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“And I want to match some wools,” said Miss Cooke. “And also it seemed to me there was rather an interesting building on the other side of the Market Square.”
“I think it would do us all good to get out,” said Miss Barrow.
Colonel and Mrs. Walker also rose, and suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Butler that they too might go out and see what there was to see. Mrs. Butler expressed hopes of an antique shop.
“Only I don’t really mean a real antique shop. More what you would call a junk shop. Sometimes you can pick up some really interesting things there.”
They all trooped out. Emlyn Price had already sidled to the door and disappeared in pursuit of Joanna without troubling to use conversation to explain his departure. Mrs. Riseley-Porter, having made a belated attempt to call her niece back, said she thought that at least the lounge would be rather more pleasant to sit in. Miss Lumley agreed—Mr. Caspar escorted the ladies with the air of a foreign equerry.
Professor Wanstead and Miss Marple remained.
“I think myself,” said Professor Wanstead, addressing Miss Marple, “that it would be pleasant to sit outside the hotel. There is a small terrace giving on the street. If I might persuade you?”
Miss Marple thanked him and rose to her feet. She had hardly exchanged a word so far with Professor Wanstead. He had several learned looking books with him, one of which he was usually perusing. Even in the coach he continued to try and read.
“But perhaps you too want to shop,” he said. “For myself, I would prefer to wait somewhere peacefully for the return of Mrs. Sandbourne. It is important, I think, that we should know exactly what we are in for.”
“I quite agree with you, as to that,” said Miss Marple. “I did a certain amount of walking round the town yesterday and I don’t feel any necessity to do so again today. I’d rather wait here in case there is anything I can do to help. Not that I suppose there is, but one never knows.”
They moved together through the hotel door and round the corner to where there was a little square of garden with a raised stone walk close to the wall of the hotel and on which there were various forms of basket chairs. There was no one there at the moment so they sat down. Miss Marple looked thoughtfully at her vis-à-vis. At his corrugated and wrinkled face, his bushy brows, his luxuriant head of grey hair. He walked with a slight stoop. He had an interesting face, Miss Marple decided. His voice was dry and caustic, a professional man of some kind, she thought.
“I am not wrong, am I,” said Professor Wanstead. “You are Miss Jane Marple?”
“Yes, I am Jane Marple.”
She was slightly surprised, though for no particular reason. They had not been long enough together for people to be identified by the other travellers. The last two nights she had not been with the rest of the party. It was quite natural.
“I thought so,” said Professor Wanstead, “from a description I have had of you.”
“A description of me?” Miss Marple was again slightly surprised.
“Yes, I had a description of you—” he paused for a moment. His voice was not exactly lowered, but it lost volume, although she could still hear it quite easily “—from Mr. Rafiel.”
“Oh,” said Miss Marple, startled. “From Mr. Rafiel.”
“You are surprised?”
“Well, yes, I am rather.”
“I don’t know that you should be.”
“I didn’t expect—” began Miss Marple and then stopped.
Professor Wanstead did not speak. He was merely sitting, looking at her intently. In a minute or two, thought Miss Marple to herself, he will say to me, “What symptoms exactly, dear lady? Any discomfort in swallowing? Any lack of sleep? Digestion in good order?” She was almost sure now that he was a doctor.
“When did he describe me to you? That must have been—”
“You were going to say some time ago—some weeks ago. Before his death—that is so. He told me that you would be on this tour.”
“And he knew that you would be on it too—that you were going on it.”
“You can put it that way,” said Professor Wanstead. “He said,” he continued, “that you would be travelling on this tour, that he had in fact arranged for you to be travelling on this tour.”
“It was very kind of him,” said Miss Marple. “Very kind indeed. I was most surprised when I found he’d booked me. Such a treat. Which I could not have afforded for myself.”
“Yes,” said Professor Wanstead. “Very well put.” He nodded his head as one who applauds a good performance by a pupil.
“It is sad that it has been interrupted in this fashion,” said Miss Marple. “Very sad indeed. When I am sure we were all enjoying ourselves so much.”
“Yes,” said Professor Wanstead. “Yes, very sad. And unexpected, do you think, or not unexpected?”
“Now what do you mean by that, Professor Wanstead?”
His lips curled in a slight smile as he met her challenging look.
“Mr. Rafiel,” he said, “spoke to me about you at some length, Miss Marple. He suggested that I should be on this tour with you. I should in due course almost certainly make your acquaintance, since members in a tour inevitably do make each other’s acquaintance, though it usually takes a day or two for them to split up, as it were, into possible groupings led by similar tastes or interests. And he further suggested to me that I should, shall we say, keep an eye on you.”
“Keep an eye on me?” said Miss Marple, showing some slight displeasure. “And for what reason?”
“I think reasons of protection. He wanted to be quite sure that nothing should happen to you.”
“Happen to me? What should happen to me, I should like to know?”
“Possibly what happened to Miss Elizabeth Temple,” said Professor Wanstead.
Joanna Crawford came round the corner of the hotel. She was carrying a shopping basket. She passed them, nodding a little, she looked towards them with slight curiosity and went on down the street. Professor Wanstead did not speak until she had gone out of sight.
“A nice girl,” he said, “at least I think so. Content at present to be a beast of burden to an autocratic aunt, but I have no doubt will reach the age of rebellion fairly soon.”
“What did you mean by what you said just now?” said Miss Marple, uninterested for the moment in Joanna’s possible rebellion.
“That is a question which, perhaps, owing to what has happened, we shall have to discuss.”
“You mean because of the accident?”
“Yes. If it was an accident.”
“Do you think it wasn’t an accident?”
“Well, I think it’s just possible. That’s all.”
“I don’t of course know anything about it,” said Miss Marple, hesitating.
“No. You were absent from the scene. You were—shall I put it this way—were you just possibly on duty elsewhere?”
Miss Marple was silent for a moment. She looked at Professor Wanstead once or twice and then she said:
“I don’t think I know exactly what you mean.”
“You are being careful. You are quite right to be careful.”
“I have made it a habit,” said Miss Marple.
“To be careful?”
“I should not put it exactly like that, but I have made a point of being always ready to disbelieve as well as believe anything that is told to me.”
