Agatha Christie - The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side

Miss Marple nodded.

'Go on.'

'Heather Badcock and her husband arrived just after me. Marina Gregg said nice things to me, then to somebody else, oh yes, – the vicar – and then Heather Badcock and her husband came. She's the secretary, you know, of the St John Ambulance. Somebody said something about that and how hard she worked and how valuable she was. And Marina Gregg said some pretty things. Then Mrs Badcock, who struck me, I must say, Jane, as rather a tiresome sort of woman, began some long rigmarole of how years before she'd met Marina Gregg somewhere. She wasn't awfully tactful about it since she urged exactly how long ago and the year it was and everything like that. I'm sure that actresses and film stars and people don't really like being reminded of the exact age they are. Still, she wouldn't think of that I suppose.'

'No,' said Miss Marple, 'she wasn't the kind of woman who would have thought of that. Well?'

'Well, there was nothing particular in that except for the fact that Marina Gregg didn't do her usual stuff.'

'You mean she was annoyed?'

'No, no, I don't mean that. As a matter of fact I'm not at all sure that she heard a word of it. She was staring, you know, over Mrs Badcock's shoulder and when Mrs Badcock had finished her rather silly story of how she got out of a bed of sickness and sneaked out of the house to go and meet Marina and get her autograph, there was a sort of odd silence. Then I saw her face.'

'Whose face? Mrs Badcock's?'

'No. Marina Gregg's. It was as though she hadn't heard a word the Badcock woman was saying. She was staring over her shoulder right at the wall opposite. Staring with – I can't explain it to you -'

'But do try, Dolly,' said Miss Marple, 'because I think perhaps that this might be important.'

'She had a kind of frozen look,' said Mrs Bantry, struggling with words, 'as though she'd seen something that – oh dear me, how hard it is to describe things. Do you remember the Lady of Shalott?

Well, that's what she looked like. People laugh at Tennyson nowadays, but the Lady of Shalott always thrilled me when I was young and it still does.'

'She had a frozen look,' repeated Miss Marple thoughtfully. 'And she was looking over Mrs Badcock's shoulder at the wall. What was on the wall?'

'Oh! A picture of some kind, I think,' said Mrs Bantry. 'You know, Italian. I think it was a copy of a Bellini Madonna, but I'm not sure. A picture where the Virgin is holding up a laughing child.'

Miss Marple frowned. 'I can't see that a picture could give her that expression.'

'Especially as she must see it every day,' agreed Mrs Bantry.

'There were people coming up the stairs still, I suppose?'

'Oh yes, there were.'

'Who were they, do you remember?'

'You mean she might have been looking at one of the people coming up the stairs?'

'Well, it's possible, isn't it?' said Miss Marple.

'Yes – of course – Now let me see. There was the mayor, all dressed up too with his chains and all, and his wife, and there was a man with long hair and one of those funny beards they wear nowadays. Quite a young man. And there was the girl with the camera. She'd taken her position on the stairs so as to get photos of people coming up and having their hands shaken by Marina, and – let me see, two people I didn't know. Studio people, I think, and the Grices from Lower Farm. There may have been others, but that's all I can remember now.'

'Doesn't sound very promising,' said Miss Marple. 'What happened next?'

'I think Jason Rudd nudged her or something because all of a sudden she seemed to pull herself together and she smiled at Mrs Badcock, and she began to say all the usual things. You know, sweet, unspoilt, natural, charming, the usual bag of tricks.'

'And then?'

'And then Jason Rudd gave them drinks.'

'What kind of drinks?'

'Daiquiris, I think. He said they were his wife's favourites. He gave one to her and one to the Badcock woman.'

'That's very interesting,' said Miss Marple. 'Very interesting indeed. And what happened after that?'

'I don't know, because I took a gaggle of women to look at the bathrooms. The next thing I knew was when the secretary woman came rushing along and said someone had been taken ill.'

The inquest, when it was held, was short and disappointing. Evidence of identification was given by the husband, and the only other evidence was medical. Heather Badcock had died as a result of four grains of hyethyldexylbarboquindelorytate, or, let us be frank, some such name. There was no evidence to show how the drug was administered.

The inquest was adjourned for a fortnight.

After it was concluded, Detective-Inspector Frank Cornish joined Arthur Badcock.

'Could I have a word with you, Mr Badcock?'

'Of course, of course.'

Arthur Badcock looked more like a chewed-out bit of string than ever. 'I can't understand it,' he muttered. 'I simply can't understand it.'

'I've got a car here,' said Cornish. 'We'll drive back to your house, shall we? Nicer and more private there.'

'Thank you, sir. Yes, yes, I'm sure that would be much better.'

They drew up at the neat little blue-painted gate of No. 3 Arlington Close. Arthur Badcock led the way and the inspector followed him. He drew out his latch-key but before he had inserted it into the door, it was opened from inside. The woman who opened it stood back looking slightly embarrassed. Arthur Badcock looked startled.

'Mary,' he said.

'I was just getting you ready some tea, Arthur. I thought you'd need it when you came back from the inquest.'

'That's very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Arthur Badcock gratefully. Er -' he hesitated. 'This is Inspector Cornish, Mrs Bain, She's a neighbour of mine.'

'I see,' said Inspector Cornish.

'I'll get another cup,' said Mrs Bain.

She disappeared and rather doubtfully Arthur Badcock showed the inspector into the bright cretonne-covered sitting-room to the right of the hall.

'She's very kind,' said Arthur Badcock. 'Very kind always.'

'You've known her a long time?'

'Oh, no. Only since we came here.'

'You've been here two years, I believe, or is it three?'

'Just about three now,' said Arthur. 'Mrs Bain only got here six months ago,' he explained. 'Her son works near here and so, after her husband's death, she came down to live here and he boards with her.'

Mrs Bain appeared at this point bringing the tray from the kitchen. She was a dark, rather intense-looking woman of about forty years of age. She had gipsy colouring that went with her dark hair and eyes. There was something a little odd about her eyes. They had a watchful look. She put down the tray on the table and Inspector Cornish said something pleasant and non-committal. Something in him, some professional instinct, was on the alert. The watchful look in the woman's eyes, the slight start she had given when Arthur introduced him had not passed unnoticed. He was familiar with that slight uneasiness in the presence of the police. There were two kinds of uneasiness. One was the kind of natural alarm and distrust as of those who might have offended unwittingly against the majesty of the law, but there was a second kind. And it was the second kind that he felt sure was present here. Mrs Bain, he thought, had had at some time some connection with the police, something that had left her wary and ill at ease. He made a mental note to find out a little more about Mary Bain. Having set down the tea tray, and refused to partake herself saying she had to get home, she departed.

'Seems a nice woman,' said Inspector Cornish.

'Yes, indeed. She's very kind, a very good neighbour, a very sympathetic woman,' said Arthur Badcock.