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We slipped round the corner of a hedge and in a minute or two I had kindled a few twigs. I held the paper as close to the blaze as I dared. Almost at once I was rewarded by seeing characters begin to appear at the foot of the sheet. There were just two words.
‘Kirkhill Station,’ read out Fenella.
Just at that moment Fayll came round the corner. Whether he had heard or not we had no means of judging. He showed nothing.
‘But, Juan,’ said Fenella, when he moved away, ‘there isn’t a Kirkhill Station!’ She held out the map as she spoke.
‘No,’ I said, examining it, ‘but look here.’
And with a pencil I drew a line on it. ‘Of course! And somewhere on that line –’
‘Exactly.’
‘But I wish we knew the exact spot.’
It was then that my second brain-wave came to me. ‘We do!’ I cried, and, seizing the pencil again, I said: ‘Look!’ Fenella uttered a cry. ‘How idiotic!’ she cried. ‘And how marvellous! What a sell! Really, Uncle Myles was a most ingenious old gentleman!’
The time had come for the last clue. This, the lawyer had informed us, was not in his keeping. It was to be posted to us on receipt of a postcard sent by him. He would impart no further information.
Nothing arrived, however, on the morning it should have done, and Fenella and I went through agonies, believing that Fayll had managed somehow to intercept our letter. The next day, however, our fears were calmed and the mystery explained when we received the following illiterate scrawl:
‘Dear Sir or Madam,
Escuse delay but have been all sixes and sevens but i do now as mr Mylecharane axed me to and send you the piece of riting wot as been in my family many long years the wot he wanted it for i do not know. thanking you i am Mary Kerruish’
‘Post mark – Bride,’ I remarked. ‘Now for the “piece of riting handed down in my family”!’
Upon a rock, a sign you’ll see.
O, Tell me what the point of That may be? Well, firstly, (A). Near By you’ll find, quite suddenly, the light You seek. Then (B). A house. A Cottage with a thatch and wall.
A meandering lane near by. That’s all.
‘It’s very unfair to begin with a rock,’ said Fenella. ‘There are rocks everywhere. How can you tell which one has the sign on it?’
‘If we could settle on the district,’ I said, ‘it ought to be fairly easy to find the rock. It must have a mark on it pointing in a certain direction, and in that direction there will be something hidden which will throw light on the finding of the treasure.’
‘I think you’re right,’ said Fenella. ‘That’s A. The new clue will give us a hint where B, the cottage, is to be found. The treasure itself is hidden down a lane alongside the cottage. But clearly we’ve got to find A first.’
Owing to the difficulty of the initial step, Uncle Myles’s last problem proved a real teaser. To Fenella falls the distinction of unravelling it – and even then she did not accomplish it for nearly a week. Now and then we had come across Fayll in our search of rocky districts, but the area was a wide one.
When we finally made our discovery it was late in the evening. Too late, I said, to start off to the place indicated. Fenella disagreed.
‘Supposing Fayll finds it, too,’ she said. ‘And we wait till tomorrow and he starts off tonight. How we should kick ourselves!’
Suddenly, a marvellous idea occurred to me. ‘Fenella,’ I said, ‘do you still believe that Fayll murdered Ewan Corjeag?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I think that now we’ve got our chance to bring the crime home to him.’
‘That man makes me shiver. He’s bad all through. Tell me.’
‘Advertise the fact that we’ve found A. Then start off. Ten to one he’ll follow us. It’s a lonely place – just what would suit his book. He’ll come out in the open if we pretend to find the treasure.’
‘And then?’
‘And then,’ I said, ‘he’ll have a little surprise.’
It was close on midnight. We had left the car some distance away and were creeping along by the side of a wall. Fenella had a powerful flashlight which she was using. I myself carried a revolver. I was taking no chances.
Suddenly, with a low cry, Fenella stopped. ‘Look, Juan,’ she cried. ‘We’ve got it. At last.’
For a moment I was off my guard. Led by instinct I whirled round – but too late. Fayll stood six paces away and his revolver covered us both.
‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘This trick is mine. You’ll hand over that treasure, if you please.’
‘Would you like me also to hand over something else?’ I asked. ‘Half a snap-shot torn from a dying man’s hand? You have the other half, I think.’
His hand wavered.
‘What are you talking about?’ he growled. ‘The truth’s known,’ I said. ‘You and Corjeag were there together. You pulled away the ladder and crashed his head with that stone. The police are cleverer than you imagine, Dr Fayll.’
‘They know, do they? Then, by Heaven, I’ll swing for three murders instead of one!’
‘Drop, Fenella,’ I screamed. And at the same minute his revolver barked loudly.
We had both dropped in the heather, and before he could fire again uniformed men sprang out from behind the wall where they had been hiding. A moment later Fayll had been handcuffed and led away.
I caught Fenella in my arms. ‘I knew I was right,’ she said tremulously. ‘Darling!’ I cried, ‘it was too risky. He might have shot you.’
‘But he didn’t,’ said Fenella. ‘And we know where the treasure is.’
‘Do we?’
‘I do. See –’ she scribbled a word. ‘We’ll look for it tomorrow. There can’t be many hiding places there, I should say.’
It was just noon when:
‘Eureka!’ said Fenella, softly. ‘The fourth snuffbox. We’ve got them all. Uncle Myles would be pleased. And now –’
‘Now,’ I said, ‘we can be married and live together happily ever afterwards.’
‘We’ll live in the Isle of Man,’ said Fenella. ‘On Manx Gold,’ I said, and laughed aloud for sheer happiness.
Chapter 41
Death by Drowning
‘Death by Drowning’ was first published in Nash’s Pall Mall, November 1931.
Sir Henry Clithering, Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their place near the little village of St Mary Mead.
On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten-fifteen, he almost collided with his hostess, Mrs Bantry, in the doorway of the breakfast room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in a condition of some excitement and distress.
Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual. ‘’Morning, Clithering,’ he said. ‘Nice day. Help yourself.’
Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys and bacon in front of him, his host went on:
‘Dolly’s a bit upset this morning.’
‘Yes – er – I rather thought so,’ said Sir Henry mildly.
He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid disposition, little given to moods or excitement. As far as Sir Henry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only – gardening.
‘Yes,’ said Colonel Bantry. ‘Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village – Emmott’s daughter – Emmott who keeps the Blue Boar.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Colonel Bantry ruminatively. ‘Pretty girl. Got herself into trouble. Usual story. I?
?ve been arguing with Dolly about that. Foolish of me. Women never see sense. Dolly was all up in arms for the girl – you know what women are – men are brutes – all the rest of it, etcetera. But it’s not so simple as all that – not in these days. Girls know what they’re about. Fellow who seduces a girl’s not necessarily a villain. Fifty-fifty as often as not. I rather liked young Sandford myself. A young ass rather than a Don Juan, I should have said.’
‘It is this man Sandford who got the girl into trouble?’
‘So it seems. Of course I don’t know anything personally,’ said the Colonel cautiously. ‘It’s all gossip and chat. You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And I’m not like Dolly – leaping to conclusions, flinging accusations all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful in what one says. You know – inquest and all that.’
‘Inquest?’
Colonel Bantry stared.
‘Yes. Didn’t I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That’s what all the pother’s about.’
‘That’s a nasty business,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Of course it is. Don’t like to think of it myself. Poor pretty little devil. Her father’s a hard man by all accounts. I suppose she just felt she couldn’t face the music.’
He paused. ‘That’s what’s upset Dolly so.’
‘Where did she drown herself?’
‘In the river. Just below the mill it runs pretty fast. There’s a footpath and a bridge across. They think she threw herself off that. Well, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
And with a portentous rustle, Colonel Bantry opened his newspaper and proceeded to distract his mind from painful matters by an absorption in the newest iniquities of the government.
Sir Henry was only mildly interested by the village tragedy. After breakfast, he established himself on a comfortable chair on the lawn, tilted his hat over his eyes and contemplated life from a peaceful angle.
It was about half past eleven when a neat parlourmaid tripped across the lawn.
‘If you please, sir, Miss Marple has called, and would like to see you.’
‘Miss Marple?’
