They Do It With Mirrors Read online

  Not to beat about the bush, I have reason to believe that that sweet and innocent lady is being slowly poisoned. I first suspected this when—

  Here the letter broke off abruptly.

  Curry said:

  “And when he had reached this point, Christian Gulbrandsen was shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why on earth was this letter left in the typewriter?”

  “I can only conceive of two reasons—one that the murderer had no idea to whom Gulbrandsen was writing and what was the subject of the letter. Secondly—he may not have had time. He may have heard someone coming and only had just time to escape unobserved.”

  “And Gulbrandsen gave you no hint as to who he suspected—if he did suspect anyone?”

  There was, perhaps, a very slight pause before Lewis answered. “None whatever.”

  He added, rather obscurely:

  “Christian was a very fair man.”

  “How do you think this poison, arsenic or whatever it may be—was or is being administered?”

  “I thought over that whilst I was changing for dinner, and it seemed to me that the most likely vehicle was some medicine, a tonic, that my wife was taking. As regards food we all partook of the same dishes and my wife has nothing specially prepared for her. But anyone could add arsenic to the medicine bottle.”

  “We must take the medicine and have it analysed.”

  Lewis said quietly:

  “I already have a sample of it. I took it this evening before dinner.”

  From a drawer in the desk, he took out a small, corked bottle with a red fluid in it.

  Inspector Curry said with a curious glance:

  “You think of everything, Mr. Serrocold.”

  “I believe in acting promptly. Tonight, I stopped my wife from taking her usual dose. It is still in a glass on the oak dresser in the Hall—the bottle of tonic itself is in the drawing room.”

  Curry leaned forward across the desk. He lowered his voice and spoke confidentially and without officialdom.

  “You’ll excuse me, Mr. Serrocold, but just why are you so anxious to keep this from your wife? Are you afraid she’d panic? Surely, for her own sake, it would be as well if she were warned.”

  “Yes—yes, that may well be so. But I don’t think you quite understand. Without knowing my wife, Caroline, it would be difficult. My wife, Inspector Curry, is an idealist, a completely trustful person. Of her it may truly be said that she sees no evil, hears no evil, and speaks no evil. It would be inconceivable to her that anyone could wish to kill her. But we have to go farther than that. It is not just ‘anyone.’ It is a case—surely you see that—of somebody possibly very near and dear to her….”

  “So that’s what you think?”

  “We have got to face facts. Close at hand we have a couple of hundred warped and stunted personalities who have expressed themselves often enough by crude and senseless violence. But by the very nature of things, none of them can be suspect in this case. A slow poisoner is someone living in the intimacy of family life. Think of the people who are here in this house; her husband, her daughter, her granddaughter, her granddaughter’s husband, her stepson whom she regards as her own son, Miss Bellever, her devoted companion and friend of many years. All very near and dear to her—and yet the suspicion must arise—is it one of them?”

  Curry answered slowly,

  “There are outsiders—”

  “Yes, in a sense. There is Dr. Maverick, one or two of the staff are often with us, there are the servants—but, frankly, what possible motive could they have?”

  Inspector Curry said,

  “And there’s young—what is his name again—Edgar Lawson?”

  “Yes. But he has only been down here as a casual visitor just lately. He has no possible motive. Besides, he is deeply attached to Caroline—just as everyone is.”

  “But he’s unbalanced. What about this attack on you tonight?”

  Serrocold waved it aside impatiently.

  “Sheer childishness. He had no intention of harming me.”

  “Not with these two bullet holes in the wall? He shot at you, didn’t he?”

  “He didn’t mean to hit me. It was playacting, no more.”

  “Rather a dangerous form of playacting, Mr. Serrocold.”

  “You don’t understand. You must talk to our psychiatrist, Dr. Maverick. Edgar is an illegitimate child. He has consoled himself for his lack of a father and a humble origin by pretending to himself that he is the son of a celebrated man. It’s a well-known phenomenon, I assure you. He was improving, improving very much. Then, for some reason, he had a setback. He identified me as his ‘father’ and made a melodramatic attack, waving a revolver and uttering threats. I was not in the least alarmed. When he had actually fired the revolver, he broke down and sobbed, and Dr. Maverick took him away and gave him a sedative. He’ll probably be quite normal tomorrow morning.”

  “You don’t wish to bring a charge against him?”

  “That would be the worst thing possible—for him, I mean.”

  “Frankly, Mr. Serrocold, it seems to me he ought to be under restraint. People who go about firing off revolvers to bolster up their egos—! One has to think of the community, you know.”

  “Talk to Dr. Maverick on the subject,” urged Lewis. “He’ll give you the professional point of view. In any case,” he added, “poor Edgar certainly did not shoot Gulbrandsen. He was in here threatening to shoot me.”

  “That’s the point I was coming to, Mr. Serrocold. We’ve covered the outside. Anyone, it seems, could have come in from outside, and shot Mr. Gulbrandsen, since the terrace door was unlocked. But there is a narrower field inside the house, and in view of what you have been telling me, it seems to me that very close attention must be paid to that. It seems possible that, with the exception of old Miss—er—yes, Marple who happened to be looking out of her bedroom window, no one was aware that you and Christian Gulbrandsen had already had a private interview. If so, Gulbrandsen may have been shot to prevent him communicating his suspicions to you. Of course, it is too early to say as yet what other motives may exist. Mr. Gulbrandsen was a wealthy man, I presume?”

  “Yes, he was a very wealthy man. He has sons and daughters and grandchildren—all of whom will probably benefit by his death. But I do not think that any of his family are in this country, and they are all solid and highly respectable people. As far as I know, there are no black sheep amongst them.”

  “Had he any enemies?”

  “I should think it most unlikely. He was—really, he was not that type of man.”

  “So it boils down, doesn’t it, to this house and the people in it? Who from inside the house could have killed him?”

  Lewis Serrocold said slowly,

  “That is difficult for me to say. There are the servants and the members of my household and our guests. They are, from your point of view, all possibilities, I suppose. I can only tell you that, as far as I know, everyone except the servants was in the Great Hall when Christian left it and whilst I was there, nobody left it.”

  “Nobody at all?”

  “I think”—Lewis frowned in an effort of remembrance—“oh yes. Some of the lights fused—Mr. Walter Hudd went to see to it.”

  “That’s the young American gentleman?”

  “Yes—of course, I don’t know what took place after Edgar and I came in here.”

  “And you can’t give me anything nearer than that, Mr. Serrocold?”

  Lewis Serrocold shook his head.

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you. It’s—it’s all quite inconceivable.”

  Inspector Curry sighed. He said:

  “You can tell the party that they can all go to bed. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

  When Serrocold had left the room, Inspector Curry said to Lake:

  “Well—what do you think?”

  “Knows—or thinks he knows, who did it,” said Lake.

  “Yes. I agree with you. And he d
oesn’t like it a bit….”

  Eleven

  1

  Gina greeted Miss Marple with a rush as the latter came down to breakfast the next morning.

  “The police are here again,” she said. “They’re in the library this time. Wally is absolutely fascinated by them. He can’t understand their being so quiet and so remote. I think he’s really quite thrilled by the whole thing. I’m not. I hate it. I think it’s horrible. Why do you think I’m so upset? Because I’m half Italian?”

  “Very possibly. At least perhaps it explains why you don’t mind showing what you feel.”

  Miss Marple smiled just a little as she said this.

  “Jolly’s frightfully cross,” said Gina, hanging on Miss Marple’s arm and propelling her into the dining room. “I think really because the police are in charge and she can’t exactly ‘run’ them like she runs everybody else.

  “Alex and Stephen,” continued Gina severely, as they came into the dining room where the two brothers were finishing their breakfast, “just don’t care.”

  “Gina dearest,” said Alex, “you are most unkind. Good morning, Miss Marple. I care intensely. Except for the fact that I hardly knew your Uncle Christian, I’m far and away the best suspect. You do realise that, I hope.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I was driving up to the house at about the right time, it seems. And they’ve been checking up on times and it seems that I took too much time between the lodge and the house—time enough, the implication is, to leave the car, run round the house, go in through the side door, shoot Christian and rush out and back to the car again.”

  “And what were you really doing?”

  “I thought little girls were taught quite young not to ask indelicate questions. Like an idiot, I stood for several minutes taking in the fog effect in the headlights and thinking what I’d use to get that effect on a stage. For my new ‘Limehouse’ ballet.”

  “But you can tell them that!”

  “Naturally. But you know what policemen are like. They say ‘thank you’ very civilly and write it all down, and you’ve no idea what they are thinking except that one does feel they have rather sceptical minds.”

  “It would amuse me to see you in a spot, Alex,” said Stephen with his thin, rather cruel smile. “Now I’m quite all right! I never left the Hall last night.”

  Gina cried, “But they couldn’t possibly think it was one of us!”

  Her dark eyes were round and dismayed.

  “Don’t say it must have been a tramp, dear,” said Alex, helping himself lavishly to marmalade. “It’s so hackneyed.”

  Miss Bellever looked in at the door and said:

  “Miss Marple, when you have finished your breakfast, will you go to the library?”

  “You again,” said Gina. “Before any of us.”

  She seemed a little injured.

  “Hi, what was that?” asked Alex.

  “Didn’t hear anything,” said Stephen.

  “It was a pistol shot.”

  “They’ve been firing shots in the room where Uncle Christian was killed,” said Gina. “I don’t know why. And outside too.”

  The door opened again and Mildred Strete came in. She was wearing black with some onyx beads.

  She murmured good morning without looking at anyone and sat down.

  In a hushed voice she said:

  “Some tea, please, Gina. Nothing much to eat—just some toast.”

  She touched her nose and eyes delicately with the handkerchief she held in one hand. Then she raised her eyes and looked in an un-seeing way at the two brothers. Stephen and Alex became uncomfortable. Their voices dropped to almost a whisper and presently they got up and left.

  Mildred Strete said, whether to the universe or Miss Marple was not quite certain, “Not even a black tie!”

  “I don’t suppose,” said Miss Marple apologetically, “that they knew beforehand that a murder was going to happen.”

  Gina made a smothered sound and Mildred Strete looked sharply at her.

  “Where’s Walter this morning?” she asked.

  Gina flushed.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

  She sat there uneasily like a guilty child.

  Miss Marple got up.

  “I’ll go to the library now,” she said.

  2

  Lewis Serrocold was standing by the window in the library.

  There was no one else in the room.

  He turned as Miss Marple came in and came forward to meet her, taking her hand in his.

  “I hope,” he said, “that you are not feeling the worse for the shock. To be at close quarters with what is undoubtedly murder must be a great strain on anyone who has not come in contact with such a thing before.”

  Modesty forbade Miss Marple to reply that she was, by now, quite at home with murder. She merely said that life in St. Mary Mead was not quite so sheltered as outside people believed.

  “Very nasty things go on in a village, I assure you,” she said. “One has an opportunity of studying things there that one would never have in a town.”

  Lewis Serrocold listened indulgently, but with only half an ear.

  He said very simply: “I want your help.”

  “But of course, Mr. Serrocold.”

  “It is a matter that affects my wife—affects Caroline. I think that you are really attached to her?”

  “Yes, indeed. Everyone is.”

  “That is what I believed. It seems that I am wrong. With the permission of Inspector Curry, I am going to tell you something that no one else as yet knows. Or perhaps I should say what only one person knows.”

  Briefly, he told her what he had told Inspector Curry the night before.

  Miss Marple looked horrified.

  “I can’t believe it, Mr. Serrocold. I really can’t believe it.”

  “That is what I felt when Christian Gulbrandsen told me.”

  “I should have said that dear Carrie Louise had not got an enemy in the world.”

  “It seems incredible that she should have. But you see the implication? Poisoning—slow poisoning—is an intimate family matter. It must be one of our closely knit little household—”

  “If it is true. Are you sure that Mr. Gulbrandsen was not mistaken?”

  “Christian was not mistaken. He is too cautious a man to make such a statement without foundation. Besides, the police took away Caroline’s medicine bottle and a separate sample of its contents. There was arsenic in both of them—and arsenic was not prescribed. The actual quantitative tests will take longer—but the actual fact of arsenic being present is established.”

  “Then her rheumatism—the difficulty in walking—all that—”

  “Yes, leg cramps are typical, I understand. Also, before you came, Caroline had had one or two severe attacks of a gastric nature—I never dreamed until Christian came—”

  He broke off. Miss Marple said softly: “So Ruth was right!”

  “Ruth?”

  Lewis Serrocold sounded surprised. Miss Marple flushed.

  “There is something I have not told you. My coming here was not entirely fortuitous. If you will let me explain—I’m afraid I tell things so badly. Please have patience.”

  Lewis Serrocold listened whilst Miss Marple told him of Ruth’s unease and urgency.

  “Extraordinary,” he commented. “I had no idea of this.”

  “It was all so vague,” said Miss Marple. “Ruth herself didn’t know why she had this feeling. There must be a reason—in my experience there always is—but ‘something wrong’ was as near as she could get.”

  Lewis Serrocold said grimly:

  “Well, it seems that she was right. Now, Miss Marple, you see how I am placed. Am I to tell Caroline of this?”

  Miss Marple said quickly, “Oh no,” in a distressed voice, and then flushed and stared doubtfully at Lewis. He nodded.

  “So you feel as I do? As Christian Gulbrandsen did. Should we feel like that with an
ordinary woman?”

  “Carrie Louise is not an ordinary woman. She lives by her trust, by her belief in human nature—oh dear, I am expressing myself very badly. But I do feel that until we know who—”

  “Yes, that is the crux. But you do see, Miss Marple, that there is a risk in saying nothing—”

  “And so you want me to—how shall I put it?—watch over her?”

  “You see, you are the only person whom I can trust,” said Lewis Serrocold simply. “Everyone here seems devoted. But are they? Now your attachment goes back many years.”

  “And also I only arrived a few days ago,” said Miss Marple pertinently.

  Lewis Serrocold smiled.

  “Exactly.”

  “It is a very mercenary question,” said Miss Marple apologetically. “But who exactly would benefit if dear Carrie Louise were to die?”

  “Money!” said Lewis bitterly. “It always boils down to money, does it?”

  “Well, I really think it must in this case. Because Carrie Louise is a very sweet person with a great deal of charm, and one cannot really imagine anyone disliking her. She couldn’t, I mean, have an enemy. So then it does boil down, as you put it, to a question of money, because as you don’t need me to tell you, Mr. Serrocold, people will quite often do anything for money.”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  He went on: “Naturally Inspector Curry has already taken up that point. Mr. Gilroy is coming down from London today and can give detailed information. Gilroy, Gilroy, Jaimes and Gilroy are a very eminent firm of lawyers. This Gilroy’s father was one of the original trustees and they drew up both Caroline’s will and the original will of Eric Gulbrandsen. I will put it in simple terms for you—”

  “Thank you,” said Miss Marple gratefully. “So mystifying the law, I always think.”

  “Eric Gulbrandsen after endowment of the College and his various fellowships and trusts and other charitable bequests, and having settled an equal sum on his daughter Mildred and on his adopted daughter Pippa (Gina’s mother), left the remainder of his vast fortune in trust, the income from it to be paid to Caroline for her lifetime.”