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

type of man. When he had made up his mind, he was sure. He was quite sure now. ‘Husband did it, sir,’ he said.
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘Quite sure of it. You’ve only got to look at him. Guilty as hell. Never showed a sign of grief or emotion. He came back to the house knowing she was dead.’
    ‘Wouldn’t he at least have tried to act the part of the distracted husband?’
    ‘Not him, sir. Too pleased with himself. Some gentlemen can’t act. Too stiff.’
    ‘Any other woman in his life?’ Colonel Melchett asked.
    ‘Haven’t been able to find any trace of one. Of course, he’s the artful kind. He’d cover his tracks. As I see it, he was just fed up with his wife. She’d got the money, and I should say was a trying woman to live with—always taking up with some “ism” or other. He cold-bloodedly decided to do away with her and live comfortably on his own.’
    ‘Yes, that could be the case, I suppose.’
    ‘Depend upon it, that was it. Made his plans careful.Pretended to get a phone call—’
    Melchett interrupted him. ‘No call been traced?’
    ‘No, sir. That means either that he lied, or that the call was put through from a public telephone booth. The only two public phones in the village are at the station and the post office. Post office it certainly wasn’t. Mrs Blade sees everyone who comes in. Station it might be. Train arrives at two twenty-seven and there’s a bit of a bustle then. But the main thing is he says it was Miss Marple who called him up, and that certainly isn’t true. The call didn’t come from her house, and she herself was away at the Institute.’
    ‘You’re not overlooking the possibility that the husband was deliberately got out of the way—by someone who wanted to murder Mrs Spenlow?’
    ‘You’re thinking of young Ted Gerard, aren’t you, sir? I’ve been working on him—what we’re up against there is lack of motive. He doesn’t stand to gain anything.’
    ‘He’s an undesirable character, though. Quite a pretty little spot of embezzlement to his credit.’
    ‘I’m not saying he isn’t a wrong ’un. Still, he did go to his boss and own up to that embezzlement. And his employers weren’t wise to it.’
    ‘An Oxford Grouper,’ said Melchett.
    ‘Yes, sir. Became a convert and went off to do the straight thing and own up to having pinched money. I’m not saying, mind you, that it mayn’t have beenastuteness. He may have thought he was suspected and decided to gamble on honest repentance.’
    ‘You have a sceptical mind, Slack,’ said Colonel Melchett. ‘By the way, have you talked to Miss Marple at all?’
    ‘What’s she got to do with it, sir?’
    ‘Oh, nothing. But she hears things, you know. Why don’t you go and have a chat with her? She’s a very sharp old lady.’
    Slack changed the subject. ‘One thing I’ve been meaning to ask you, sir. That domestic-service job where the deceased started her career—Sir Robert Abercrombie’s place. That’s where that jewel robbery was—emeralds—worth a packet. Never got them. I’ve been looking it up—must have happened when the Spenlow woman was there, though she’d have been quite a girl at the time. Don’t think she was mixed up in it, do you, sir? Spenlow, you know, was one of those little tuppenny-ha’penny jewellers—just the chap for a fence.’
    Melchett shook his head. ‘Don’t think there’s anything in that. She didn’t even know Spenlow at the time. I remember the case. Opinion in police circles was that a son of the house was mixed up in it—Jim Abercrombie—awful young waster. Had a pile of debts, and just after the robbery they were all paid off—some rich woman, so they said, but I don’t know—OldAbercrombie hedged a bit about the case—tried to call the police off.’
    ‘It was just an idea, sir,’ said Slack.
III
    Miss Marple received Inspector Slack with gratification, especially when she heard that he had been sent by Colonel Melchett.
    ‘Now, really, that