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“Oh yes. Very modern-looking, and a lot of hair and all that, but he has really come to—well, to break some bad news to you. There has been, I am sorry to say, an accident.”
“An accident?” Miss Marple stared. “You mean—to the coach? There has been an accident on the road? Someone has been hurt?”
“No. No, it was not the coach. There was no trouble there. It was in the course of the expedition yesterday afternoon. There was a great deal of wind you may remember, though I don’t think that had anything to do with it. People strayed about a bit, I think. There is a regular path, but you can also climb up and go across the downs. Both ways lead to the Memorial Tower on the top of Bonaventure—where they were all making for. People got separated a bit and I suppose, really, there was no one actually guiding them or looking after them which, perhaps, there ought to have been. People aren’t very sure-footed always and the slope overhanging the gorge is very steep. There was a bad fall of stones or rocks which came crashing down the hillside and knocked someone out on the path below.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple, “I am sorry. I am most terribly sorry. Who was it who was hurt?”
“A Miss Temple or Tenderdon, I understand.”
“Elizabeth Temple,” said Miss Marple. “Oh dear, I am sorry. I talked to her a good deal. I sat in the next seat to her on the coach. She is, I believe, a retired schoolmistress, a very well known one.”
“Of course,” said Clotilde, “I know her quite well. She was Headmistress of Fallowfield, quite a famous school. I’d no idea she was on this tour. She retired as Headmistress, I think a year or two ago, and there is a new, rather young Headmistress there now with rather advanced progressive ideas. But Miss Temple is not very old, really, she’s about sixty, I should think, and very active, fond of climbing and walking and all the rest of it. This really seems most unfortunate. I hope she’s not badly hurt. I haven’t heard any details yet.”
“This is quite ready now,” said Miss Marple, snapping down the lid of her suitcase. “I will come down at once and see Mr. Price.”
Clotilde seized the suitcase.
“Let me. I can carry this perfectly. Come down with me, and be careful of the stairs.”
Miss Marple came down. Emlyn Price was waiting for her. His hair was looking even wilder than usual and he was wearing a splendid array of fancy boots and a leather jerkin and brilliant emerald green trousers.
“Such an unfortunate business,” he said, seizing Miss Marple’s hand. “I thought I’d come along myself and—well, break it to you about the accident. I expect Miss Bradbury-Scott has told you. It’s Miss Temple. You know. The school dame. I don’t know quite what she was doing or what happened, but some stones, or rather boulders, rolled down from above. It’s rather a precipitous slope and it knocked her out and they had to take her off to hospital with concussion last night. I gather she’s rather bad. Anyway, the tour for today is cancelled and we are stopping on here tonight.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple, “I am sorry. I’m very sorry.”
“I think they’ve decided not to go on today because they really have to wait and see what the medical report is, so we are proposing to spend one more night here at the Golden Boar and to rearrange the tour a little, so that perhaps we shall miss out altogether going to Grangmering which we were going to do tomorrow, and which is not very interesting really, or so they say. Mrs. Sandbourne has gone off early to the hospital to see how things are this morning. She’s going to join us at the Golden Boar for coffee at 11 o’clock. I thought perhaps you’d like to come along and hear the latest news.”
“I’ll certainly come along with you,” said Miss Marple. “Of course. At once.”
She turned to say good-bye to Clotilde and Mrs. Glynne who had joined her.
“I must thank you so much,” she said. “You have been so kind and it has been so delightful to have these two nights here. I feel so rested and everything. Most unfortunate this has occurred.”
“If you would like to spend another night,” said Mrs. Glynne, “I am sure—” She looked at Clotilde.
It occurred to Miss Marple, who had as sharp a sideways glance as anyone could desire, that Clotilde had a slightly disapproving look. She almost shook her head, though it was such a small movement that it was hardly noticeable. But she was, Miss Marple thought, hushing down the suggestion that Mrs. Glynne was making.
“… although of course I expect it would be nicer for you to be with the others and to—”
“Oh yes, I think it would be better,” said Miss Marple. “I shall know then what the plans are and what to do about things, and perhaps I could be of help in some way. One never knows. So thank you again very much. It will not be difficult, I expect, to get a room at the Golden Boar.” She looked at Emlyn, who said reassuringly, “That’ll be all right. Several rooms have been vacated today, They won’t be full at all. Mrs. Sandbourne, I think, has booked for all the party to stay there tonight, and tomorrow we shall see—well, we shall see how this all goes on.”
Good-byes were said again and thanks. Emlyn Price took Miss Marple’s belongings and started out at a good striding pace.
“It’s really only just round the corner, and then the first street to the left,” he said.
“Yes, I passed it yesterday, I think. Poor Miss Temple. I do hope she’s not badly hurt.”
“I think she is rather,” said Emlyn Price. “Of course, you know what doctors are, and hospital people. They say the same thing always: ‘as well as can be expected.’ There’s no local hospital—they had to take her to Carristown which is about eight miles away. Anyway, Mrs. Sandbourne will be back with the news by the time we’ve fixed you up at the hotel.”
They got there to find the tour assembled in the coffee room and coffee and morning buns and pastries were being served. Mr. and Mrs. Butler were talking at the moment.
“Oh, it’s just too, too tragic this happening,” said Mrs. Butler. “Just too upsetting, isn’t it? Just when we were all so happy and enjoying everything so much. Poor Miss Temple. And I always thought she was very sure-footed. But there, you know, you never can tell, can you, Henry?”
“No, indeed,” said Henry. “No, indeed. I am wondering really—yes, our time’s very short you know—whether we hadn’t better—well, give up this tour at this point here. Not continue with it. It seems to me that there’s bound to be a bit of difficulty resuming things until we know definitely. If this was—well—I mean, if this should be so serious that it could prove fatal, there might—well—I mean there might have to be an inquest or something of that kind.”
“Oh Henry, don’t say dreadful things like that!”
“I’m sure,” said Miss Cooke, “that you are being a little too pessimistic, Mr. Butler. I am sure that things couldn’t be as serious as that.”
In his foreign voice Mr. Caspar said: “But yes, they are serious. I hear yesterday. When Mrs. Sandbourne talk on telephone to doctor. It is very, very serious. They say she has concussion bad—very bad. A special doctor he is coming to look at her and see if he can operate or if impossible. Yes—it is all very bad.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Lumley. “If there’s any doubt, perhaps we ought to go home, Mildred. I must look up the trains, I think.” She turned to Mrs. Butler. “You see, I have made arrangements about my cats with the neighbours, and if I was delayed a day or two it might mak
e great difficulties for everyone.”
“Well, it’s no good our working ourselves up too much,” said Mrs. Riseley-Porter, in her deep, authoritative voice. “Joanna, put this bun in the wastepaper basket, will you? It is really quite uneatable. Most unpleasant jam. But I don’t want to leave it on my plate. It might make for bad feeling.”
Joanna got rid of the bun. She said:
“Do you think it would be all right if Emlyn and I went out for a walk? I mean, just saw something of the town. It’s not much good our sitting about here, making gloomy remarks, is it? We can’t do anything.”
“I think you’d be very wise to go out,” said Miss Cooke.
“Yes, you go along,” said Miss Barrow before Mrs. Riseley-Porter could speak.
Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow looked at each other and sighed, shaking their heads.
“The grass was very slippery,” said Miss Barrow. “I slid once or twice myself, you know, on that very short turf.”
“And the stones, too,” said Miss Cooke. “Quite a shower of small stones fell down just as I was turning a corner on the path. Yes, one struck me on the shoulder quite sharply.”
II
Tea, coffee, biscuits and cakes despatched, everyone seemed somewhat dissociated and ill at ease. When a catastrophe has occurred, it is very difficult to know what is the proper way to meet it. Everyone had given their view, had expressed surprise and distress. They were now awaiting news and at the same time had a slight hankering after some form of sightseeing, some interest to carry them through the morning. Lunch would not be served until one o’clock and they really felt that to sit around and repeat their same remarks would be rather a gloomy business.
Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow rose as one woman and explained that it was necessary for them to do a little shopping. One or two things they needed, and they also wished to go to the post office and buy stamps.
“I want to send off one or two postcards. And I want to enquire about postal dues on a letter to China,” said Miss Barrow.
