Miss Marple's Final Cases by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

‘Oh, no, of course, it’s Thursday—Gladys’s day out. I expect Mrs Spenlow has fallen asleep. I don’t expect you’ve made enough noise with this thing.’
    Seizing the knocker, she executed a deafening rat-a-tat-tat , and in addition thumped upon the panels of the door. She also called out in a stentorian voice, ‘What ho, within there!’
    There was no response.
    Miss Politt murmured, ‘Oh, I think Mrs Spenlowmust have forgotten and gone out, I’ll call round some other time.’ She began edging away down the path.
    ‘Nonsense,’ said Miss Hartnell firmly. ‘She can’t have gone out. I’d have met her. I’ll just take a look through the windows and see if I can find any signs of life.’
    She laughed in her usual hearty manner, to indicate that it was a joke, and applied a perfunctory glance to the nearest window-pane—perfunctory because she knew quite well that the front room was seldom used, Mr and Mrs Spenlow preferring the small back sitting-room.
    Perfunctory as it was, though, it succeeded in its object. Miss Hartnell, it is true, saw no signs of life. On the contrary, she saw, through the window, Mrs Spenlow lying on the hearthrug—dead.
    ‘Of course,’ said Miss Hartnell, telling the story afterwards, ‘I managed to keep my head. That Politt creature wouldn’t have had the least idea of what to do. “Got to keep our heads,” I said to her. “ You stay here, and I’ll go for Constable Palk.” She said something about not wanting to be left, but I paid no attention at all. One has to be firm with that sort of person. I’ve always found they enjoy making a fuss. So I was just going off when, at that very moment, Mr Spenlow came round the corner of the house.’
    Here Miss Hartnell made a significant pause. Itenabled her audience to ask breathlessly, ‘Tell me, how did he look ?’
    Miss Hartnell would then go on, ‘Frankly, I suspected something at once! He was far too calm. He didn’t seem surprised in the least. And you may say what you like, it isn’t natural for a man to hear that his wife is dead and display no emotion whatever.’
    Everybody agreed with this statement.
    The police agreed with it, too. So suspicious did they consider Mr Spenlow’s detachment, that they lost no time in ascertaining how that gentleman was situated as a result of his wife’s death. When they discovered that Mrs Spenlow had been the monied partner, and that her money went to her husband under a will made soon after their marriage, they were more suspicious than ever.
    Miss Marple, that sweet-faced—and, some said, vinegar-tongued—elderly spinster who lived in the house next to the rectory, was interviewed very early—within half an hour of the discovery of the crime. She was approached by Police Constable Palk, importantly thumbing a notebook. ‘If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ve a few questions to ask you.’
    Miss Marple said, ‘In connection with the murder of Mrs Spenlow?’
    Palk was startled. ‘May I ask, madam, how you got to know of it?’
    ‘The fish,’ said Miss Marple.
    The reply was perfectly intelligible to Constable Palk. He assumed correctly that the fishmonger’s boy had brought it, together with Miss Marple’s evening meal.
    Miss Marple continued gently. ‘Lying on the floor in the sitting-room, strangled—possibly by a very narrow belt. But whatever it was, it was taken away.’
    Palk’s face was wrathful. ‘How that young Fred gets to know everything—’
    Miss Marple cut him short adroitly. She said, ‘There’s a pin in your tunic.’
    Constable Palk looked down, startled. He said, ‘They do say, “See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.” ’
    ‘I hope that will come true. Now what is it you want me to tell you?’
    Constable Palk cleared his throat, looked important, and consulted his notebook. ‘Statement was made to me by Mr Arthur Spenlow, husband of the deceased. Mr Spenlow says that at two-thirty, as far as he can say, he was