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stuck his head in the gas oven. Was that it?”
    “I don't think that was exactly it,” said Miss Marple. She looked at Esther Walters thoughtfully.
    “He told such a lot of stories,” said Esther Walters, apologetically, “and as I said, one didn't always listen.”
    “He had a snapshot,” said Miss Marple, “that he used to show people.”
    “I believe he did... I can't remember what it was now. Did he show it to you?”
    “No,” said Miss Marple. “He didn't show it to me. We were interrupted-”

A Caribbean Mystery

Chapter 9
    MISS PRESCOTT AND OTHERS
    “The story I heard,” began Miss Prescott, lowering her voice, and looking carefully around.
    Miss Marple drew her chair a little closer. It had been some time before she had been able to get together with Miss Prescott for a heart-to-heart chat. This was owing to the fact that clergymen are very strong family men so that Miss Prescott was nearly always accompanied by her brother, and there was no doubt that Miss Marple and Miss Prescott found it less easy to take their back hair down in a good gossip when the jovial Canon was of their company.
    “It seems,” said Miss Prescott, “though of course I don't want to talk any scandal and I really know nothing about it-”
    “Oh, I quite understand,” said Miss Marple.
    “It seems there was some scandal when his first wife was still alive! Apparently this woman, Lucky-such a name!-who I think was a cousin of his first wife, came out here and joined them and I think did some work with him on flowers or butterflies or whatever it was. And people talked a lot because they got on so well together-if you know what I mean.”
    “People do notice things so much, don't they,” said Miss Marple.
    “And then of course, when his wife died rather suddenly-”
    “She died here, on this island?”
    “No. No, I think they were in Martinique or Tobago at the time.”
    “I see.”
    “But I gathered from some other people who were there at the time, and who came on here and talked about things, that the doctor wasn't very satisfied.”
    “Indeed,” said Miss Marple, with interest.
    “It was only gossip,” of course, “but-well, Mr. Dyson certainly married again very quickly.” She lowered her voice again. “Only a month I believe.”
    “Only a month,” said Miss Marple.
    The two women looked at each other.
    “It seemed-unfeeling,” said Miss Prescott.
    “Yes,” said Miss Marple. “It certainly did.” She added delicately, “Was there-any money?”
    “I don't really know. He makes his little joke-perhaps you've heard him-about this wife being his 'lucky piece'-”
    “Yes, I've heard him,” said Miss Marple.
    “And some people think that means that he was lucky to marry a rich wife. Though, of course,” said Miss Prescott with the air of one being entirely fair, “she's very good-looking too, if you care for that type. And I think myself that it was the first wife who had the money.”
    “Are the Hillingdons well off?”
    “Well, I think they're well off, I don't mean fabulously rich, I just mean well off. They have two boys at Public School and a very nice place in England, I believe, and they travel most of the winter.”
    The Canon appearing at this moment to suggest a brisk walk. Miss Prescott rose to join her brother. Miss Marple remained sitting there.
    A few minutes later Gregory Dyson passed her striding along towards the hotel. He waved a cheerful hand as he passed.
    “Penny for your thoughts,” he called out.
    Miss Marple smiled gently, wondering how he would have reacted if she had replied: “I was wondering if you were a murderer.”
    It really seemed most probable that he was. It all fitted in so nicely, this story about the death of the first Mrs. Dyson. Major Palgrave had certainly been talking about a wife killer-with special reference to the “Brides in the Bath Case”. Yes. It fitted. The only objection was that it fitted almost too well. But Miss Marple reproved herself for