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Sitting down on her bed, Miss Marple removed her neat sandal shoes and replaced them with a pair of plimsolls. Then she shook her head, removed the plimsolls, burrowed in her suitcase and took out a pair of shoes the heel of one of which she had recently caught on a hook by the door. It was now in a slightly precarious state and Miss Marple adroitly rendered it even more precarious by attention with a nail file. Then she emerged with due precaution from her door walking in stockinged feet. With all the care of a Big Game Hunter approaching up-wind of a herd of antelope, Miss Marple gently circumnavigated Mr. Rafiel’s bungalow. Cautiously she manoeuvred her way around the corner of the house. She put on one of the shoes she was carrying, gave a final wrench to the heel of the other, sank gently to her knees and lay prone under the window. If Jackson heard anything, if he came to the window to look out, an old lady would have had a fall owing to the heel coming off her shoe. But evidently Jackson had heard nothing.
Very, very gently Miss Marple raised her head. The windows of the bungalow were low. Shielding herself slightly with a festoon of creeper she peered inside….
Jackson was on his knees before a suitcase. The lid of the suitcase was up and Miss Marple could see that it was a specially fitted affair containing compartments filled with various kinds of papers. Jackson was looking through the papers, occasionally drawing documents out of long envelopes. Miss Marple did not remain at her observation post for long. All she wanted was to know what Jackson was doing. She knew now. Jackson was snooping. Whether he was looking for something in particular, or whether he was just indulging his natural instincts, she had no means of judging. But it confirmed her in her belief that Arthur Jackson and Jonas Parry had strong affinities in other things than facial resemblance.
Her problem was now to withdraw. Very carefully she dropped down again and crept along the flowerbed until she was clear of the window. She returned to her bungalow and carefully put away the shoe and the heel that she had detached from it. She looked at them with affection. A good device which she could use on another day if necessary. She resumed her own sandal shoes, and went thoughtfully down to the beach again.
Choosing a moment when Esther Walters was in the water, Miss Marple moved into the chair Esther had vacated.
Greg and Lucky were laughing and talking with Señora de Caspearo and making a good deal of noise.
Miss Marple spoke very quietly, almost under her breath, without looking at Mr. Rafiel.
“Do you know that Jackson snoops?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Mr. Rafiel. “Caught him at it, did you?”
“I managed to observe him through a window. He had one of your suitcases open and was looking through your papers.”
“Must have managed to get hold of a key to it. Resourceful fellow. He’ll be disappointed though. Nothing he gets hold of in that way will do him a mite of good.”
“He’s coming down now,” said Miss Marple, glancing up towards the hotel.
“Time for that idiotic sea dip of mine.”
He spoke again—very quietly.
“As for you—don’t be too enterprising. We don’t want to be attending your funeral next. Remember your age, and be careful. There’s somebody about who isn’t too scrupulous, remember.”
Twenty
NIGHT ALARM
I
Evening came—The lights came up on the terrace—People dined and talked and laughed, albeit less loudly and merrily than they had a day or two ago—The steel band played.
But the dancing ended early. People yawned—went off to bed—The lights went out—There was darkness and stillness—The Golden Palm Tree slept….
“Evelyn. Evelyn!” The whisper came sharp and urgent.
Evelyn Hillingdon stirred and turned on her pillow.
“Evelyn. Please wake up.”
Evelyn Hillingdon sat up abruptly. Tim Kendal was standing in the doorway. She stared at him in surprise.
“Evelyn, please, could you come? It’s—Molly. She’s ill. I don’t know what’s the matter with her. I think she must have taken something.”
Evelyn was quick, decisive.
“All right, Tim. I’ll come. You go back to her. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Tim Kendal disappeared. Evelyn slipped out of bed, threw on a dressing gown and looked across at the other bed. Her husband, it seemed, had not been awakened. He lay there, his head turned away, breathing quietly. Evelyn hesitated for a moment, then decided not to disturb him. She went out of the door and walked rapidly to the main building and beyond it to the Kendals’ bungalow. She caught up with Tim in the doorway.
Molly lay in bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was clearly not natural. Evelyn bent over her, rolled up an eyelid, felt her pulse and then looked at the bedside table. There was a glass there which had been used. Beside it was an empty phial of tablets. She picked it up.
“They were her sleeping pills,” said Tim, “but that bottle was half full yesterday or the day before. I think she must have taken the lot.”
“Go and get Dr. Graham,” said Evelyn, “and on the way knock them up and tell them to make strong coffee. Strong as possible. Hurry.”
Tim dashed off. Just outside the doorway he collided with Edward Hillingdon.
“Oh, sorry, Edward.”
“What’s happening here?” demanded Hillingdon. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Molly. Evelyn’s with her. I must get hold of the doctor. I suppose I ought to have gone to him first but I—I wasn’t sure and I thought Evelyn would know. Molly would have hated it if I’d fetched a doctor when it wasn’t necessary.”
He went off, running. Edward Hillingdon looked after him for a moment and then he walked into the bedroom.
“What’s happening?” he said. “Is it serious?”
“Oh, there you are, Edward. I wondered if you’d woken up. This silly child has been taking things.”
“Is it bad?”
“One can’t tell without knowing how much she’s taken. I shouldn’t think it was too bad if we get going in time. I’ve sent for coffee. If we can get some of that down her—”
“But why should she do such a thing? You don’t think—” He stopped.
“What don’t I think?” said Evelyn.
“You don’t think it’s because of the inquiry—the police—all that?”
“It’s possible, of course. That sort of thing could be very alarming to a nervous type.”
“Molly never used to seem a nervous type.”
“One can’t really tell,” said Evelyn. “It’s the most unlikely people sometimes who lose their nerve.”
“Yes, I remember….” Again he stopped.
“The truth is,” said Evelyn, “that one doesn’t really know anything about anybody.” She added, “Not even the people who are nearest to you….”
“Isn’t that going a little too far, Evelyn—exaggerating too much?”
“I don’t think it is. When you think of people, it is in the image you have made of them for yourself.”
“I know you,” said Edward Hillingdon quietly.
“You think you do.”
“No. I’m sure.” He added, “And you’re sure of me.”
Evelyn looked at him then turned back to the bed. She took Molly by the shoulders and shook her.
“We ought to be doing something, but I suppose it’s better to wait until Dr. Graham comes—Oh, I think I hear them.”
II
“She’ll do now.” Dr. Graham stepped back, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You think she’ll be all right, sir?” Tim demanded anxiously.
“Yes, yes. We got to her in good time. Anyway, she probably didn’t take enough to kill her. A couple of days and she’ll be as right as rain but she’ll have a rather nasty day or two first.” He picked up the empty bottle. “Who gave her these things anyway?”
“A doctor in New York. She wasn’t sleeping well.”
“Well, well. I know all we medicos hand these things out freely nowadays. Nobody tells young women who can’t sleep to count sheep, or get up and eat a biscuit, or write a couple of letters and then go back to bed. Instant remedies, that’s what people demand nowadays. Sometimes I think it’s a pity we give them to them. You’ve got to learn to put up with things in life. All very well to stuff a comforter into a baby’s mouth to stop it crying. Can’t go on doing that all a person’s life.” He gave a small chuckle. “I bet you, if you asked Miss Marple what she does if she can’t sleep, she’d tell you she counted sheep going under a gate.” He turned back to the bed where Molly was stirring. Her eyes were open now. She looked at them without interest or recognition. Dr. Graham took her hand.
“Well, well, my dear, and what have you been doing to yourself?”
She blinked but did not reply.
“Why did you do it, Molly, why? Tell me why?” Tim took her other hand.
Still her eyes did not move. If they rested on anyone it was on Evelyn Hillingdon. There might have been even a faint question in them but it was hard to tell. Evelyn spoke as though there had been the question.
“Tim came and fetched me,” she said.
Her eyes went to Tim, then shifted to Dr. Graham.
“You’re going to be all right now,” said Dr. Graham, “but don’t do it again.”
“She didn’t mean to do it,” said Tim quietly. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it. She just wanted a good night’s rest. Perhaps the pills didn’t work at first and so she took more of them. Is that it, Molly?”
Her head moved very faintly in a negative motion.
“You mean—you took them on purpose?” said Tim.
