'What?' Phillipa spun round. Her eyes stared. She looked dismayed, almost frightened.
'But I don't want it – really I don't… Oh, I'd rather not… And anyway, why? Why to me?'
'Perhaps,' said Miss Blacklog in a peculiar voice, 'because there's no one else.'
'But there's Patrick and Julia.'
'Yes, there's Patrick and Julia.' The odd note in Miss Blacklog's voice was still there.
'They are your relations.'
'Very distant ones. They have no claim on me.'
'But I – I haven't either – I don't know what you think… Oh, I don't want it.'
Her gaze held more hostility than gratitude. There was something almost like fear in her manner.
'I know what I'm doing, Phillipa. I've become fond of you – and there's the – boy… You won't get very much if I should die now – but in a few weeks' time it might be different.'
Her eyes met Phillipa's steadily.
'But you're not going to die!' Phillipa protested.
'Not if I can avoid it by taking due precautions.'
'Precautions?'
'Yes. Think it over… And don't worry any more.'
She left the room abruptly. Phillipa heard her speaking to Julia in the hall.
Julia entered the drawing-room a few moments later. There was a slightly steely glitter in her eyes.
'Played your cards rather well, haven't you, Phillipa? I see you're one of those quiet ones… a dark horse.'
'So you heard-'
'Yes, I heard. I rather think I was meant to hear.'
'What do you mean?'
'Our Letty's no fool… Well, anyway, you're all right, Phillipa. Sitting pretty, aren't you?'
'Oh, Julia – I didn't mean – I never meant-'
'Didn't you? Of course you did. You're fairly up against things, aren't you? Hard up for money. But just remember this – if anyone bumps off Aunt Letty now, you'll be suspect No.1.'
'But I shan't be. It would be idiotic if I killed her now when – if I waited-'
'So you do know about old Mrs. What's-her-name dying up in Scotland? I wondered… Phillipa, I'm beginning to believe you're a very dark horse indeed.'
'I don't want to do you and Patrick out of anything.'
'Don't you, my dear? I'm sorry – but I don't believe you.'
Chapter 16
INSPECTOR CRADDOCK RETURNS
Inspector Craddock had had a bad night on his night journey home. His dreams had been less dreams than nightmares. Again and again he was racing through the grey corridors of an old-world castle in a desperate attempt to get somewhere, or to prevent something, in time. Finally he dreamt that he awoke. An enormous relief surged over him. Then the door of his compartment slid slowly open, and Letitia Blacklog looked in at him with blood running down her face, and said reproachfully:
'Why didn't you save me? You could have if you'd tried.'
This time he really awoke.
Altogether, the inspector was thankful finally to reach Milchester. He went straight away to make his report to Rydesdale who listened carefully.
'It doesn't take us much further,' he said. 'But it confirms what Miss Blacklog told you. Pip and Emma – h'm, I wonder.'
'Patrick and Julia Simmons are the right age, sir. If we could establish that Miss Blacklog hadn't seen them since they were children-'
With a very faint chuckle, Rydesdale said: 'Our ally, Miss Marple, has established that for us. Actually Miss Blacklog had never seen either of them at all until two months ago.'
'Then, surely, sir-'
'It's not so easy as all that, Craddock. We've been checking up. On what we've got, Patrick and Julia seem definitely to be out of it. His Naval record is genuine – quite a good record bar a tendency to 'insubordination.' We've checked with Cannes, and an indignant Mrs. Simmons says of course her son and daughter are at Chipping Cleghorn with her cousin Letitia Blacklog. So that's that!'
'And Mrs. Simmons is Mrs. Simmons?'
'She's been Mrs. Simmons for a very long time, that's all I can say,' said Rydesdale dryly.
'That seems clear enough. Only – those two fitted. Right age. Not known to Miss Blacklog, personally. If we wanted Pip and Emma – well, there they were.'
The Chief Constable nodded thoughtfully, then he pushed across a paper to Craddock.
'Here's a little something we've dug up on Mrs. Easterbrook.'
The Inspector read with lifted eyebrows.
'Very interesting,' he remarked. 'Hoodwinked that old ass pretty well, hasn't she? It doesn't tie in with this business though, as far as I can see.'
'Apparently not.'
'And here's an item that concerns Mrs. Haymes.'
Again Craddock's eyebrows rose.
'I think I'll have another talk with the lady,' he said. 'You think this information might be relevant?'
'I think it might be. It would be a long shot, of course…'
The two men were silent for a moment or two.
'How has Fletcher got on, sir?'
'Fletcher has been exceedingly active. He's made a routine search of the house by agreement with Miss Blacklog – but he didn't find anything significant. Then he's been checking up on who could have had the opportunity of oiling that door. Checking who was up at the house on the days that that foreign girl was out. A little more complicated than we thought, because it appears she goes for a walk most afternoons. Usually down to the village where she has a cup of coffee at the Bluebird. So that when Miss Blacklog and Miss Bunner are out – which is most afternoons – they go blackberrying – the coast is clear.'
'And the doors are always left unlocked?'
'They used to be. I don't suppose they are now.'
'What are Fletcher's results? Who's known to have been in the house when it was left empty?'
'Practically the whole lot of them.'
Rydesdale consulted a page in front of him.
'Miss Murgatroyd was there with a hen to sit on some eggs. (Sounds complicated but that's what she says.) Very flustered about it all and contradicts herself, but Fletcher thinks that's temperamental and not a sign of guilt.'
'Might be,' Craddock admitted. 'She flaps.'
'Then Mrs. Swettenham came up to fetch some horse meat that Miss Blacklog had left for her on the kitchen table, because Miss Blacklog had been in to Milchester in the car that day and always gets Mrs. Swettenham's horse meat for her. That makes sense to you?'
Craddock considered.
'Why didn't Miss Blacklog leave the horse meat when she passed Mrs. Swettenham's house on her way back from Milchester?'
'I don't know, but she didn't. Mrs. Swettenham says she (Miss B.) always leaves it on the kitchen table, and she (Mrs. S.) likes to fetch it when Mitzi isn't there because Mitzi is sometimes so rude.'
