The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side (Miss Marple 9)

The inspector nodded. “I see. And no doctor had prescribed anything of this kind for her?”

“No. Certainly not. I’m sure of that.”

“Who was her doctor?”

“She was on Dr. Sim’s panel, but I don’t think she’s been to him once since we’ve been here.”

Inspector Cornish said thoughtfully, “So she doesn’t seem the kind of woman to have been likely to need such a thing, or to have taken it?”

“She didn’t, Inspector, I’m sure she didn’t. She must have taken it by a mistake of some kind.”

“It’s a very difficult mistake to imagine,” said Inspector Cornish. “What did she have to eat and drink that afternoon?”

“Well, let me see. For lunch—”

“You needn’t go back as far as lunch,” said Cornish. “Given in such quantity the drug would act quickly and suddenly. Tea. Go back to tea.”

“Well, we went into the marquee in the grounds. It was a terrible scrum in there, but we managed in the end to get a bun each and a cup of tea. We finished it as quickly as possible because it was very hot in the marquee and we came out again.”

“And that’s all she had, a bun and a cup of tea there?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And after that you went into the house. Is that right?”

“Yes. The young lady came and said that Miss Marina Gregg would be very pleased to see my wife if she would like to come into the house. Of course my wife was delighted. She had been talking about Marina Gregg for days. Everybody was excited. Oh well, you know that, Inspector, as well as anyone does.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Cornish. “My wife was excited, too. Why, from all around people were paying their shilling to go in and see Gossington Hall and what had been done there, and hoped to catch a glimpse of Marina Gregg herself.”

“The young lady took us into the house,” said Arthur Badcock, “and up the stairs. That’s where the party was. On the landing up there. But it looked quite different from what it used to look like, so I understand. It was more like a room, a sort of big hollowed out place with chairs and tables with drinks on them. There were about ten or twelve people there, I suppose.”

Inspector Cornish nodded. “And you were received there—by whom?”

“By Miss Marina Gregg herself. Her husband was with her. I’ve forgotten his name now.”

“Jason Rudd,” said Inspector Cornish.

“Oh, yes, not that I noticed him at first. Well, anyway, Miss Gregg greeted Heather very nicely and seemed very pleased to see her, and Heather was talking and telling a story of how she’d once met Miss Gregg years ago in the West Indies and everything seemed as right as rain.”

“Everything seemed as right as rain,” echoed the inspector. “And then?”

“And then Miss Gregg said what would we have? And Miss Gregg’s husband, Mr. Rudd, got Heather a kind of cocktail, a dickery or something like that.”

“A daiquiri.”

“That’s right, sir. He brought two. One for her and one for Miss Gregg.”

“And you, what did you have?”

“I had a sherry.”

“I see. And you three stood there drinking together?”

“Well, not quite like that. You see there were more people coming up the stairs. There was the mayor, for one, and some other people—an American gentleman and lady, I think—so we moved off a bit.”

“And your wife drank her daiquiri then?”

“Well, no, not then, she didn’t.”

“Well, if she didn’t drink it then, when did she drink it?”

Arthur Badcock stood frowning in remembrance. “I think—she set it down on one of the tables. She saw some friends there. I think it was someone to do with the St. John Ambulance who’d driven over there from Much Benham or somewhere like that. Anyway they got to talking together.”

“And when did she drink her drink?”

Arthur Badcock again frowned. “It was a little after that,” he said. “It was getting rather more crowded by then. Somebody jogged Heather’s elbow and her glass got spilt.”

“What’s that?” Inspector Cornish looked up sharply. “Her glass was spilt?”

“Yes, that’s how I remember it… She’d picked it up and I think she took a little sip and made rather a face. She didn’t really like cocktails, you know, but all the same she wasn’t going to be downed by that. Anyway, as she stood there, somebody jogged her elbow and the glass spilled over. It went down her dress and I think it went on Miss Gregg’s dress too. Miss Gregg couldn’t have been nicer. She said it didn’t matter at all and it would make no stain and she gave Heather her handkerchief to wipe up Heather’s dress, and then she passed over the drink she was holding and said, ‘Have this, I haven’t touched it yet.’”

“She handed over her own drink, did she?” said the inspector. “You’re quite sure of that?”

Arthur Badcock paused a moment while he thought. “Yes, I’m quite sure of that,” he said.

“And your wife took the drink?”

“Well, she didn’t want to at first, sir. She said ‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that’ and Miss Gregg laughed and said, ‘I’ve had far too much to drink already.’”

“And so your wife took that glass and did what with it?”

“She turned away a little and drank it, rather quickly, I think. And then we walked a little way along the corridor looking at some of the pictures and the curtains. Lovely curtain stuff it was, like nothing we’d seen before. Then I met a pal of mine, Councillor Allcock, and I was just passing the time of day with him when I looked round and saw Heather was sitting on a chair looking rather odd, so I came to her and said, ‘What’s the matter?’ She said she felt a little queer.”

“What kind of queerness?”

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t have time. Her voice sounded very queer and thick and her head was rolling a little. All of a sudden she made a great half gasp and her head fell forward. She was dead, sir, dead.”

Eight

I

“St. Mary Mead, you say?” Chief-Inspector Craddock looked up sharply.

The assistant commissioner was a little surprised.

“Yes,” he said, “St. Mary Mead. Why? Does it—”

“Nothing really,” said Dermot Craddock.

“It’s quite a small place, I understand,” went on the other. “Though of course there’s a great deal of building development going on there now. Practically all the way from St. Mary Mead to Much Benham, I understand. Hellingforth Studios,” he added, “are on the other side of St. Mary Mead, towards Market Basing.” He was still looking slightly inquiring. Dermot Craddock felt that he should perhaps explain.

“I know someone living there,” he said. “At St. Mary Mead. An old lady. A very old lady by now. Perhaps she’s dead, I don’t know. But if not—”

The assistant commissioner took his subordinate’s point, or at any rate he thought he did.

“Yes,” he said, “it would give you an ‘in’ in a way. One needs a bit of local gossip. The whole thing is a curious business.”

“The County have called us in?” Dermot asked.

“Yes. I’ve got the chief constable’s letter here. They don’t seem to feel that it’s necessarily a local affair. The largest house in the neighbourhood, Gossington Hall, was recently sold as a residence for Marina Gregg, the film star, and her husband. They’re shooting a film at their new studios, at Hellingforth, in which she is starring. A fête was held in the grounds in aid of the St. John Ambulance. The dead woman—her name is Mrs. Heather Badcock—was the local secretary of this and had done most of the administrative work for the fête. She seems to have been a competent, sensible person, well liked locally.”

“One of those bossy women?” suggested Craddock.

“Very possibly,” said the assistant commissioner. “Still in my experience, bossy women seldom get themselves murdered. I can’t think why not. When you come to think of it, it’s rathe

r a pity. There was a record attendance at the fête, it seems, good weather, everything running to plan. Marina Gregg and her husband held a kind of small private reception in Gossington Hall. About thirty or forty people attended this. The local notables, various people connected with the St. John Ambulance Association, several friends of Marina Gregg herself, and a few people connected with the studios. All very peaceful, nice and happy. But, fantastically and improbably, Heather Badcock was poisoned there.”

Dermot Craddock said thoughtfully, “An odd place to choose.”

“That’s the chief constable’s point of view. If anyone wanted to poison Heather Badcock, why choose that particular afternoon and circumstances? Hundreds of much simpler ways of doing it. A risky business anyway, you know, to slip a dose of deadly poison into a cocktail in the middle of twenty or thirty people milling about. Somebody ought to have seen something.”

“It definitely was in the drink?”

“Yes, it was definitely in the drink. We have the particulars here. One of those inexplicable names that doctors delight in, but actually a fairly common prescription in America.”

“In America. I see.”

“Oh, this country too. But these things are handed out much more freely on the other side of the Atlantic. Taken in small doses, beneficial.”

“Supplied on prescription or can it be bought freely?”

“No. You have to have a prescription.”

“Yes, it’s odd,” said Dermot. “Heather Badcock have any connection with these film people?”