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

for Cinderella . Oh, of course .”
    Inspector Welch had no time to waste on theatrical discussion. He returned to the matter in hand.
    “The question is,” he said, “did Alfred Pollock know that the old lady had made a will in his favour? Did she tell him?” He added: “You see—there’s an archery club over at Boreham Lovell and Alfred Pollock’s a member . He’s a very good shot indeed with a bow and arrow.”
    “Then isn’t your case quite clear?” asked Raymond West. “It would fit in with the doors being locked on the two women—he’d know just where they were in the house.”
    The inspector looked at him. He spoke with deep melancholy.
    “He’s got an alibi,” said the inspector.
    “I always think alibis are definitely suspicious.”
    “Maybe, sir,” said Inspector Welch. “You’re talking as a writer.”
    “I don’t write detective stories,” said Raymond West, horrified at the mere idea.
    “Easy enough to say that alibis are suspicious,” went on Inspector Welch, “but unfortunately we’ve got to deal with facts.”
    He sighed.
    “We’ve got three good suspects,” he said. “Three people who, as it happened, were very close upon the scene at the time. Yet the odd thing is that it looks as though none of the three could have done it. The housekeeper I’ve already dealt with—the nephew, Nat Fletcher, at the moment Miss Greenshaw was shot, was a couple of miles away filling up his car at a garage and asking his way—as for Alfred Pollock six people will swear that he entered the Dog and Duck at twenty past twelve and was there for an hour having his usual bread and cheese and beer.”
    “Deliberately establishing an alibi,” said Raymond West hopefully.
    “Maybe,” said Inspector Welch, “but if so, he did establish it.”
    There was a long silence. Then Raymond turned his head to where Miss Marple sat upright and thoughtful.
    “It’s up to you, Aunt Jane,” he said. “The inspector’s baffled, the sergeant’s baffled, I’m baffled, Joan’s baffled, Lou is baffled. But to you, Aunt Jane, it is crystal clear. Am I right?”
    “I wouldn’t say that, dear,” said Miss Marple, “not crystal clear, and murder, dear Raymond, isn’t a game. I don’t suppose poor Miss Greenshaw wanted to die, and it was a particularly brutal murder. Very well planned and quite cold-blooded. It’s not a thing to make jokes about!”
    “I’m sorry,” said Raymond, abashed. “I’m not really as callous as I sound. One treats a thing lightly to take away from the—well, the horror of it.”
    “That is, I believe, the modern tendency,” said Miss Marple, “All these wars, and having to joke about funerals. Yes, perhaps I was thoughtless when I said you were callous.”
    “It isn’t,” said Joan, “as though we’d known her at all well.”
    “That is very true,” said Miss Marple. “You, dear Joan, did not know her at all. I did not know her at all. Raymond gathered an impression of her from one afternoon’s conversation. Lou knew her for two days.”
    “Come now, Aunt Jane,” said Raymond, “tell us your views. You don’t mind, Inspector?”
    “Not at all,” said the inspector politely.
    “Well, my dear, it would seem that we have three people who had, or might have thought they had, a motive to kill the old lady. And three quite simple reasons why none of the three could have done so. The housekeeper could not have done so because she was locked in her room and because Miss Greenshaw definitely stated that a man shot her. The gardener could not have done it because he was inside the Dog and Duck at the time the murder was committed, the nephew could not have done it because he was still some distance away in his car at the time of the murder.”
    “Very clearly put, madam,” said the inspector.
    “And since it seems most unlikely that any outsider should have done it, where, then, are we?”
    “That’s what the inspector wants to know,” said Raymond