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

Miss Knight popped her head round the kitchen door.

'Not quite so much noise, please, Cherry,' she said. 'You don't want to disturb Miss Marple, do you? You mustn't be thoughtless, you know.'

She shut the kitchen door again as Cherry remarked, either to herself or the world at large, 'And who said you could call me Cherry, you old jelly-bag?' The vacuum continued to whine while Cherry sang in a more subdued voice. Miss Marple called in a high clear voice:

'Cherry, come here a minute.'

Cherry switched off the vacuum and opened the drawing-room door.

'I didn't mean to disturb you by singing, Miss Marple.'

'Your singing is much pleasanter than the horrid noise that vacuum makes,' said Miss Marple, 'but I know one has to go with the times. It would be no use on earth asking any of you young people to use the dustpan and brush in the old-fashioned way.'

'What, get down on my knees with a dustpan and brush?' Cherry registered alarm and surprise.

'Quite unheard of, I know,' said Miss Marple. 'Come in and shut the door. I called you because I wanted to talk to you.'

Cherry obeyed and came towards Miss Marple looking inquiringly at her.

'We've not much time,' said Miss Marple. 'That old – Miss Knight I mean – will come in any moment with an egg drink of some kind.'

'Good for you, I expect. It'll pep you up,' said Cherry encouragingly.

'Had you heard,' asked Miss Marple, 'that the butler at Gossington Hall was shot last night?'

'What, the wop?' demanded Cherry.

'Yes. His name is Giuseppe, I understand.'

'No,' said Cherry, 'I hadn't heard that. I heard that Mr Rudd's secretary had a heart attack yesterday, and somebody said she was actually dead – but I suspect that was just a rumour. Who told you about the butler?'

'Miss Knight came back and told me.'

'Of course I haven't seen anyone to speak to this morning,' said Cherry, 'not before coming along here. I expect the news has only just got round. Was he bumped off?' she demanded.

'That seems to be assumed,' said Miss Marple, 'whether rightly or wrongly I don't quite know.'

'This is a wonderful place for talk,' said Cherry. 'I wonder if Gladys got to see him or not,' she added thoughtfully.

'Gladys?'

'Oh, a sort of friend of mine. She lives a few doors away. Works in the canteen at the studios.'

'And she talked to you about Giuseppe?'

'Well, there was something that struck her as a bit funny and she was going to ask him what he thought about it. But if you ask me it was just an excuse – she's a bit sweet on him. Of course he's quite handsome and Italians do have a way with them – I told her to be careful about him, though. You know what Italians are.'

'He went to London yesterday,' said Miss Marple, 'and only returned in the evening I understand.'

'I wonder if she managed to get to see him before he went.'

'Why did she want to see him, Cherry?'

'It was just something which she felt was a bit funny,' said Cherry.

Miss Marple looked at her inquiringly. She was able to take the word 'funny' at the valuation it usually had for the Gladyses of the neighbourhood.

'She was one of the girls who helped at the party there,' explained Cherry. 'The day of the fête. You know, when Mrs Badcock got hers.'

'Yes?' Miss Marple was looking more alert than ever, much as a fox terrier might look at a waiting rat-hole.

'And there was something that she saw that struck her as a bit funny.'

'Why didn't she go to the police about it?'

'Well, she didn't really think it meant anything, you see,' explained Cherry. 'Anyway she thought she'd better ask Mr Giuseppe first.'

'What was it that she saw that day?'

'Frankly,' said Cherry, 'what she told me seemed nonsense! I've wondered, perhaps, if she was just putting me off – and what she was going to see Mr Giuseppe about was something quite different."

"What did she say?' Miss Marple was patient and pursuing.

Cherry frowned. 'She was talking about Mrs Badcock and the cocktail and she said she was quite near her at the time. And she said she did it herself.'

'Did what herself?'

'Spilt her cocktail all down her dress, and ruined it.'

'You mean it was clumsiness?'

'No, not clumsiness. Gladys said she did it on purpose – that she meant to do it. Well, I mean, that doesn't make sense, does it, however you look at it?'

Miss Marple shook her head, perplexed. 'No,' she said. 'Certainly not – no, I can't see any sense in that.'

'She'd got on a new dress too,' said Cherry. 'That's how the subject came up. Gladys wondered whether she'd be able to buy it. Said it ought to clean all right but she didn't like to go and ask Mr Badcock herself. She's very good at dressmaking, Gladys is, and she said it was lovely stuff. Royal blue taffeta; and she said even if the stuff was ruined where the cocktail stained it, she could take out a seam – half a breadth say – because it was one of those full skirts.'

Miss Marple considered this dressmaking problem for a moment and then set it aside.

'But you think your friend Gladys might have been keeping something back?'

'Well, I just wondered because I don't see if that's all she saw – Heather Badcock deliberately spilling her cocktail over herself – I don't see that there'd be anything to ask Mr Giuseppe about, do you?'

'No, I don't,' said Miss Marple. She sighed. 'But it's always interesting when one doesn't see,' she added. 'If you don't see what a thing means you must be looking at it wrong way round, unless of course you haven't got full information. Which is probably the case here.' She sighed. 'It's a pity she didn't go straight to the police.'

The door opened and Miss Knight bustled in holding a tall tumbler with a delicious pale yellow froth on top.

'Now here you are, dear,' she said, 'a nice little treat. We're going to enjoy this.'

She pulled forward a little table and placed it beside her employer. Then she turned a glance on Cherry. 'The vacuum cleaner,' she said coldly, 'is left in a most difficult position in the hall. I nearly fell over it. Anyone might have an accident.'

'Right-ho,' said Cherry. 'I'd better get on with things.'

She left the room.

'Really,' said Miss Knight, 'that Mrs Baker! I'm continually having to speak to her about something or other. Leaving vacuum cleaners all over the place and coming in here chattering to you when you want to be quiet.'

'I called her in,' said Miss Marple. 'I wanted to speak to her.'

'Well, I hope you mentioned the way the beds are made,' said Miss Knight. 'I was quite shocked when I came to turn down your bed last night. I had to make it all over again.'

'That was very kind of you,' said Miss Marple.

'Oh, I never grudge being helpful,' said Miss Knight. 'That's why I'm here, isn't it. To make a certain person we know as comfortable and happy as possible. Oh dear, dear,' she added, 'you've pulled out a lot of your knitting again.'

Miss Marple leaned back and closed her eyes. 'I'm going to have a little rest,' she said. 'Put the glass here – thank you. And please don't come in and disturb me for at least three-quarters of an hour.'

'Indeed I won't, dear,' said Miss Knight. 'And I'll tell that Mrs Baker to be very quiet.'

She bustled out purposefully.

The good-looking young American glanced round him in a puzzled way.

The ramifications of the housing estate perplexed him.

He addressed himself politely to an old lady with white hair and pink cheeks who seemed to be the only human being in sight.

'Excuse me, m'am, but could you tell me where to find Blenheim Close?'

The old lady considered him for a moment. He had just begun to wonder if she was deaf, and had prepared himself to repeat his demand in a louder voice, when she spoke.