The Complete Miss Marple Collection Read Free

they’ve gone without me. I suppose I’d better go down and do something about it.”
    She got up and drifted out again, murmuring over her shoulder:
    â€œYou’ll tell Dennis, won’t you?”
    I said “Yes” mechanically, only realizing too late that I had no idea what it was I was to tell Dennis. But I reflected that in all probability it did not matter. I fell to cogitating on the subject of Dr. Stone, a well-known archaeologist who had recently come to stay at the Blue Boar, whilst he superintended the excavation of a barrow situated on Colonel Protheroe’s property. There had already been several disputes between him and the Colonel. I was amused at his appointment to take Lettice to see the operations.
    It occurred to me that Lettice Protheroe was something of a minx. I wondered how she would get on with the archaeologist’s secretary, Miss Cram. Miss Cram is a healthy young woman of twenty-five, noisy in manner, with a high colour, fine animal spirits and a mouth that always seems to have more than its full share of teeth.
    Village opinion is divided as to whether she is no better than she should be, or else a young woman of iron virtue who purposes to become Mrs. Stone at an early opportunity. She is in every way a great contrast to Lettice.
    I could imagine that the state of things at Old Hall might not be too happy. Colonel Protheroe had married again some five years previously. The second Mrs. Protheroe was a remarkably handsome woman in a rather unusual style. I had always guessed that the relations between her and her stepdaughter were not too happy.
    I had one more interruption. This time, it was my curate, Hawes. He wanted to know the details of my interview with Protheroe. I told him that the Colonel had deplored his “Romish tendencies” but that the real purpose of his visit had been on quite another matter. At the same time, I entered a protest of my own, and told him plainly that he must conform to my ruling. On the whole, he took my remarks very well.
    I felt rather remorseful when he had gone for not liking him better. These irrational likes and dislikes that one takes to people are, I am sure, very unChristian.
    With a sigh, I realized that the hands of the clock on my writing table pointed to a quarter to five, a sign that it was really half past four, and I made my way to the drawing room.
    Four of my parishioners were assembled there with teacups. Griselda sat behind the tea table trying to look natural in her environment, but only succeeded in looking more out of place than usual.
    I shook hands all round and sat down between Miss Marple and Miss Wetherby.
    Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner—Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marple is much the more dangerous.
    â€œWe were just talking,” said Griselda in a honeysweet voice, “about Dr. Stone and Miss Cram.”
    A ribald rhyme concocted by Dennis shot through my head.
    â€œMiss Cram doesn’t give a damn.”
    I had a sudden yearning to say it out loud and observe the effect, but fortunately I refrained. Miss Wetherby said tersely:
    â€œNo nice girl would do it,” and shut her thin lips disapprovingly.
    â€œDo what?” I inquired.
    â€œBe a secretary to an unmarried man,” said Miss Wetherby in a horrified tone.
    â€œOh! my dear,” said Miss Marple. “ I think married ones are the worst. Remember poor Mollie Carter.”
    â€œMarried men living apart from their wives are, of course, notorious,” said Miss Wetherby.
    â€œAnd even some of the ones living with their wives,” murmured Miss Marple. “I remember….”
    I interrupted these unsavoury reminiscences.
    â€œBut surely,” I said, “in these days a girl can take a post in just the same way as a man does.”
    â€œTo come away to the country? And stay at the same hotel?” said Mrs. Price Ridley in