Read Online Clues to Christie by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page A

any hanky-panky of that kind. No, you can take it definitely that Mrs. Cresswell was locked inside that room and couldn’t get out. And there were no bows and arrows in the room and Miss Greenshaw couldn’t in any case have been shot from a window—the angle forbids it—no, Mrs. Cresswell’s out of it.”
    He paused and went on:
    “Would you say that Miss Greenshaw, in your opinion, was a practical joker?”
    Miss Marple looked up sharply from her corner.
    “So the will wasn’t in Mrs. Cresswell’s favour after all?” she said.
    Inspector Welch looked over at her in a rather surprised fashion.
    “That’s a very clever guess of yours, madam,” he said. “No. Mrs. Cresswell isn’t named as beneficiary.”
    “Just like Mr. Naysmith,” said Miss Marple, nodding her head. “Miss Greenshaw told Mrs. Cresswell she was going to leave her everything and so got out of paying her wages; and then she left her money to somebody else. No doubt she was vastly pleased with herself. No wonder she chortled when she put the will away in Lady Audley’s Secret .”
    “It was lucky Mrs. Oxley was able to tell us about the will and where it was put,” said the inspector. “We might have had a long hunt for it otherwise.”
    “A Victorian sense of humour,” murmured Raymond West.
    “So she left her money to her nephew after all,” said Lou.
    The inspector shook his head.
    “No,” he said, “she didn’t leave it to Nat Fletcher. The story goes around here—of course I’m new to the place and I only get the gossip that’s secondhand—but it seems that in the old days both Miss Greenshaw and her sister were set on the handsome young riding master, and the sister got him. No, she didn’t leave the money to her nephew—” He paused, rubbing his chin, “She left it to Alfred,” he said.
    “Alfred—the gardener?” Joan spoke in a surprised voice.
    “Yes, Mrs. West. Alfred Pollock.”
    “But why?” cried Lou.
    Miss Marple coughed and murmured:
    “I should imagine, though perhaps I am wrong, that there may have been—what we might call family reasons.”
    “You could call them that in a way,” agreed the inspector. “It’s quite well known in the village, it seems, that Thomas Pollock, Alfred’s grandfather, was one of old Mr. Greenshaw’s by-blows.”
    “Of course,” cried Lou, “the resemblance! I saw it this morning.”
    She remembered how after passing Alfred she had come into the house and looked up at old Greenshaw’s portrait.
    “I dare say,” said Miss Marple, “that she thought Alfred Pollock might have a pride in the house, might even want to live in it, whereas her nephew would almost certainly have no use for it whatever and would sell it as soon as he could possibly do so. He’s an actor, isn’t he? What play exactly is he acting in at present?”
    Trust an old lady to wander from the point, thought Inspector Welch, but he replied civilly:
    “I believe, madam, they are doing a season of James Barrie’s plays.”
    “Barrie,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
    “ What Every Woman Knows ,” said Inspector Welch, and then blushed. “Name of a play,” he said quickly. “I’m not much of a theatre-goer myself,” he added, “but the wife went along and saw it last week. Quite well done, she said it was.”
    “Barrie wrote some very charming plays,” said Miss Marple, “though I must say that when I went with an old friend of mine, General Easterly, to see Barrie’s Little Mary— ” she shook her head sadly, “—neither of us knew where to look.”
    The inspector, unacquainted with the play Little Mary, looked completely fogged. Miss Marple explained:
    “When I was a girl, Inspector, nobody ever mentioned the word stomach .”
    The inspector looked even more at sea. Miss Marple was murmuring titles under her breath.
    “ The Admirable Crichton . Very clever. Mary Rose— a charming play. I cried, I remember. Quality Street I didn’t care for so much. Then there was A Kiss