the estate agents and valuers. There’s Florrie West with adenoids, and Miss Grundle, who is at least fifty and as plain as a haystack—nothing much there to excite a man. Though for all that I shouldn’t be surprised if he did marry again soon.”
    Craddock looked interested.
    â€œA neighbour,” explained Cornish. “A widow. When I went back with him from the inquest she’d gone in and was making him tea and looking after him generally. He seemed surprised and grateful. If you ask me, she’s made up her mind to marry him, but he doesn’t know it yet, poor chap.”
    â€œWhat sort of a woman is she?”
    â€œGood looking,” admitted the other. “Not young but handsome in a gipsyish sort of way. High colour. Dark eyes.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œBain. Mrs. Mary Bain. Mary Bain. She’s a widow.”
    â€œWhat’d her husband do?”
    â€œNo idea. She’s got a son working near here who lives with her. She seems a quiet, respectable woman. All the same, I’ve a feeling I’ve seen her before.” He looked at his watch. “Ten to twelve. I’ve made an appointment for you at Gossington Hall at twelve o’clock. We’d best be going.”
    II
    Dermot Craddock’s eyes, which always looked gently inattentive, were in actuality making a close mental note of the features of Gossington Hall. Inspector Cornish had taken him there, had