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“No—no, perhaps not, but I didn’t see anything, the torch went round and round—”
“Showing you what? It rested on faces, didn’t it? And on tables? And on chairs?”
“Yes—yes, it did … Miss Bunner, her mouth wide open and her eyes popping out of her head, staring and blinking.”
“That’s the stuff!” Miss Hinchcliffe gave a sigh of relief. “The difficulty there is in making you use that grey fluff of yours! Now then, keep it up.”
“But I didn’t see any more, I didn’t, really.”
“You mean you saw an empty room? Nobody standing about? Nobody sitting down?”
“No, of course not that. Miss Bunner with her mouth open and Mrs. Harmon was sitting on the arm of a chair. She had her eyes tight shut and her knuckles all doubled up to her face—like a child.”
“Good, that’s Mrs. Harmon and Miss Bunner. Don’t you see yet what I’m getting at? The difficulty is that I don’t want to put ideas into your head. But when we’ve eliminated who you did see—we can get on to the important point which is, was there anyone you didn’t see. Got it? Besides the tables and the chairs and the chrysanthemums and the rest of it, there were certain people: Julia Simmons, Mrs. Swettenham, Mrs. Easterbrook—either Colonel Easterbrook or Edmund Swettenham—Dora Bunner and Bunch Harmon. All right, you saw Bunch Harmon and Dora Bunner. Cross them off. Now think, Murgatroyd, think, was there one of those people who definitely wasn’t there?”
Miss Murgatroyd jumped slightly as a branch knocked against the open window. She shut her eyes. She murmured to herself….
“The flowers … on the table … the big armchair … the torch didn’t come round as far as you, Hinch—Mrs. Harmon, yes….”
The telephone rang sharply. Miss Hinchcliffe went to it.
“Hallo, yes? The station?”
The obedient Miss Murgatroyd, her eyes closed, was reliving the night of the 29th. The torch, sweeping slowly round … a group of people … the windows … the sofa … Dora Bunner … the wall … the table with lamp … the archway … the sudden spat of the revolver….
“… but that’s extraordinary!” said Miss Murgatroyd.
“What?” Miss Hinchcliffe was barking angrily into the telephone. “Been there since this morning? What time? Damn and blast you, and you only ring me up now? I’ll set the S.P.C.A. after you. An oversight? Is that all you’ve got to say?”
She banged down the receiver.
“It’s that dog,” she said. “The red setter. Been at the station since this morning—since this morning at eight o’clock. Without a drop of water! And the idiots only ring me up now. I’m going to get her right away.”
She plunged out of the room, Miss Murgatroyd squeaking shrilly in her wake.
“But listen, Hinch, a most extraordinary thing … I don’t understand it….”
Miss Hinchcliffe had dashed out of the door and across to the shed which served as a garage.
“We’ll go on with it when I come back,” she called. “I can’t wait for you to come with me. You’ve got your bedroom slippers on as usual.”
She pressed the starter of the car and backed out of the garage with a jerk. Miss Murgatroyd skipped nimbly sideways.
“But listen, Hinch, I must tell you—”
“When I come back….”
The car jerked and shot forwards. Miss Murgatroyd’s voice came faintly after it on a high excited note.
“But, Hinch, she wasn’t there. …”
III
Overhead the clouds had been gathering thick and blue. As Miss Murgatroyd stood looking after the retreating car, the first big drops began to fall.
In an agitated fashion, Miss Murgatroyd plunged across to a line of string on which she had, some hours previously, hung out a couple of jumpers and a pair of woollen combinations to dry.
She was murmuring under her breath:
“Really most extraordinary … Oh, dear, I shall never get these down in time—and they were nearly dry….”
She struggled with a recalcitrant clothes peg, then turned her head as she heard someone approaching.
Then she smiled a pleased welcome.
“Hallo—do go inside, you’ll get wet.”
“Let me help you.”
“Oh, if you don’t mind … so annoying if they all get soaked again. I really ought to let down the line, but I think I can just reach.”
“Here’s your scarf. Shall I put it round your neck?”
“Oh, thank you … Yes, perhaps … If I could just reach this peg….”
The woollen scarf was slipped round her neck and then, suddenly, pulled tight….
Miss Murgatroyd’s mouth opened, but no sound came except a small choking gurgle.
And the scarf was pulled tighter still….
IV
On her way back from the station, Miss Hinchcliffe stopped the car to pick up Miss Marple who was hurrying along the street.
“Hallo,” she shouted. “You’ll get very wet. Come and have tea with us. I saw Bunch waiting for the bus. You’ll be all alone at the Vicarage. Come and join us. Murgatroyd and I are doing a bit of reconstruction of the crime. I rather think we’re just getting somewhere. Mind the dog. She’s rather nervous.”
“What a beauty!”
“Yes, lovely bitch, isn’t she! Those fools kept her at the station since this morning without letting me know. I told them off, the lazy b—s. Oh, excuse my language. I was brought up by grooms at home in Ireland.”
The little car turned with a jerk into the small backyard of Boulders.
A crowd of eager ducks and fowls encircled the two ladies as they descended.
“Curse Murgatroyd,” said Miss Hinchcliffe, “she hasn’t given ’em their corn.”
“Is it difficult to get corn?” Miss Marple inquired.
Miss Hincliffe winked.
“I’m in with most of the farmers,” she said.
Shooing away the hens, she escorted Miss Marple towards the cottage.
“Hope you’re not too wet?”
“No, this is a very good mackintosh.”
“I’ll light the fire if Murgatroyd hasn’t lit it. Hiyah, Murgatroyd? Where is the woman? Murgatroyd! Where’s that dog? She’s disappeared now.”
A slow dismal howl came from outside.
“Curse the silly bitch.” Miss Hinchcliffe tramped to the door and called:
“Hyoup, Cutie—Cutie. Damn” silly name but that’s what they called her apparently. We must find her another name. Hiyah, Cutie.”
The red setter was sniffing at something lying below the taut string where a row of garments swirled in the wind.
“Murgatroyd’s not even had the sense to bring the washing in. Where is she?”
Again the red setter nosed at what seemed to be a pile of clothes, and raised her nose high in the air and howled again.
“What’s the matter with the dog?”
Miss Hinchcliffe strode across the grass.
And quickly, apprehensively, Miss Marple ran after her. They stood there, side by side, the rain beating down on them, and the older woman’s arm went round the younger one’s shoulders.
She felt the muscles go stiff and taut as Miss Hinchcliffe stood looking down on the thing lying there, with the blue congested face and the protruding tongue.
“I’ll kill whoever did this,” said Miss Hinchcliffe in a low quiet voice, “if I once get my hands on her….”
Miss Marple said questioningly:
“Her?”
Miss Hinchcliffe turned a ravaged face towards her.
“Yes. I know who it is—near enough … That is, it’s one of three possibles.”
She stood for another moment, looking down at her dead friend, and then turned towards the house. Her voice was dry and hard.
“We must ring up the police,” she said. “And while we’re waiting for them, I’ll tell you. My fault, in a way, that Murgatroyd’s lying out there. I made a game of it … Murder isn’t a game….”
