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“It’s the cake,” said Patrick. “I feel a bit liverish myself. And you’ve been nibbling chocolates all the morning.”
“I’ll go and lie down, I think,” said Miss Bunner. “I’ll take a couple of aspirins and try and have a nice sleep.”
“That would be a very good plan,” said Miss Blacklock.
Miss Bunner departed upstairs.
“Shall I shut up the ducks for you, Aunt Letty?”
Miss Blacklock looked at Patrick severely.
“If you’ll be sure to latch that door properly.”
“I will. I swear I will.”
“Have a glass of sherry, Aunt Letty,” said Julia. “As my old nurse used to say, ‘It will settle your stomach.’ A revolting phrase, but curiously apposite at this moment.”
“Well, I dare say it might be a good thing. The truth is one isn’t used to rich things. Oh, Bunny, how you made me jump. What is it?”
“I can’t find my aspirin,” said Miss Bunner disconsolately.
“Well, take some of mine, dear, they’re by my bed.”
“There’s a bottle on my dressing table,” said Phillipa.
“Thank you—thank you very much. If I can’t find mine—but I know I’ve got it somewhere. A new bottle. Now where could I have put it?”
“There’s heaps in the bathroom,” said Julia impatiently. “This house is chock full of aspirin.”
“It vexes me to be so careless and mislay things,” replied Miss Bunner, retreating up the stairs again.
“Poor old Bunny,” said Julia, holding up her glass. “Do you think we ought to have given her some sherry?”
“Better not, I think,” said Miss Blacklock. “She’s had a lot of excitement today, and it isn’t really good for her. I’m afraid she’ll be the worse for it tomorrow. Still, I really do think she has enjoyed herself!”
“She’s loved it,” said Phillipa.
“Let’s give Mitzi a glass of sherry,” suggested Julia. “Hi, Pat,” she called as she heard him entering the side door. “Fetch Mitzi.”
So Mitzi was brought in and Julia poured her out a glass of sherry.
“Here’s to the best cook in the world,” said Patrick.
Mitzi was gratified—but felt nevertheless that a protest was due.
“That is not so. I am not really a cook. In my country I do intellectual work.”
“Then you’re wasted,” said Patrick. “What’s intellectual work compared to a chef d’oeuvre like Delicious Death?”
“Oo—I say to you I do not like—”
“Never mind what you like, my girl,” said Patrick. “That’s my name for it and here’s to it. Let’s all drink to Delicious Death and to hell with the aftereffects.”
III
“Phillipa, my dear, I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, Miss Blacklock?”
Phillipa Haymes looked up in slight surprise.
“You’re not worrying about anything, are you?”
“Worrying?”
“I’ve noticed that you’ve looked worried lately. There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”
“Oh no, Miss Blacklock. Why should there be?”
“Well—I wondered. I thought, perhaps, that you and Patrick—?”
“Patrick?” Phillipa looked really surprised.
“It’s not so, then. Please forgive me if I’ve been impertinent. But you’ve been thrown together a lot—and although Patrick is my cousin, I don’t think he’s the type to make a satisfactory husband. Not for some time to come, at all events.”
Phillipa’s face had frozen into a hard immobility.
“I shan’t marry again,” she said.
“Oh, yes, you will some day, my child. You’re young. But we needn’t discuss that. There’s no other trouble. You’re not worried about—money, for instance?”
“No, I’m quite all right.”
“I know you get anxious sometimes about your boy’s education. That’s why I want to tell you something. I drove into Milchester this afternoon to see Mr. Beddingfeld, my lawyer. Things haven’t been very settled lately and I thought I would like to make a new will—in view of certain eventualities. Apart from Bunny’s legacy, everything goes to you, Phillipa.”
“What?” Phillipa spun round. Her eyes stared. She looked dismayed, almost frightened.
“But I don’t want it—really I don’t … Oh, I’d rather not … And anyway, why? Why to me?”
“Perhaps,” said Miss Blacklock in a peculiar voice, “because there’s no one else.”
“But there’s Patrick and Julia.”
“Yes, there’s Patrick and Julia.” The odd note in Miss Blacklock’s voice was still there.
“They are your relations.”
“Very distant ones. They have no claim on me.”
“But I—I haven’t either—I don’t know what you think … Oh, I don’t want it.”
Her gaze held more hostility than gratitude. There was something almost like fear in her manner.
“I know what I’m doing, Phillipa. I’ve become fond of you—and there’s the boy … You won’t get very much if I should die now—but in a few weeks’ time it might be different.”
Her eyes met Phillipa’s steadily.
“But you’re not going to die!” Phillipa protested.
“Not if I can avoid it by taking due precautions.”
“Precautions?”
“Yes. Think it over … And don’t worry any more.”
She left the room abruptly. Phillipa heard her speaking to Julia in the hall.
Julia entered the drawing room a few moments later.
There was a slightly steely glitter in her eyes.
“Played your cards rather well, haven’t you, Phillipa? I see you’re one of those quiet ones … a dark horse.”
“So you heard—?”
“Yes, I heard. I rather think I was meant to hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our Letty’s no fool … Well, anyway, you’re all right, Phillipa. Sitting pretty, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Julia—I didn’t mean—I never meant—”
“Didn’t you? Of course you did. You’re fairly up against
things, aren’t you? Hard up for money. But just remember this—if anyone bumps off Aunt Letty now, you’ll be suspect No. 1.”
“But I shan’t be. It would be idiotic if I killed her now when—if I waited—”
“So you do know about old Mrs. Whatsername dying up in Scotland? I wondered … Phillipa, I’m beginning to believe you’re a very dark horse indeed.”
“I don’t want to do you and Patrick out of anything.”
“Don’t you, my dear? I’m sorry—but I don’t believe you.”
Sixteen
INSPECTOR CRADDOCK RETURNS
Inspector Craddock had had a bad night on his night journey home. His dreams had been less dreams than nightmares. Again and again he was racing through the grey corridors of an old-world castle in a desperate attempt to get somewhere, or to prevent something, in time. Finally he dreamt that he awoke. An enormous relief surged over him. Then the door of his compartment slid slowly open, and Letitia Blacklock looked in at him with blood running down her face, and said reproachfully: “Why didn’t you save me? You could have if you’d tried.”
This time he really awoke.
Altogether, the Inspector was thankful finally to reach Milchester. He went straight away to make his report to Rydesdale who listened carefully.
“It doesn’t take us much further,” he said. “But it confirms what Miss Blacklock told you. Pip and Emma—h’m, I wonder.”
“Patrick and Julia Simmons are the right age, sir. If we could establish that Miss Blacklock hadn’t seen them since they were children—”
With a very faint chuckle, Rydesdale said: “Our ally, Miss Marple, has established that for us. Actually Miss Blacklock had never seen either of them at all until two months ago.”
“Then, surely, sir—”
“It’s not so easy as all that, Craddock. We’ve been checking up. On what we’ve got, Patrick and Julia seem definitely to be out of it. His Naval record is genuine—quite a good record bar a tendency to ‘insubordination.’ We’ve checked with Cannes, and an indignant Mrs. Simmons says of course her son and daughter are at Chipping Cleghorn with her cousin Letitia Blacklock. So that’s that!”
“And Mrs. Simmons is Mrs. Simmons?”
