Miss Marple's Final Cases Read Free Page B

until I really need them and then they will do for her if I pass on sooner than I expect.’
    ‘I really did need the glass-cloths,’ said Bunch. ‘And they were very cheap, though not as cheap as the ones that woman with the ginger hair managed to snatch from me.’
    A smart young woman with a lavish application of rouge and lipstick entered the Apple Bough at that moment. After looking around vaguely for a moment or two, she hurried to their table. She laid down an envelope by Miss Marple’s elbow.
    ‘There you are, miss,’ she said briskly.
    ‘Oh, thank you, Gladys,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Thank you very much. So kind of you.’
    ‘Always pleased to oblige, I’m sure,’ said Gladys. ‘Ernie always says to me, “Everything what’s good you learned from that Miss Marple of yours that you were in service with,” and I’m sure I’m always glad to oblige you, miss.’
    ‘Such a dear girl,’ said Miss Marple as Gladys departed again. ‘Always so willing and so kind.’
    She looked inside the envelope and then passed it on to Bunch. ‘Now be very careful, dear,’ she said. ‘By the way, is there still that nice young inspector at Melchester that I remember?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Bunch. ‘I expect so.’
    ‘Well, if not,’ said Miss Marple thoughtfully. ‘I can always ring up the Chief Constable. I think he would remember me.’
    ‘Of course he’d remember you,’ said Bunch. ‘Everybody would remember you . You’re quite unique.’ She rose.
    Arrived at Paddington, Bunch went to the luggage office and produced the cloakroom ticket. A moment or two later a rather shabby old suitcase was passed across to her, and carrying this she made her way to the platform.
    The journey home was uneventful. Bunch rose as the train approached Chipping Cleghorn and picked up the old suitcase. She had just left her carriage when a man, sprinting along the platform, suddenly seized the suitcase from her hand and rushed off with it.
    ‘Stop!’ Bunch yelled. ‘Stop him, stop him. He’s taken my suitcase.’
    The ticket collector who, at this rural station, was a man of somewhat slow processes, had just begun to say, ‘Now, look here, you can’t do that—’ when a smart blow on the chest pushed him aside, and the man with the suitcase rushed out from the station. He made his way towards a waiting car. Tossing the suitcase in, he was about to climb after it, but before he could move a hand fell on his shoulder, and the voice of Police Constable Abel said, ‘Now then, what’s all this?’
    Bunch arrived, panting, from the station. ‘He snatched my suitcase. I just got out of the train with it.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ said the man. ‘I don’t know what thislady means. It’s my suitcase. I just got out of the train with it.’
    He looked at Bunch with a bovine and impartial stare. Nobody would have guessed that Police Constable Abel and Mrs Harmon spent long half-hours in Police Constable Abel’s off-time discussing the respective merits of manure and bone meal for rose bushes.
    ‘You say, madam, that this is your suitcase?’ said Police Constable Abel.
    ‘Yes,’ said Bunch. ‘Definitely.’
    ‘And you, sir?’
    ‘I say this suitcase is mine.’
    The man was tall, dark and well dressed, with a drawling voice and a superior manner. A feminine voice from inside the car said, ‘Of course it’s your suitcase, Edwin. I don’t know what this woman means.’
    ‘We’ll have to get this clear,’ said Police Constable Abel. ‘If it’s your suitcase, madam, what do you say is inside it?’
    ‘Clothes,’ said Bunch. ‘A long speckled coat with a beaver collar, two wool jumpers and a pair of shoes.’
    ‘Well, that’s clear enough,’ said Police Constable Abel. He turned to the other.
    ‘I am a theatrical costumer,’ said the dark man importantly. ‘This suitcase contains theatrical properties which I brought down here for an amateur performance.’
    ‘Right, sir,’ said Police Constable Abel.