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

“You’ve got a cold,” he said.

“Not a cold. Hay fever. It’s an allergy of some kind, really. I always get at it this time of year.”

There was a low buzz. There were two phones in the room, one on the table and one on another table in the corner. It was the latter one that was beginning to buzz. Ella Zielinsky went over to it and picked up the receiver.

“Yes,” she said, “he’s here. I’ll bring him up at once.” She put the receiver down again. “Marina’s ready for you,” she said.

III

Marina Gregg received Craddock in a room on the first floor, which was obviously her own private sitting room opening out of her bedroom. After the accounts of her prostration and her nervous state, Dermot Craddock had expected to find a fluttering invalid. But although Marina was half reclining on a sofa her voice was vigorous and her eyes were bright. She had very little makeup on, but in spite of this she did not look her age, and he was struck very forcibly by the subdued radiance of her beauty. It was the exquisite line of cheek and jawbone, the way the hair fell loosely and naturally to frame her face. The long sea-green eyes, the pencilled eyebrows, owing something to art but more to nature, and the warmth and sweetness of her smile, all had a subtle magic. She said:

“Chief-Inspector Craddock? I’ve been behaving disgracefully. I do apologize. I just let myself go to pieces after this awful thing. I could have snapped out of it but I didn’t. I’m ashamed of myself.” The smile came, rueful, sweet, turning up the corners of the mouth. She extended a hand and he took it.

“It was only natural,” he said, “that you should feel upset.”

“Well, everyone was upset,” said Marina. “I’d no business to make out it was worse for me than anyone else.”

“Hadn’t you?”

She looked at him for a minute and then nodded. “Yes,” she said, “you’re very perceptive. Yes, I had.” She looked down and with one long forefinger gently stroked the arm of the sofa. It was a gesture he had noticed in one of her films. It was a meaningless gesture, yet it seemed fraught with significance. It had a kind of musing gentleness.

“I’m a coward,” she said, her eyes still cast down. “Somebody wanted to kill me and I didn’t want to die.”

“Why do you think someone wanted to kill you?”

Her eyes opened wide. “Because it was my glass—my drink—that had been tampered with. It was just a mistake that that poor stupid woman got it. That’s what’s so horrible and so tragic. Besides—”

“Yes, Miss Gregg?”

She seemed a little uncertain about saying more.

“You had other reasons perhaps for believing that you were the intended victim?”

She nodded.

“What reasons, Miss Gregg?”

She paused a minute longer before saying, “Jason says I must tell you all about it.”

“You’ve confided in him then?”

“Yes… I didn’t want to at first—but Dr. Gilchrist put it to me that I must. And then I found that he thought so too. He’d thought it all along but—it’s rather funny really”—rueful smile curled her lips again—“he didn’t want to alarm me by telling me. Really!” Marina sat up with a sudden vigorous movement. “Darling Jinks! Does he think I’m a complete fool?”

“You haven’t told me yet, Miss Gregg, why you should think anyone wanted to kill you.”

She was silent for a moment and then with a sudden brusque gesture, she stretched out for her handbag, opened it, took out a piece of paper and thrust it into his hand. He read it. Typed on it was one line of writing.

Don’t think you’ll escape next time.

Craddock said sharply, “When did you get this?” “It was on my dressing table when I came back from the bath.”

“So someone in the house—”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have climbed up the balcony outside my window and pushed it through there. I think they meant it to frighten me still more, but actually it didn’t. I just felt furiously angry and sent word to you to come and see me.”

Dermot Craddock smiled. “Possibly a rather unexpected result for whoever sent it. Is this the first kind of message like that you’ve had?”

Again Marina hesitated. Then she said, “No, it isn’t.”

“Will you tell me about any other?”

“It was three weeks ago, when we first came here. It came to the studio, not here. It was quite ridiculous. It was just a message. Not typewritten that time. In capital letters. It said, ‘Prepare to die.’” She laughed. There was perhaps a very faint tinge of hysteria in the laugh. The mirth was genuine enough. “It was so silly,” she said. “Of course one often gets crank messages, threats, things like that. I thought it was probably religious you know. Someone who didn’t approve of film actresses. I just tore it up and threw it into the wastepaper basket.”

“Did you tell anyone about it, Miss Gregg?”

Marina shook her head. “No, I never said a word to anyone. As a matter of fact, we were having a bit of worry at the moment about the scene we were shooting. I just couldn’t have thought of anything but that at the moment. Anyway, as I say, I thought it was either a silly joke or one of those religious cranks who write and disapprove of playacting and things like that.”

“And after that, was there another?”

“Yes. On the day of the fête. One of the gardeners brought it to me, I think. He said someone had left a note for me and was there any answer? I thought perhaps it had to do with the arrangements. I just tore it open. It said ‘Today will be your last day on earth.’ I just crumpled it up and said, ‘No answer.’ Then I called the man back and asked him who gave it to him. He said it was a man with spectacles on a bicycle. Well, I mean, what could you think about that? I thought it was more silliness. I didn’t think—I didn’t think for a moment, it was a real genuine threat.”

“Where’s that note now, Miss Gregg?”

“I’ve no idea. I was wearing one of those coloured Italian silk coats and I think, as far as I remember, that I crumpled it up and shoved it into the pocket of it. But it’s not there now. It probably fell out.”

“And you’ve no idea who wrote these silly notes, Miss Gregg? Who inspired them? Not even now?”

Her eyes opened widely. There was a kind of innocent wonder in them that he took note of. He admired it, but he did not believe in it.

“How can I tell? How can I possibly tell?”

“I think you might have quite a good idea, Miss Gregg.”

“I haven’t. I assure you I haven’t.”

“You’re a very famous person,” said Dermot. “You’ve had great successes. Successes in your profession, and personal successes, too. Men have fallen in love with you, wanted to marry you, have married you. Women have been jealous and envied you. Men have been in love with you and been rebuffed by you. It’s a pretty wild field, I agree, but I should think you must have some idea who could have written these notes.”

“It could have been anybody.”

“No, Miss Gregg, it couldn’t have been anybody. It could possibly have been one of quite a lot of people. It could be someone quite humble, a dresser, an electrician, a servant; or it could be someone among the ranks of your friends, or so-called friends. But you must have some idea. Some name, more than one name, perhaps, to suggest.”

The door opened and Jason Rudd came in. Marina turned to him. She swept out an arm appealingly.

“Jinks, darling, Mr. Craddock is insisting that I must know who wrote those horrid notes. And I don’t. You know I don’t. Neither of us knows. We haven’t got the least idea.”

“Very urgent about that,” thought Craddock. “Very urgent. Is Marina Gregg afraid of what her husband might say?”

Jason Rudd, his eyes dark with fatigue and the scowl on his face deeper than usual, came over to join them. He took Marina’s hand in his.

“I know it sounds unbelievable to you, Inspector,” he said, “but honestly neither Marina nor I have a

ny idea about this business.”