Nemesis

'No, indeed,' said Henry. 'No, indeed. I am wondering really – yes, our time's very short – you know – whether we hadn't better – well, give up this tour at this point here. Not continue with it. It seems to me there's bound to be a bit of difficulty resuming things until we know definitely. If this was, well I mean, if this should be so serious that it could prove fatal, there might well I mean there might have to be an inquest or something of that kind.'

'Oh Henry, don't say dreadful things like that!'

'I'm sure,' said Miss Cooke, 'that you are being a little too pessimistic, Mr Butler. I am sure that things couldn't be as serious as that.'

In his foreign voice Mr Caspar said:

'But yes, they are serious. I hear yesterday. When Mrs Sandbourne talk on telephone to doctor. It is very, very serious. They say she has concussion bad – very bad. A special doctor he is coming to look at her and see if he can operate or if impossible. Yes – it is all very bad.'

'Oh dear,' said Miss Lumley. 'If there's any doubt, perhaps we ought to go home, Mildred. I must look up the trains, I think.' She turned to Mrs Butler. 'You see, I have made arrangements about my cats with the neighbours, and if I was delayed a day or two it might make great difficulties for everyone.'

'Well, it's no good our working ourselves up too much,' said Mrs Riseley-Porter, in her deep, authoritative voice. 'Joanna, put this bun in the wastepaper basket, will you? It is really quite uneatable. Most unpleasant jam. But I don't want to leave it on my plate. It might make for bad feeling.'

Joanna got rid of the bun. She said:

'Do you think it would be all right if Emlyn and I went out for a walk? I mean, just saw something of the town. It's not much good our sitting about here, making gloomy remarks, is it? We can't do anything.'

'I think you'd be very wise to go out,' said Miss Cooke.

'Yes, you go along,' said Miss Barrow before Mrs Riseley-Porter could speak.

Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow looked at each other and sighed, shaking their heads.

'The grass was very slippery,' said Miss Barrow. 'I slid once or twice myself, you know, on that very short turf.'

'And the stones, too,' said Miss Cooke. 'Quite a shower of small stones fell down just as I was turning a corner on the path. Yes, one struck me on the shoulder quite sharply.'

Tea, coffee, biscuits and cakes despatched, everyone seemed somewhat dissociated and ill at ease. When a catastrophe has occurred, it is very difficult to know what is the proper way to meet it. Everyone had given their view, had expressed surprise and distress.

They were now awaiting news and at the same time had a slight hankering after some form of sightseeing, some interest to carry them through the morning. Lunch would not be served until one o'clock and they really felt that to sit around and repeat their same remarks would be rather a gloomy business.

Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow rose as one woman and explained that it was necessary for them to do a little shopping. One or two things they needed, and they also wished to go to the post office and buy stamps.

'I want to send off one or two postcards. And I want to enquire about postal dues on a letter to China,' said Miss Barrow.

'And I want to match some wools,' said Miss Cooke. 'And also it seemed to me there was rather an interesting building on the other side of the Market Square.'

'I think it would do us all good to get out,' said Miss Barrow.

Colonel and Mrs Walker also rose, and suggested to Mr and Mrs Butler that they too might go out and see what there was to see. Mrs Butler expressed hopes of an antique shop.

'Only I don't really mean a real antique shop. More what you would call a junk shop. Sometimes you can pick up some really interesting things there.'

They all trooped out. Emlyn Price had already sidled to the door and disappeared in pursuit of Joanna without troubling to use conversation to explain his departure.

Mrs Riseley-Porter, having made a belated attempt to call her niece back, said she thought that at least the lounge would be rather more pleasant to sit in. Miss Lumley agreed. Mr Caspar escorted the ladies with the air of a foreign dignatary.

Professor Wanstead and Miss Marple remained.

'I think myself,' said Professor Wanstead, addressing Miss Marple, 'that it would be pleasant to sit outside the hotel. There is a small terrace giving on the street. If I might persuade you?'

Miss Marple thanked him and rose to her feet. She had hardly exchanged a word so far with Professor Wanstead. He had several learned looking books with him, one of which he was usually perusing, even in the coach he continued to try and read.

'But perhaps you too want to shop,' he said. 'For myself, I would prefer to wait somewhere peacefully for the return of Mrs Sandbourne. It is important, I think, that we should know exactly what we are in for.'

'I quite agree with you, as to that,' said Miss Marple. 'I did a certain amount of walking round the town yesterday and I don't feel any necessity to do so again today. I'd rather wait here in case there is anything I can do to help. Not that I suppose there is, but one never knows.'

They moved together through the hotel door and round the corner to where there was a little square of garden with a raised stone walk close to the wall of the hotel and on which there were various forms of basket chairs. There was no one there at the moment so they sat down. Miss Marple looked thoughtfully at her vis-a-vis. At his corrugated and wrinkled face, his bushy brows, his luxuriant head of grey hair. He walked with a slight stoop. He had an interesting face, Miss Marple decided. His voice was dry and caustic, a professional man of some kind, she thought.

'I am not wrong, am I,' said Professor Wanstead. 'You are Miss Jane Marple?'

'Yes, I am Jane Marple.'

She was slightly surprised, though for no particular reason. They had not been long enough together for people to be identified by the other travellers. The last two nights she had not been with the rest of the party. It was quite natural.

'I thought so,' said Professor Wanstead, 'from a description I have had of you.'

'A description of me?' Miss Marple was again slightly surprised.

'Yes, I had a description of you -' he paused for a moment. His voice was not exactly lowered, but it lost volume, although she could still hear it quite easily. 'From Mr Rafiel.'

'Oh,' said Miss Marple, startled. 'From Mr Rafiel.'

'You are surprised?'

'Well, yes, I am rather.'

'I don't know that you should be.'

'I didn't expect,' began Miss Marple and then stopped.

Professor Wanstead did not speak. He was merely sitting, looking at her intently. In a minute or two, thought Miss Marple to herself, he will say to me, 'What symptoms exactly, dear lady? Any discomfort in swallowing? Any lack of sleep? Digestion in good order?' She was almost sure now that he was a doctor.

'When did he describe me to you? That must have been -'

'You were going to say some time ago – some weeks ago. Before his death, that is so. He told me that you would be on this tour.'

'And he knew that you would be on it too that you were going on it.'

'You can put it that way,' said Professor Wanstead. 'He said,' he continued, 'that you would be travelling on this tour, that he had in fact arranged for you to be travelling on this tour.'

'It was very kind of him,' said Miss Marple. 'Very kind indeed. I was most surprised when I found he'd booked me. Such a treat. Which I could not have afforded for myself.'

'Yes,' said Professor Wanstead. 'Very well put.' He nodded his head as one who applauds a good performance by a pupil.

'It is sad that it has been interrupted in this fashion,' said Miss Marple. 'Very sad indeed. When I am sure we were all enjoying ourselves so much.'

'Yes,' said Professor Wanstead. 'Yes, very sad. And unexpected, do you think, or not unexpected?'

'Now what do you mean by that, Professor Wanstead?'

His lips curled in a slight smile as he met her challenging look.