The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side

  “Good morning, Miss Zielinsky,” she called in a friendly tone.

  Ella Zielinsky jumped. It was not so much a jump, as a shy—the shy of a frightened horse. It surprised Mrs. Bantry.

  “Good morning,” said Ella, and added quickly: “I came down to telephone. There’s something wrong with our line today.”

  Mrs. Bantry felt more surprise. She wondered why Ella Zielinsky bothered to explain her action. She responded civilly. “How annoying for you. Do come in and telephone anytime you want to.”

  “Oh—thank you very much…” Ella was interrupted by a fit of sneezing.

  “You’ve got hay fever,” said Mrs. Bantry with immediate diagnosis. “Try weak bicarbonate of soda and water.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I have some very good patent stuff in an atomizer. Thank you all the same.”

  She sneezed again as she moved away, walking briskly up the drive.

  Mrs. Bantry looked after her. Then her eyes returned to her garden. She looked at it in a dissatisfied fashion. Not a weed to be seen anywhere.

  “Othello’s occupation’s gone,” Mrs. Bantry murmured to herself confusedly. “I dare say I’m a nosy old woman but I would like to know if—”

  A moment of irresolution and then Mrs. Bantry yielded to temptation. She was going to be a nosy old woman and the hell with it! She strode indoors to the telephone, lifted the receiver and dialled it. A brisk transatlantic voice spoke.

  “Gossington Hall.”

  “This is Mrs. Bantry, at the East Lodge.”

  “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Bantry. This is Hailey Preston. I met you on the day of the fête. What can I do for you?”

  “I thought perhaps I could do something for you. If your telephone’s out of order—”

  His astonished voice interrupted her.

  “Our telephone out of order? There’s been nothing wrong with it. Why did you think so?”

  “I must have made a mistake,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I don’t always hear very well,” she explained unblushingly.

  She put the receiver back, waited a minute, then dialled once more.

  “Jane? Dolly here.”

  “Yes, Dolly. What is it?”

  “Well, it seems rather odd. The secretary woman was dialling from the public call box in the road. She took the trouble to explain to me quite unnecessarily that she was doing so because the line at Gossington Hall was out of order. But I’ve rung up there, and it isn’t….”

  She paused, and waited for intelligence to pronounce.

  “Indeed,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

  “For what reason, do you think?”

  “Well, clearly, she didn’t want to be overheard—”

  “Exactly.”

  “And there might be quite a number of reasons for that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting,” said Miss Marple again.

  II

  Nobody could have been more ready to talk than Donald McNeil. He was an amiable red-headed young man. He greeted Dermot Craddock with pleasure and curiosity.

  “How are you getting along,” he asked cheerfully, “got any little special titbit for me?”

  “Not as yet. Later perhaps.”

  “Stalling as usual. You’re all the same. Affable oysters! Haven’t you come to the stage yet of inviting someone to come and ‘assist you in your inquiries’?”

  “I’ve come to you,” said Dermot Craddock with a grin.

  “Is there a nasty double entendre in that remark? Are you really suspicious that I murdered Heather Badcock and do you think I did it in mistake for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder Heather Badcock and do you think I did it in mistake for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder Heather Badcock all the time?”

  “I haven’t suggested anything,” said Craddock.

  “No, no, you wouldn’t do that, would you? You’d be very correct. All right. Let’s go into it. I was there. I had opportunity but had I any motive? Ah, that’s what you’d like to know. What was my motive?”

  “I haven’t been able to find one so far,” said Craddock.

  “That’s very gratifying. I feel safer.”

  “I’m just interested in what you may have seen that day.”

  “You’ve had that already. The local police had that straight away. It’s humiliating. There I was on the scene of a murder. I practically saw the murder committed, must have done, and yet I’ve no idea who did it. I’m ashamed to confess that the first I knew about it was seeing the poor, dear woman sitting on a chair gasping for breath and then pegging out. Of course it made a very good eyewitness account. It was a good scoop for me—and all that. But I’ll confess to you that I feel humiliated that I don’t know more. I ought to know more. And you can’t kid me that the dose was meant for Heather Badcock. She was a nice woman who talked too much, but nobody gets murdered for that—unless of course they give away secrets. But I don’t think anybody would ever have told Heather Badcock a secret. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d have been interested in other people’s secrets. My view of her is of a woman who invariably talked about herself.”

  “That seems to be the generally accepted view,” agreed Craddock.

  “So we come to the famous Marina Gregg. I’m sure there are lots of wonderful motives for murdering Marina. Envy and jealousy and love tangles—all the stuff of drama. But who did it? Someone with a screw loose, I presume. There! You’ve had my valuable opinion. Is that what you wanted?”

  “Not that alone. I understand that you arrived and came up the stairs about the same time as the vicar and the mayor.”

  “Quite correct. But that wasn’t the first time I’d arrived. I’d been there earlier.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes. I was on a kind of roving commission, you know, going here and there. I had a photographer with me. I’d gone down to take a few local shots of the mayor arriving and throwing a hoopla and putting in a peg for buried treasure and that kind of thing. Then I went back up again, not so much on the job as to get a drink or two. The drink was good.”

  “I see. Now can you remember who else was on the staircase when you went up?”

  “Margot Bence from London was there with her camera.”

  “You know her well?”

  “Oh I just run against her quite often. She’s a clever girl, who makes a success of her stuff. She takes all the fashionable things— First Nights, Gala Performances—specializes in photographs from unusual angles. Arty! She was in a corner of the half landing very well placed for taking anyone who came up and for taking the greetings going on at the top. Lola Brewster was just ahead of me on the stairs. Didn’t know her at first. She’s got a new rust-red hairdo. The very latest Fiji Islander type. Last time I saw her it was lank waves falling round her face and chin in a nice shade of auburn. There was a big dark man with her, American. I don’t know who he was but he looked important.”

  “Did you look at Marina Gregg herself at all as you were coming up?”

  “Yes, of course I did.”

  “She didn’t look upset or as though she’d had a shock or was frightened?”

  “It’s odd you should say that. I did think for a moment or two she was going to faint.”

  “I see,” said Craddock thoughtfully. “Thanks. There’s nothing else you’d like to tell me?”

  McNeil gave him a wide innocent stare.

  “What could there be?”

  “I don’t trust you,” said Craddock.

  “But you seem quite sure I didn’t do it. Disappointing. Suppose I turn out to be her first husband. Nobody knows who he was except that he was so insignicant that even his name’s been forgotten.”

  Dermot grinned.

  “Married from your prep school?” he asked. “Or possibly in rompers! I must hurry. I’ve got a train to catch.”

  III

  There was a neatly docketed pile of papers on Craddock’s desk at New Scotland Yard. He gave a perfunctory glance throu
gh them, then threw a question over his shoulder.

  “Where’s Lola Brewster staying?”

  “At the Savoy, sir. Suite 1800. She’s expecting you.”

  “And Ardwyck Fenn?”

  “He’s at the Dorchester. First floor, 190.”

  “Good.”

  He picked up some cablegrams and read through them again before shoving them into his pocket. He smiled a moment to himself over the last one. “Don’t say I don’t do my stuff, Aunt Jane,” he murmured under his breath.

  He went out and made his way to the Savoy.

  In Lola Brewster’s suite Lola went out of her way to welcome him effusively. With the report he had just read in his mind, he studied her carefully. Quite a beauty still, he thought, in a lush kind of way, what you might call a trifie overblown, perhaps, but they still liked them that way. A completely different type, of course, from Marina Gregg. The amenities over, Lola pushed back her Fiji Islander hair, drew her generous lipsticked mouth into a provocative pout, and flickering blue eyelids over wide brown eyes, said:

  “Have you come to ask me a lot more horrible questions? Like that local inspector did.”

  “I hope they won’t be too horrible, Miss Brewster.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure they will be, and I’m sure the whole thing must have been some terrible mistake.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes. It’s all such nonsense. Do you really mean that someone tried to poison Marina? Who on earth would poison Marina? She’s an absolute sweetie, you know. Everybody loves her.”

  “Including you?”

  “I’ve always been devoted to Marina.”

  “Oh come now, Miss Brewster, wasn’t there a little trouble about eleven or twelve years ago?”

  “Oh that.” Lola waved it away. “I was terribly nervy and distraught, and Rob and I had been having the most frightful quarrels. We were neither of us normal at the moment. Marina just fell wildly in love with him and rushed him off his feet, the poor pet.”

  “And you minded very much?”

  “Well, I thought I did, Inspector. Of course I see now it was one of the best things that ever happened for me. I was really worried about the children, you know. Breaking up our home. I’m afraid I’d already realized that Rob and I were incompatible. I expect you know I got married to Eddie Groves as soon as the divorce went through? I think really I’d been in love with him for a long time, but of course I didn’t want to break up my marriage, because of the children. It’s so important, isn’t it, that children should have a home?”

  “Yet people say that actually you were terribly upset.”

  “Oh, people always say things,” said Lola vaguely.

  “You said quite a lot, didn’t you, Miss Brewster? You went about threatening to shoot Marina Gregg, or so I understand.”

  “I’ve told you one says things. One’s supposed to say things like that. Of course I wouldn’t really shoot anyone.”

  “In spite of taking a pot-shot at Eddie Groves some few years later?”

  “Oh, that was because we’d had an argument,” said Lola. “I lost my temper.”

  “I have it on very good authority, Miss Brewster, that you said—and these are your exact words or so I’m told,” (he read from a notebook)—‘That bitch needn’t think she’ll get away with it. If I don’t shoot her now I’ll wait and get her in some other way. I don’t care how long I wait, years if need be, but I’ll get even with her in the end.’”

  “Oh, I’m sure I never said anything of the kind,” Lola laughed.

  “I’m sure, Miss Brewster, that you did.”

  “People exaggerate so.” A charming smile broke over her face. “I was just mad at the moment, you know,” she murmured confidentially. “One says all sorts of things when one’s mad with people. But you don’t really think I’d wait fourteen years and come across to England, and look up Marina and drop some deadly poison into her cocktail glass within three minutes of seeing her again?”

  Dermot Craddock didn’t really think so. It seemed to him wildly improbable. He merely said:

  “I’m only pointing out to you, Miss Brewster, that there had been threats in the past and that Marina Gregg was certainly startled and frightened to see someone who came up the stairs that day. Naturally one feels that that someone must have been you.”

  “But darling Marina was delighted to see me! She kissed me and exclaimed how wonderful it was. Oh really, Inspector, I do think you’re being very, very silly.”

  “In fact, you were all one big happy family?”

  “Well, that’s really much more true than all the things you’ve been thinking.”

  “And you’ve no ideas that could help us in anyway? No ideas who might have killed her?”

  “I tell you nobody would have wanted to kill Marina. She’s a very silly woman anyway. Always making terrible fusses about her health, and changing her mind and wanting this, that and the other, and when she’s got it being dissatisfied with it! I can’t think why people are as fond of her as they are. Jason’s always been absolutely mad about her. What that man has to put up with! But there it is. Everybody puts up with Marina, puts themselves out for her. Then she gives them a sad, sweet smile and thanks them! And apparently that makes them feel that all the trouble is worthwhile. I really don’t know how she does it. You’d better put the idea that somebody wanted to kill her right out of your head.”

  “I should like to,” said Dermot Craddock. “Unfortunately I can’t put it out of my head because, you see, it happened.”

  “What do you mean, it happened, nobody has killed Marina, have they?”

  “No. But the attempt was made.”

  “I don’t believe it for a moment! I expect whoever it was meant to kill the other woman all the time—the one who was killed. I expect someone comes into money when she dies.”

  “She hadn’t any money, Miss Brewster.”

  “Oh well, there was some other reason. Anyway, I shouldn’t worry about Marina if I were you. Marina is always all right!”

  “Is she? She doesn’t look a very happy woman to me.”

  “Oh, that’s because she makes such a song and dance about everything. Unhappy love affairs. Not being able to have any children.”

  “She adopted some children, didn’t she?” said Dermot with a lively remembrance of Miss Marple’s urgent voice.

  “I believe she did once. It wasn’t a great success I believe. She does these impulsive things and then wishes she hadn’t.”

  “What happened to the children she adopted?”

  “I’ve no idea. They just sort of vanished after a bit. She got tired of them, I suppose, like everything else.”

  “I see,” said Dermot Craddock.

  IV

  Next—the Dorchester. Suite 190.

  “Well, Chief-Inspector—” Ardwyck Fenn looked down at the card in his hand.

  “Craddock.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I hope you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”

  “Not at all. It’s this business at Much Benham. No—what’s the actual name, St. Mary Mead?”

  “Yes. That’s right. Gossington Hall.”

  “Can’t think what Jason Rudd wanted to buy a place like that for. Plenty of good Georgian houses in England—or even Queen Anne. Gossington Hall is a purely Victorian mansion. Where’s the attraction in that, I wonder?”

  “Oh, there’s some attraction—for some people, that is, in Victorian stability.”

  “Stability? Well, perhaps you’ve got something there. Marina, I suppose, had a feeling for stability. It’s a thing she never had herself, poor girl, so I suppose that’s why she always covets it. Perhaps this place will satisfy her for a bit.”

  “You know her well, Mr. Fenn?”

  Ardwyck Fenn shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well? I don’t know that I’d say that. I’ve known her over a long period of years. Known her off and on, that is to say.”

/>   Craddock looked at him appraisingly. A dark man, heavily built, shrewd eyes behind thick glasses, heavy jowl and chin, Ardwyck Fenn went on:

  “The idea is, I gather, from what I read in the newspapers, that this Mrs. Whatever-her-name-was, was poisoned by mistake. That the dose was intended for Marina. Is that right?”

  “Yes. That’s it. The dose was in Marina Gregg’s cocktail. Mrs. Badcock spilt hers and Marina handed over her drink to her.”

  “Well that seems pretty conclusive. I really can’t think, though, who would want to poison Marina. Especially as Lynette Brown wasn’t there.”

  “Lynette Brown?” Craddock looked slightly at sea.

  Ardwyck Fenn smiled. “If Marina breaks this contract, throws up the part—Lynette will get it and it would mean a good deal to Lynette to get it. But for all that, I don’t imagine she’d send some emissary along with poison. Much too melodramatic an idea.”

  “It seems a little far-fetched,” said Dermot dryly.

  “Ah, you’d be surprised what women will do when they’re ambitious,” said Ardwyck Fenn. “Mind you, death mayn’t have been intended. It may have been just to give her a fright—Enough to knock her out but not to finish her.”

  Craddock shook his head. “It wasn’t a borderline dose,” he said.

  “People make mistakes in doses, quite big ones.”

  “Is this really your theory?”

  “Oh no, it isn’t. It was only a suggestion. I’ve no theory. I was only an innocent bystander.”

  “Was Marina Gregg very surprised to see you?”

  “Yes, it was a complete surprise to her.” He laughed amusedly. “Just couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw me coming up the stairs. She gave me a very nice welcome, I must say.”

  “You hadn’t seen her for a long time?”

  “Not for four or five years, I should say.”

  “And some years before that there was a time when you and she were very close friends, I believe?”

  “Are you insinuating anything in particular by that remark, Inspector Craddock?”

  There was very little change in the voice but there was something there that had not been there before. A hint of steel, of menace. Dermot felt suddenly that this man would be a very ruthless opponent.