The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side. Агата Кристи
telling Miss Knight presently.’
‘And what do you think of it?’ said Mrs Bantry.
‘What do I think of what?’ said Miss Marple.
‘Now don’t be aggravating, Jane, you know perfectly what I mean. There’s this woman—whatever her name is—’
‘Heather Badcock,’ said Miss Marple.
‘She arrives full of life and spirit. I was there when she came. And about a quarter of an hour later she sits down in a chair, says she doesn’t feel well, gasps a bit and dies. What do you think of that?’
‘One mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Miss Marple. ‘The point is, of course, what did a medical man think of it?’
Mrs Bantry nodded. ‘There’s to be an inquest and a post-mortem,’ she said. ‘That shows what they think of it, doesn’t it?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Anyone may be taken ill and die suddenly and they have to have a post-mortem to find out the cause.’
‘It’s more than that,’ said Mrs Bantry.
‘How do you know?’ said Miss Marple.
‘Dr Sandford went home and rang up the police.’
‘Who told you that?’ said Miss Marple, with great interest.
‘Old Briggs,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘At least, he didn’t tell me. You know he goes down after hours in the evening to see to Dr Sandford’s garden, and he was clipping something quite close to the study and he heard the doctor ringing up the police station in Much Benham. Briggs told his daughter and his daughter mentioned it to the postwoman and she told me,’ said Mrs Bantry.
Miss Marple smiled. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that St Mary Mead has not changed very much from what it used to be.’
‘The grape-vine is much the same,’ agreed Mrs Bantry. ‘Well, now, Jane, tell me what you think.’
‘One thinks, of course, of the husband,’ said Miss Marple reflectively. ‘Was he there?’
‘Yes, he was there. You don’t think it would be suicide,’ said Mrs Bantry.
‘Certainly not suicide,’ said Miss Marple decisively. ‘She wasn’t the type.’
‘How did you come across her, Jane?’
‘It was the day I went for a walk to the Development, and fell down near her house. She was kindness itself. She was a very kind woman.’
‘Did you see the husband? Did he look as though he’d like to poison her?
‘You know what I mean,’ Mrs Bantry went on as Miss Marple showed some slight signs of protesting. ‘Did he remind you of Major Smith or Bertie Jones or someone you’ve known years ago who did poison a wife, or tried to?’
‘No,’ said Miss Marple, ‘he didn’t remind me of anyone I know.’ She added, ‘But she did.’
‘Who—Mrs Badcock?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Marple, ‘she reminded me of someone called Alison Wilde.’
‘And what was Alison Wilde like?’
‘She didn’t know at all,’ said Miss Marple slowly, ‘what the world was like. She didn’t know what people were like. She’d never thought about them. And so, you see, she couldn’t guard against things happening to her.’
‘I don’t really think I understand a word of what you’re saying,’ said Mrs Bantry.
‘It’s very difficult to explain exactly,’ said Miss Marple, apologetically. ‘It comes really from being self-centred, and I don’t mean selfish by that,’ she added. ‘You can be kind and unselfish and even thoughtful. But if you’re like Alison Wilde, you never really know what you may be doing. And so you never know what may happen to you.’
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