加勒比海之谜(英文版)-第7部分

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IN　THE　SMALL　HOURS



Miss　Marple　woke　early。　Like　many　old　people　she　slept　lightly　and　had　periods　of　wakefulness；　which　she　used　for　the　planning　of　some　action　or　actions　to　be　carried　out　on　the　next　or　following　days。　Usually；　of　course；　these　were　of　a　wholly　private　or　domestic　nature；　of　little　interest　to　anybody　but　herself。　But　this　morning　Miss　Marple　lay　thinking　soberly　and　constructively　of　murder；　and　what；　if　her　suspicions　were　correct；　she　could　do　about　it。　It　wasn't　going　to　be　easy。　She　had　one　weapon　and　one　weapon　only；　and　that　was　conversation。　She　could　find　out；　possibly；　a　little　more　about　Major　Palgrave；　but　would　that　really　help　her？　She　doubted　if　it　would。　If　Major　Palgrave　had　been　killed　it　was　not　because　of　secrets　in　his　life　or　to　inherit　his　money　or　for　revenge　upon　him。　In　fact；　although　he　was　the　victim；　it　was　one　of　those　rare　cases　where　a　greater　knowledge　of　the　victim　does　not　help　you　or　lead　you　in　any　way　to　his　murderer。　The　point；　it　seemed　to　her；　and　the　sole　point；　was　that　Major　Palgrave　talked　too　much！

She　had　learnt　one　rather　interesting　fact　from　Dr。　Graham。　He　had　had　in　his　wallet　various　photographs；　one　of　himself　in　pany　with　a　polo　pony；　one　of　a　dead　tiger；　also　one　or　two　other　shots　of　the　same　nature。　Now　why　did　Major　Palgrave　carry　these　about　with　him？　Obviously；　thought　Miss　Marple；　with　long　experience　of　old　Admirals；　Brigadier　Generals　and　mere　Majors　behind　her；　because　he　had　certain　stories　which　he　enjoyed　telling　to　people。　Starting　off　with　〃Curious　thing　happened　once　when　I　was　out　tiger　shooting　in　India。。。〃　Or　a　reminiscence　of　himself　and　a　polo　pony。　Therefore　this　story　about　a　suspected　murderer　would　in　due　course　be　illustrated　by　the　production　of　the　snapshot　from　his　wallet。　He　had　been　following　that　pattern　in　his　conversation　with　her。　The　subject　of　murder　having　e　up；　and　to　focus　interest　on　his　story；　he　had　done　what　he　no　doubt　usually　did；　produced　his　snapshot　and　said　something　in　the　nature　of　〃Wouldn't　think　this　chap　was　a　murderer；　would　you？〃

The　point　was　that　it　had　been　a　habit　of　his。　This　murderer　story　was　one　of　his　regular　repertoire。　If　any　reference　to　murder　came　up；　then　away　went　the　Major；　full　steam　ahead。

In　that　case　reflected　Miss　Marple；　he　might　already　have　told　his　story　to　someone　else　here。　Or　to　more　than　one　person。　If　that　were　so；　then　she　herself　might　learn　from　that　person　what　the　further　details　of　the　story　had　been；　possibly　what　the　person　in　the　snapshot　had　looked　like。　She　nodded　her　head　in　satisfaction。

That　would　be　a　beginning。

And；　of　course；　there　were　the　people　she　called　in　her　mind　the　〃Four　Suspects〃。　Though　really；　since　Major　Palgrave　had　been　talking　about　a　manthere　were　only　two。　Colonel　Hillingdon　or　Mr。　Dyson；　very　unlikelylooking　murderers；　but　then　murderers　so　often　were　unlikely。　Could　there　have　been　anyone　else？　She　had　seen　no　one　when　she　turned　her　head　to　look。　There　was　the　bungalow　of　course。　Mr。　Rafiel's　bungalow。　Could　somebody　have　e　out　of　the　bungalow　and　gone　in　again　before　she　had　had　time　to　turn　her　head？　If　so；　it　could　only　have　been　the　valetattendant。　What　was　his　name？　Oh　yes；　Jackson。　Could　it　have　been　Jackson　who　had　e　out　of　the　door？　That　would　have　been　the　same　pose　as　the　photograph。　A　man　ing　out　of　a　door。　Recognition　might　have　struck　suddenly。　Up　till　then　Major　Palgrave　would　not　have　looked　at　Arthur　Jackson；　valetattendant；　with　any　interest。　His　roving　and　curious　eye　was　essentially　a　snobbish　eyeArthur　Jackson　was　not　a　pukka　sahibMajor　Palgrave　would　not　have　glanced　at　him　twice。

Until；　perhaps；　he　had　had　the　snapshot　in　his　hand；　and　had　looked　over　Miss　Marple's　right　shoulder　and　had　seen　a　man　ing　out　of　a　door。。。　？

Miss　Marple　turned　over　on　her　pillow。　Programme　for　tomorrowor　rather　for　today。　Further　investigation　of　the　Hillingdons；　the　Dysons　and　Arthur　Jackson；　valetattendant。



II



Dr。　Graham　also　woke　early。　Usually　he　turned　over　and　went　to　sleep　again。　But　today　he　was　uneasy　and　sleep　failed　to　e。　This　anxiety　that　made　it　so　difficult　to　go　to　sleep　again　was　a　thing　he　had　not　suffered　from　for　a　long　time。　What　was　causing　this　anxiety？　Really；　he　couldn't　make　it　out。　He　lay　there　thinking　it　over。　Something　to　do　withsomething　to　do　withyes　Major　Palgrave。　Major　Palgrave's　death？　He　didn't　see；　though；　what　there　could　be　to　make　him　uneasy　there。　Was　it　something　that　that　twittery　old　lady　had　said？　Bad　luck　for　her　about　her　snapshot。　She'd　taken　it　very　well。　But　now　what　was　it　she　had　said；　what　chance　word　of　hers　had　it　been　that　had　given　him　this　funny　feeling　of　uneasiness？

After　all；　there　was　nothing　odd　about　the　Major's　death。　Nothing　at　all。　At　least　he　supposed　there　was　nothing　at　all。　It　was　quite　clear　that　in　the　Major's　state　of　healtha　faint　check　came　in　his　thought　process。　Did　he　really　know　much　about　Major　Palgrave's　state　of　health？　Everybody　said　that　he'd　suffered　from　high　blood　pressure。　But　he　himself　had　never　had　any　conversation　with　the　Major　about　it。　But　then　he'd　never　had　much　conversation　with　Major　Palgrave　anyway。　Palgrave　was　an　old　bore　and　he　avoided　old　bores。　Why　on　earth　should　he　have　this　idea　that　perhaps　everything　mightn't　be　all　right？　Was　it　that　old　woman？　But　after　all　she　hadn't　said　anything。　Anyway；　it　was　none　of　his　business。　The　local　authorities　were　quite　satisfied。　There　had　been　that　bottle　of　Serenite　tablets；　and　the　old　boy　had　apparently　talked　to　people　about　his　blood　pressure　quite　freely。　Dr。　Graham　turned　over　in　bed　and　soon　went　to　sleep　again。



III



Outside　the　hotel　grounds；　in　one　of　a　row　of　shanty　cabins　beside　a　creek；　the　girl　Victoria　Johnson　rolled　over　and　sat　up　in　bed。　The　St。　Honorй　girl　was　a　magnificent　creature　with　a　torso　of　black　marble　such　as　a　sculptor　would　have　enjoyed。　She　ran　her　fingers　through　her　dark；　tightly　curling　hair。　With　her　foot　she　nudged　her　sleeping　panion　in　the　ribs。

〃Wake　up；　man。〃

The　man　grunted　and　turned。

''What　you　want？　It's　not　morning。〃

〃Wake　up；　man。　I　want　to　talk　to　you。〃

The　man　sat　up；　stretched；　showed　a　wide　mouth　and　beautiful　teeth。　〃What's　worrying　you；　woman？〃

〃That　Major　man　who　died。　Something　I　don't　like。　Something　wrong　about　it。〃

〃Ah；　what　d'you　want　to　worry　about　that？　He　was　old。　He　died。〃

〃Listen；　man。　It's　them　pills。　Them　pills　the　doctor　asked　me　about。〃

〃Well；　what　about　them？　He　took　too　many　maybe。〃

〃No。　It's　not　that。　Listen。〃　She　leant　towards　him；　talking　vehemently。　He　yawned　widely　and　then　lay　down　again。　〃There's　nothing　in　that。　What're　you　talking　about？〃

〃All　the　same；　I'll　speak　to　Mrs。　Kendal　about　it　in　the　morning。　I　think　there's　something　wrong　there　somewhere。〃

〃Shouldn't　bother；〃　said　the　man　who；　without　benefit　of　ceremony；　she　considered　as　her　present　husband。　〃Don't　let's　look　for　trouble；〃　he　said　and　rolled　over　on　his　side　yawning。



Chapter　7

MORNING　ON　THE　BEACH



It　was　mid　morning　on　the　beach　below　the　hotel。

Evelyn　Hillingdon　came　out　of　the　water　and　dropped　on　the　warm　golden　sand。　She　took　off　her　bathing　cap　and　shook　her　dark　head　vigorously。　The　beach　was　not　a　very　big　one。　People　tended　to　congregate　there　in　the　mornings　and　about　11。30　there　was　always　something　of　a　social　reunion。　To　Evelyn's　left　in　one　of　the　exoticlooking　modern　basket　chairs　lay　Seсora　de　Caspearo；　a　handsome　woman　from　Venezuela。　Next　to　her　was　old　Mr。　Rafiel　who　was　by　now　doyen　of　the　Golden　Palm　Hotel　and　held　the　sway　that　only　an　elderly　invalid　of　great　wealth　could　attain。　Esther　Walters　was　in　attendance　on　him。　She　usually　had　her　shorthand　notebook　and　pencil　with　her　in　case　Mr。　Rafiel　should　suddenly　think　of　urgent　business　cables　which　must　be　got　off　at　once。　Mr。　Rafiel　in　beach　attire　was　incredibly　desiccated；　his　bones　draped　with　festoons　of　dry　skin。　Though　looking　like　a　man　on　the　point　of　death；　he　had　looked　exactly　the　same　for　at　least　the　last　eight　yearsor　so　it　was　said　in　the　islands。　Sharp　blue　eyes　peered　out　of　his　wrinkled　cheeks；　and　his　principal　pleasure　in　life　was　denying　robustly　anything　that　anyone　else　said。

Miss　Marple　was　also　present。　As　usual　she　sat　and　knitted　and　listened　to　what　went　on；　and　very　occasionally　joined　in　the　conversation。　When　she　did　so；　everyone　was　surprised　because　they　had　usually　fotten　that　she　was　there！

Evelyn　Hillingdon　looked　at　her　indulgently；　and　thought　that　she　was　a　nice　old　pussy。

Seсora　de　Caspearo　rubbed　some　more　oil　on　her　long　beautiful　legs　and　hummed　to　herself。　She　was　not　a　woman　who　spoke　much。　She　looked　discontentedly　at　the　flask　of　sun　oil。　〃This　is　not　so　good　as　Frangipani；〃　she　said；　sadly。　〃One　cannot　get　it　here。　A　pity。〃　Her　eyelids　drooped　again。

〃Are　you　going　in　for　your　dip　now；　Mr。　Rafiel？〃　asked　Esther　Walters　tactfully。

〃I'll　go　in　when　I'm　ready；〃　said　Mr。　Rafiel；　snappishly。

〃It's　half　past　eleven；〃　said　Mrs。　Walters。

〃What　of　it？〃　said　Mr。　Rafiel。　〃Think　I'm　the　kind　of　man　to　be　tied　by　the　clock？　Do　this　at　the　hour；　do　this　at　twenty　minutes　past；　do　that　at　twenty　tobah！〃

Mrs。　W