CHAPTER 20-4

　　"Took the wrong bus," MissMarple suggested. "Something like that –”

　　"Say he got back here after midnight," Father said, “– he could have walked up to hisroom without anyone seeing him – But if so, what happened then– and why did he go out again three hours later?"

　　Miss Marple groped for a word.

　　"The only idea that occurs to me is – oh!"

　　She jumped as a report sounded from the streetoutside.

　　"Car backfiring," saidFather soothingly.

　　"I‘m sorry to be sojumpy – I am nervous tonight – thatfeeling one has –”

　　"That something’sgoing to happen? I don‘t think you need worry."

　　"I have never liked fog."

　　"I wanted to tell you," said Chief-Inspector Davy, "that you’ve given me a lot of help. The things you‘venoticed here – just little things – they’ve added up."

　　"So there was something wrong with this place?"

　　"There was and is everything wrong with it."

　　Miss Marple sighed.

　　"It seemed wonderful at first – unchanged you know – like stepping back into thepast – to the part of the past that one had loved and enjoyed."

　　She paused.

　　"But of course, it wasn‘t really like that. I learned (what I suppose I really knew already) that onecan never go back, that one should not ever try to go back – thatthe essence of life is going forward. Life is really a One Way Street, isn’t it?"

　　"Something of the sort," agreed Father.

　　"I remember," saidMiss Marple, diverging from her main topic in a characteristic way. "I remember being in Paris with my mother and my grandmother, and we went tohave tea at the Elysee Hotel. And my grandmother looked round, and she said suddenly, ‘Clara, I do believe I am the only woman here in a bonnet!’ And she was, too! When she got home she packed up all her bonnets, and herbeaded mantles too – and sent them off –”

　　"To the Jumble Sale?" inquiredFather, sympathetically.

　　"Oh no. Nobody would have wanted them at a jumblesale. She sent them to a theatrical Repertory Company. They appreciated them very much.But let me see –” Miss Marple recovered her direction. “–Where was I?"

　　"Summing up this place."

　　"Yes. It seemed all right – but it wasn‘t. It was mixed up – real people and people who weren’t real. Onecouldn‘t always tell them apart."

　　"What do you mean by not real?"

　　"There were retired military men, but there werealso what seemed to be military men but who had never been in the army. And clergymen whoweren’t clergymen. And admirals and sea captains who‘ve never been in the navy. My friend, Selina Hazy – it amused me at first how she was always so anxious to recognise people sheknew (quite natural, of course) and how often she was mistaken and they weren’t the people she thought they were. But it happened too often. And so –I began to wonder. Even Rose, the chambermaid – so nice – but I began to think that perhaps shewasn‘t real, either."

　　"If it interests you to know, she’s an ex-actress. A good one. Gets a better salary here than she ever drew onthe stage."

　　"But – why?"

　　"Mainly, as part of the décor. Perhapsthere‘s more than that to it."

　　"I’m glad to beleaving here," said Miss Marple. She gave a little shiver. "Before anything happens."

　　Chief-Inspector Davy looked at her curiously.

　　"What do you expect to happen?" he asked.

　　"Evil of some kind," saidMiss Marple.

　　"Evil is rather a big word –“

　　"You think it is too melodramatic? But I have someexperience – seem to have been – sooften – in contact with murder."

　　"Murder?" Chief-InspectorDavy shook his head. "I‘m notsuspecting murder. Just a nice cosy round up of some remarkably clever criminals –”

　　"That’s not the samething. Murder – the wish to do murder – is something quite different. It – how shall Isay? – It defies God."

　　He looked at her and shook his head gently andreassuringly.

　　"There won‘t be anymurders," he said.

　　A sharp report, louder than the former one, camefrom outside. It was followed by a scream and another report.

　　Chief-Inspector Davy was on his feet, moving with aspeed surprising in such a bulky man. In a few seconds he was through the swing doors andout in the street.

　　II

　　The screaming – a woman’s – was piercing the mist with a note of terror.Chief-Inspector Davy raced down Pond Street in the direction of the screams. He coulddimly visualise a woman‘s figure backed against a railing. Ina dozen strides he had reached her. She wore a long pale fur coat, and her shining blondehair hung down each side of her face. He thought for a moment that he knew who she was,then he realised that this was only a slip of a girl. Sprawled on the pavement at her feetwas the body of a man in uniform. Chief-Inspector Davy recognised him. It was MichaelGorman.

　　As Davy came up to the girl, she clutched at him,shivering all over, stammering out broken phrases.

"Someone tried to kill me…. Someone… they shot at me…. If it hadn’t been for him –” she pointed down at the motionless figure at her feet. "He pushed me back and got in front of me – andthen the second shot came… and he fell…. He saved my life. I think he‘s hurt – badly hurt…”