They Do It With Mirrors Read Free

Honestly, Jane, you don’t feel that I’ve taken an unpardonable liberty? You won’t mind—”
    She hesitated and Miss Marple put her thoughts deftly into words.
    â€œGoing to Stonygates as an object of charity—more or less under false pretences? Not in the least—if it is necessary. You think it is necessary—and I am inclined to agree with you.”
    Mrs. Van Rydock stared at her.
    â€œBut why? What have you heard?”
    â€œI haven’t heard anything. It’s just your conviction. You’re not a fanciful woman, Ruth.”
    â€œNo, but I haven’t anything definite to go upon.”
    â€œI remember,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully, “one Sunday morning at church—it was the second Sunday in Advent—sitting behind Grace Lamble and feeling more and more worried about her. Quite sure, you know, that something was wrong—badly wrong—and yet being quite unable to say why. A most disturbing feeling and very, very definite.”
    â€œAnd was there something wrong?”
    â€œOh yes. Her father, the old admiral, had been very peculiar for some time, and the very next day he went for her with the coal hammer, roaring out that she was Antichrist masquerading as his daughter. He nearly killed her. They took him away to the asylumand she eventually recovered after months in hospital—but it was a very near thing.”
    â€œAnd you’d actually had a premonition that day in church?”
    â€œI wouldn’t call it a premonition. It was founded on fact —these things usually are, though one doesn’t always recognise it at the time. She was wearing her Sunday hat the wrong way round. Very significant, really, because Grace Lamble was a most precise woman, not at all vague or absentminded—and the circumstances under which she would not notice which way her hat was put on to go to church were really extremely limited. Her father, you see, had thrown a marble paperweight at her and it had shattered the looking glass. She had caught up her hat, put it on, and hurried out of the house. Anxious to keep up appearances and for the servants not to hear anything. She put down these actions, you see, to ‘dear Papa’s Naval temper,’ she didn’t realise that his mind was definitely unhinged. Though she ought to have realised it clearly enough. He was always complaining to her of being spied upon and of enemies—all the usual symptoms, in fact.”
    Mrs. Van Rydock gazed respectfully at her friend.
    â€œMaybe, Jane,” she said, “that St. Mary Mead of yours isn’t quite the idyllic retreat that I’ve always imagined it.”
    â€œHuman nature, dear, is very much the same everywhere. It is more difficult to observe it closely in a city, that is all.”
    â€œAnd you’ll go to Stonygates?”
    â€œI’ll go to Stonygates. A little unfair, perhaps, on my nephew Raymond. To let it be thought that he does not assist me, I mean. Still the dear boy is in Mexico for six months. And by that time it should all be over.”
    â€œWhat should all be over?”
    â€œCarrie Louise’s invitation will hardly be for an indefinite stay. Three weeks, perhaps—a month. That should be ample.”
    â€œFor you to find out what is wrong?”
    â€œFor me to find out what is wrong.”
    â€œMy, Jane,” said Mrs. Van Rydock, “you’ve got a lot of confidence in yourself, haven’t you?”
    Miss Marple looked faintly reproachful.
    â€œ You have confidence in me, Ruth. Or so you say … I can only assure you that I shall endeavour to justify your confidence.”

Two
    B efore catching her train back to St. Mary Mead (Wednesday special cheap day return) Miss Marple, in a precise and businesslike fashion, collected certain data.
    â€œCarrie Louise and I have corresponded after a fashion, but it has largely been a matter of Christmas cards or calendars. It’s