Nemesis. Агата Кристи
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and Mrs Walker? Nice people. Retired Army folk. Served abroad mostly. Nice to talk to, but she didn’t think there’d be anything for her there.
Miss Bentham and Miss Lumley? The elderly pussies. Unlikely to be criminals, but, being elderly pussies, they might know plenty of gossip, or have some information, or might make some illuminating remark even if it happened to come about in connection with rheumatism, arthritis or patent medicine.
Mr Caspar? Possibly a dangerous character. Very excitable. She would keep him on the list for the present.
Emlyn Price? A student presumably. Students were very violent. Would Mr Rafiel have sent her on the track of a student? Well, it would depend perhaps on what the student had done or wished to do or was going to do. A dedicated anarchist, perhaps.
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Marple, suddenly exhausted, ‘I must go to bed.’
Her feet ached, her back ached and her mental reactions were not, she thought, at their best. She slept at once. Her sleep was enlivened by several dreams.
One where Professor Wanstead’s bushy eyebrows fell off because they were not his own eyebrows, but false ones. As she woke again, her first impression was that which so often follows dreams, a belief that the dream in question had solved everything. ‘Of course,’ she thought, ‘of course
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