They Do It With Mirrors - Christie Agatha - Страница 33

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'Lucky you hadn't got a knife in your stocking,' said Alex. 'If you had, dear Mrs Strete might have known something about murder from the point of view of the victim. Calm down, Gina. Don't look so melodramatic and like Italian Opera.'

'How dare she say I tried to poison Grandam?' 'Well, darling, somebody tried to poison her. And from the point of view of motive you're well in the picture, aren't you?' 'Alex!' Gina stared at him, dismayed. 'Do the police think so?' 'It's extremely difficult to know what the police think.

… They keep their own counsel remarkably well.

They're by no means fools, you know. That reminds me ' 'Where are you going?' 'To work out an idea of mine.'

'You say somebody has been trying to poison me?' Carrie Louise's voice held bewilderment and disbelief.

'You know,' she said, 'I can't really believe it…' She waited a few moments, her eyes half closed.

Lewis said gently, 'I wish I could have spared you this, dearest.'

Almost absently she stretched out a hand to him and he took it.

Miss Marple, sitting close by, shook her head sympathetically.

Carrie Louise opened her eyes.

'Is it really true, Jane?' she asked.

'I'm afraid so, my dear.'

'Then everything -' Carrie Louise broke off.

She went on:

'I've always thought I knew what was real and what wasn't… This doesn't seem real - but it is… So I may be wrong everywhere… But who could want to do such a thing to me? Nobody in this house could want to - kill me?'

Her voice still held incredulity.

'That's what I would have thought,' said Lewis. 'I was wrong.'

'And Christian knew about it? That explains it.' 'Explains what?' asked Lewis.

'His manner,' said Carrie Louise. 'It was very odd, you know. Not at all his usual self. He seemed - upset about me - as though he was wanting to say something to me and then not saying it. And he asked me if my heart was strong? And if I'd been well lately? Trying to hint to me, perhaps. But why not say something straight out? It's so much simpler just to say it straight out.' 'He didn't want to - cause you pain, Caroline.' 'Pain? But why - Oh I see…' Her eyes widened. 'So that's what you believe. But you're wrong, Lewis, quite wrong. I can assure you of that.' Her husband avoided her eyes.

'I'm sorry,' said Mrs Serrocold after a moment or two.

'But I can't believe anything of what has happened lately is true. Edgar shooting at you. Gina and Stephen. That ridiculous box of chocolates. It just isn't true.' ' Nobody spoke.

Caroline Louise Serrocold sighed.

'I suppose,' she said, 'that I must have lived outside reality for a long time… Please, both of you, I think I would like to be alone… I've got to try and understand…'

Miss Marple came down the stairs and into the Great Hall to find Alex Restarick standing near the large arched entrance door with his hand flung out in a somewhat flamboyant gesture.

'Come in, come in,' said Alex happily and as though he were the owner of the Great Hall. 'I'm just thinking about last night.' Lewis Serrocold, who had followed Miss Marple down from Carrie Louise's sitting-room, crossed the Great Hall to his study and went in and shut the door.

'Are you trying to reconstruct the crime?' asked Miss Marple with subdued eagerness.

'Eh?' Alex looked at her with a frown. Then his brow cleared.

'Oh that,' he said. 'No, not exactly. I was looking at the whole thing from an entirely different point of view. I was thinking of this place in the terms of the theatre. Not reality, but artificiality! Just come over here. Think of it in the terms of a stage set. Lighting, entrances, exits.

Dramatis Personae. Noises off. All very interesting. Not all my own idea. The Inspector gave it to me. I think he's rather a cruel man. He did his best to frighten me this morning.'

'And did he frighten you?'

'I'm not sure.'

Alex described the Inspector's experiment and the timing of the performance of the puffing Constable Dodgett.

'Time,' he said, 'is so very misleading. One thinks things take such a long time, but really, of course, they don't.'

'No,' said Miss Marple.

Representing the audience, she moved to a different position. The stage set now consisted of a vast tapestry covered wall going up to dimness, with a grand piano up L. and a window and window seat up R. Very near the window seat was the door into the library. The piano stool was only about eight feet from the door into the square lobby which led to the corridor. Two very convenient exits! The audience, of course, had an excellent view of both of them…

But last night, there had been no audience. NObody, that is to say, had been facing the stage set that Miss Marple was now facing. The audience, last night, had been sitting with their backs to that particular stage.

How long, Miss Marple wondered, would it have taken to slip out of the room, run along the corridor, shoot Gulbrandsen and come back? Not nearly so long as one would think. Measured in minutes and seconds a very short time indeed…

What had Carrie Louise meant when she had said to her husband: 'So that's what you believe - but you're wrong, Lewis!'

'I must say that that was a very penetrating remark of the Inspector's,' Alex's voice cut in on her meditations.

'About a stage set being real. Made of wood and cardboard and stuck together with glue and as real on the unpainted as on the painted side. "The illusion," he pointed out, "is in the.eyes of the audience."'

'Like conjurers,' Miss Marple murmured vaguely.

'They do it with mirrors is, I believe, the slang phrase.' Stephen Restarick came in, slightly out of breath.

'Hallo, Alex,' he said. 'That little rat, Ernie Gregg - I don't know if you remember him?'

'The one who played Feste when you did Twelfth Night? Quite a bit of talent there, I thought.'

'Yes, he's got talent of a sort. Very good with his hands too. Does a lot of our carpentry. H°wever, that's neither here nor there. He's been boasting to Gina that he gets out at night and wanders about the grounds. Says he was wandering round last night and boasts he saw something.' Alex spun round.

'Saw what?'

'Says he's not going to tell. Actually I'm pretty certain he's only trying to show off and get into the limelight. He's an awful liar, but I thought perhaps he ought to be questioned.' Alex said sharply: 'I should leave him for a bit. Don't let him think 'we're too interested.' 'Perhaps - yes, I think you may be right there. This evening, perhaps.' Stephen went on into the library.

Miss Marple, moving gently round the Hall in her character of mobile audience, collided with Alex Restarick as he steptied back suddenly.

Miss Marple said, 'I'm so sorry.' Alex frowned at her, said in an absent sort of way: 'I beg your pardon,' and then added in a surprised voice: 'Oh, it's you.' It seemed to Miss Marple an odd remark for someone with whom she had been conversing for some considerable time.

'I was thinking of something else,' said Alex Restarick.

'That boy Ernie -' He made vague motions with both hands.

Then, with a sudden change of manner, he crossed the Hall and went through the library door, shutting it behind him.

The murmur of voices came from behind the closed door, but Miss Marple hardly noticed them. She was uninterested in the versatile Ernie and what he had seen or pretended to see. She had a shrewd suspicion that Ernie had seen nothing at all. She did not believe for a moment that on a cold raw foggy night like last night, Ernie would have troubled to use his lockpicking activities and wander about in the Park. In all probability he never had got out at night. Boasting, that was all it had been.

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