‘Don’t think as Miss Helen cared much about any of the young fellows. Just liked to enjoy herself, that’s all. Very devoted some of them were-young Mr Walter Fane, for one. Used to follow her round like a dog.’
‘But she didn’t care for him at all?’
‘Not Miss Helen. Just laughed-that’s all she did. Went abroad to foreign parts, he did. But he come back later. Top one in the firm he is now. Never married. I don’t blame him. Women causes a lot of trouble in a man’s life.’
‘Are you married?’ asked Gwenda.
‘Buried two, I have,’ said old Manning. ‘Ar, well, I can’t complain. Smoke me pipe in peace where I likes now.’
In the ensuing silence, he picked up his rake again.
Giles and Gwenda walked back up the path towards the house and Miss Marple desisting from her attack on bindweed joined them.
‘Miss Marple,’ said Gwenda. ‘You don’t look well. Is there anything-’
‘It’s nothing, my dear.’ The old lady paused for a moment before saying with a strange kind of insistence, ‘You know, I don’t like that bit about the tennis net. Cutting it to ribbons. Even then-’
She stopped. Giles looked at her curiously.
‘I don’t quite understand-’ he began.
‘Don’t you? It seems so horribly plain to me. But perhaps it’s better that you shouldn’t understand. And anyway-perhaps I am wrong. Now do tell me how you got on in Northumberland.’
They gave her an account of their activities, and Miss Marple listened attentively.
‘It’s really all very sad,’ said Gwenda. ‘Quite tragic, in fact.’
‘Yes, indeed. Poor thing-poor thing.’
‘That’s what I felt. How that man must suffer-’
‘He? Oh yes. Yes, of course.’
‘But you meant-’
‘Well, yes-I was thinking ofher -of the wife. Probably very deeply in love with him, and he married her because she was suitable, or because he was sorry for her, or for one of those quite kindly and sensible reasons that men often have, and which are actually so terribly unfair.’
‘I know a hundred ways of love,
And each one makes the loved one rue,’
quoted Giles softly.
Miss Marple turned to him.
‘Yes, that is so true. Jealousy, you know, is usually not an affair of ncauses. It is much more-how shall I say?-fundamental than that. Based on the knowledge that one’s love is not returned. And so one goes on waiting, watching, expecting…that the loved one will turn to someone else. Which, again, invariably happens. So this Mrs Erskine has made life a hell for her husband, and he, without being able to help it, has made life a hell for her. But I think she has suffered most. And yet, you know, I dare say he is really quite fond of her.’
‘He can’t be,’ cried Gwenda.
‘Oh, my dear, you are very young. He has never left his wife, and that means something, you know.’
‘Because of the children. Because it was his duty.’
‘The children, perhaps,’ said Miss Marple. ‘But I must confess that gentlemen do not seem to me to have a great regard for duty in so far as their wives are concerned-public service is another matter.’
Giles laughed.
‘What a wonderful cynic you are, Miss Marple.’
‘Oh dear, Mr Reed, I do hope not that. One always has hope for human nature.’
‘I still don’t feel it can have been Walter Fane,’ said Gwenda thoughtfully. ‘And I’m sure it wasn’t Major Erskine. In fact I know it wasn’t.’
‘One’s feelings are not always reliable guides,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The most unlikely people do things-quite a sensation there was in my own little village when the Treasurer of the Christmas Club was found to have put every penny of the funds on a horse. He disapproved of horse-racing and indeed any kind of betting or gambling. His father had been a Turf Agent and had treated his mother very badly-so, intellectually speaking, he was quite sincere. But he chanced one day to be motoring near Newmarket and saw some horses training. And then it all came over him-blood does tell.’
‘The antecedents of both Walter Fane and Richard Erskine seem above suspicion,’ said Giles gravely but with a slight amused twist to his mouth. ‘But then murder is by way of being an amateur crime.’
‘The important thing is,’ said Miss Marple, ‘that they were there. On the spot. Walter Fane was here in Dillmouth. Major Erskine, by his own account, must actually have been with Helen Halliday very shortly before her death - and he did not return to his hotel for some time that night.’
‘But he was quite frank about it. He-’
Gwenda broke off. Miss Marple was looking at her very hard.
‘I only want to emphasize,’ said Miss Marple, ‘the importance of being on the spot.’ She looked from one to the other of them.
Then she said, ‘I think you will have no trouble in finding out J. J. Afflick’s address. As proprietor of the Daffodil Coaches, it should be easy enough.’
Giles nodded. ‘I’ll get on to it. Probably in the telephone directory.’ He paused. ‘You think we should go and see him?’
Miss Marple waited for a moment or two, then she said: ‘If you do-you must be very careful. Remember what that old gardener just said-Jackie Afflick is smart. Please-please be careful…’
Chapter 21. J. J. Afflick
J. J. Afflick, Daffodil Coaches, Devon & Dorset Tours, etc. had two numbers listed in the telephone book. An office address in Exeter and a private address on the outskirts of that town.
An appointment was made for the following day.
Just as Giles and Gwenda were leaving in the car, Mrs Cocker ran out and gesticulated. Giles put on the brake and stopped.
‘It’s Dr Kennedy on the telephone, sir.’
Giles got out and ran back. He picked up the receiver.
‘Giles Reed here.’
‘Morning. I’ve just received rather an odd letter. From a woman called Lily Kimble. I’ve been racking my brains to remember who she is. Thought of a patient first-that put me off the scent. But I rather fancy she must be a girl who was in service once at your house. House-parlourmaid at the time we know of. I’m almost sure her name was Lily, though I don’t recollect her last name.’
‘There was a Lily. Gwenda remembers her. She tied a bow on the cat.’
‘Gwennie must have a very remarkable memory.’
‘Oh, she has.’
‘Well, I’d like to have a word with you about this letter-not over the phone. Will you be in if I come over?’
‘We’re just on our way to Exeter. We could drop in on you, if you prefer, sir. It’s all on our way.’
‘Good. That’ll do splendidly.’
‘I don’t like to talk too much about all this over the phone,’ explained the doctor when they arrived. ‘I always have an idea the local exchanges listen in. Here’s the woman’s letter.’
He spread the letter on the table. It was written on cheap lined paper in an uneducated hand.
Dear sir(Lily Kimble had written)
I’d be grateful if you could give me advise about the enclosed wot i cut out of paper. I been thinking and i talked it over with mr Kimble, but i don’t know wots best to do about it. Do you think as
