A Caribbean Mystery. Агата Кристи
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case that had taken place out here—that had been in the newspapers—
It was after that—when he picked up her ball of wool—that he had begun telling her about a snapshot—A snapshot of a murderer—that is what he had said.
Miss Marple closed her eyes and tried to remember just exactly how that story had gone.
It had been rather a confused story—told to the Major in his club—or in somebody else’s club—told him by a doctor—who had heard it from another doctor—and one doctor had taken a snapshot of someone coming through a front door—someone who was a murderer—
Yes, that was it—the various details were coming back to her now—
And he had offered to show her that snapshot—He had got out his wallet and begun hunting through its contents—talking all the time …
And then still talking, he had looked up—had looked—not at her—but at something behind her—behind her right shoulder to be accurate. And he had stopped talking, his face had gone purple—and he had started stuffing back everything into his wallet with slightly shaky hands and had begun talking in a loud unnatural voice about elephant tusks!
A moment or two later the Hillingdons and the Dysons had joined them …
It was then that she had turned her head over her right shoulder to look … But there had been nothing and nobody to see. To her left, some distance away, in the direction of the hotel, there had been Tim Kendal and his wife; and beyond them a family group of Venezuelans. But Major Palgrave had not been looking in that direction …
Miss Marple meditated until lunch time.
After lunch she did not go for a drive.
Instead she sent a message to say that she was not feeling very well and to ask if Dr Graham would be kind enough to come and see her.
Miss Marple Seeks Medical Attention
Dr Graham was a kindly elderly man of about sixty-five. He had practised in the West Indies for many years, but was now semi-retired, and left most of his work to his West Indian partners. He greeted Miss Marple pleasantly and asked her what the trouble was. Fortunately at Miss Marple’s age, there was always some ailment that could be discussed with slight exaggerations on the patient’s part. Miss Marple hesitated between ‘her shoulder’ and ‘her knee’, but finally decided upon the knee. Miss Marple’s knee, as she would have put it to herself, was always with her.
Dr Graham was exceedingly kindly but he refrained from putting into words the fact that at her time of life such troubles were only to be expected. He prescribed for her one of the brands of useful little pills that form the basis of a doctor’s prescriptions. Since he knew by experience that many elderly people could be lonely when they first came to St Honoré, he remained for a while gently chatting.
‘A very nice man,’ thought Miss Marple to herself, ‘and I really feel rather ashamed of having to tell him lies. But I don’t quite see what else I can do.’
Miss Marple had been brought up to have a proper regard for truth and was indeed by nature a very truthful person. But on certain occasions, when she considered it her duty so to do, she could tell lies with a really astonishing verisimilitude.
She cleared her throat, uttered an apologetic little cough, and said, in an old ladyish and slightly twittering manner:
‘There is something, Dr Graham, I would like to ask you. I don’t really like mentioning it—but I don’t quite see what else I am to do—although of course it’s quite unimportant really. But you see, it’s important to me. And I hope you will understand and not think what I am asking is tiresome or—or unpardonable in any way.’
To this opening Dr Graham replied kindly: ‘Something is worrying you? Do let me help.’
‘It’s connected with Major Palgrave. So sad about his dying. It was quite a shock when I heard it this morning.’
‘Yes,’ said Dr Graham, ‘it was very sudden, I’m afraid. He seemed in such good spirits yesterday.’ He spoke kindly, but conventionally. To him, clearly, Major Palgrave’s death was nothing out of the way. Miss Marple wondered whether she was really making something out of nothing. Was this suspicious habit of mind growing on her? Perhaps she could no longer trust her own judgment. Not that it was judgment really, only suspicion. Anyway she was in for it now! She must go ahead.
‘We were sitting talking together yesterday afternoon,’ she said. ‘He was telling me about his very varied and interesting life. So many strange parts of the globe.’
‘Yes indeed,’ said Dr Graham, who had been bored many times by the Major’s reminiscences.
‘And then he spoke of his family, boyhood rather, and I told him a little about my own nephews and nieces and he listened very sympathetically. And I showed him a snapshot I had with me of one of my nephews. Such a dear boy—at least not exactly a boy now, but always a boy to me if you understand.’
‘Quite so,’ said Dr Graham, wondering how long it would be before the old lady was going to come to the point.
‘I had handed it to him and he was examining it when quite suddenly those people—those very nice people—who collect wild flowers and butterflies, Colonel and Mrs Hillingdon I think the name is—’
‘Oh yes? The Hillingdons and the Dysons.’
‘Yes, that’s right. They came suddenly along laughing and talking. They sat down and ordered drinks and we all talked together. Very pleasant it was. But without thinking, Major Palgrave must have put back my snapshot into his wallet and returned it to his pocket. I wasn’t paying very much attention at the time but I remembered afterward and I said to myself—“I mustn’t forget to ask the Major to give me back my picture of Denzil.” I did think of it last night while the dancing and the band was going on, but I didn’t like to interrupt him just then, because they were having such a merry party together and I thought “I will remember to ask him for it in the morning.” Only this morning—’ Miss Marple paused—out of breath.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Dr Graham, ‘I quite understand. And you—well, naturally you want the snapshot back. Is that it?’
Miss Marple nodded her head in eager agreement.
‘Yes. That’s it. You see, it is the only one I have got and I haven’t got the negative. And I would hate to lose that snapshot, because poor Denzil died some five or six years ago and he was my favourite nephew. This is the only picture I have to remind me of him. I wondered—I hoped—it is rather tiresome of me to ask—whether you could possibly manage to get hold of it for me? I don’t really know who else to ask, you see. I don’t know who’ll attend to all his belongings and things like that. It is all so difficult. They would think it such a nuisance of me. You see, they don’t understand. Nobody could quite understand what this snapshot means to me.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Dr Graham. ‘I quite understand. A most natural feeling on your part. Actually, I am meeting the local authorities shortly—the funeral is tomorrow—and someone will be coming from the Administrator’s office to look over his papers and effects before communicating with the next of kin—all that sort of thing—If you could describe this snapshot.’
‘It was just the front of a house,’ said Miss Marple. ‘And someone—Denzil, I mean—was just coming out of the front door. As I say it was taken by one of my other nephews who is very keen on flower shows—and he was photographing a hibiscus, I think, or one of those beautiful—something like antipasto—lilies. Denzil just happened to come out of the front door at that time. It wasn’t a very good photograph of him—just