Miss Marple's Final Cases by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie [Christie, Agatha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Marple; Jane (Fictitious Character), Political, Short Stories (Single Author), General, Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Traditional British, Detective and Mystery Stories; English
ISBN: 9780007121045
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2002-09-01T06:46:18+00:00

Miss Marple Tells a Story

I don’t think I’ve ever told you, my dears—you, Raymond, and you, Joan, about the rather curious little business that happened some years ago now. I don’t want to seem vain in any way—of course I know that in comparison with you young people I’m not clever at all—Raymond writes those very modern books all about rather unpleasant young men and women—and Joan paints those very remarkable pictures of square people with curious bulges on them—very clever of you, my dear, but as Raymond always says (only quite kindly, because he is the kindest of nephews) I am hopelessly Victorian. I admire Mr Alma-Tadema and Mr Frederic Leighton and I suppose to you they seem hopelessly vieux jeu. Now let me see, what was I saying? Oh, yes—that I didn’t want to appear vain—but I couldn’t help being just a teeny weeny bit pleased with myself, because, just by applying a little common sense, I believe I really did solve a problem that had baffled cleverer heads than mine. Though really I should have thought the whole thing was obvious from the beginning…

Well, I’ll tell you my little story, and if you think I’m inclined to be conceited about it, you must remember that I did at least help a fellow creature who was in very grave distress.

The first I knew of this business was one evening about nine o’clock when Gwen—(you remember Gwen? My little maid with red hair) well—Gwen came in and told me that Mr Petherick and a gentleman had called to see me. Gwen had shown them into the drawing-room—quite rightly. I was sitting in the dining-room because in early spring I think it is so wasteful to have two fires going.

I directed Gwen to bring in the cherry brandy and some glasses and I hurried into the drawing-room. I don’t know whether you remember Mr Petherick? He died two years ago, but he had been a friend of mine for many years as well as attending to all my legal business. A very shrewd man and a really clever solicitor. His son does my business for me now—a very nice lad and very up to date—but somehow I don’t feel quite the confidence I had with Mr Petherick.

I explained to Mr Petherick about the fires and he said at once that he and his friend would come into the dining-room—and then he introduced his friend—a Mr Rhodes. He was a youngish man—not much over forty—and I saw at once there was something very wrong. His manner was most peculiar. One might have called it rude if one hadn’t realized that the poor fellow was suffering from strain.

When we were settled in the dining-room and Gwen had brought the cherry brandy, Mr Petherick explained the reason for his visit.

‘Miss Marple,’ he said, ‘you must forgive an old friend for taking a liberty. What I have come here for is a consultation.’

I couldn’t understand at all what he meant, and he went on:

‘In

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