CHAPTER 20-2

 

　　He opened it and looked slowly down the pages. ToMiss Gorringe he gave the appearance of a man looking for one particularly entry. Inactuality this was not the case. Father had an accomplishment which he had learnt early inlife and had developed into a highly skilled art. He could remember names and addresseswith a perfect and photographic memory. That memory would remain with him for twenty-fouror even forty-eight hours. He shook his head as he shut the book and returned it to her.

　　"Canon Pennyfather hasn‘t been in, I suppose?" he said in a light voice.

　　"Canon Pennyfather?"

　　"You know he’s turnedup again?"

　　"No indeed. Nobody has told me. Where?"

　　"Some place in the country. Car accident it seems.Wasn‘t reported to us. Some good Samaritan just picked him upand looked after him."

　　"Oh! I am pleased. Yes, I really am very pleased.I was worried about him."

　　"So were his friends," saidFather. "Actually I was looking to see if one of them might bestaying here now. Archdeacon – Archdeacon – I can’t remember his name now, but I‘d know it is I saw it."

　　"Tomlinson?" said MissGorringe helpfully. "He is due next week. From Salisbury."

　　"No, not Tomlinson. Well, it doesn’t matter." He turned away.

　　It was quiet in the lounge tonight. Anascetic-looking middle-aged man was reading through a badly typed thesis, occasionallywriting a comment in the margin in such small crabbed handwriting as to be almostillegible. Every time he did this, he smiled in vinegary satisfaction.

　　There were one or two married couples of longstanding who had little need to talk to each other. Occasionally two or three people weregathered together in the name of the weather condition, discussing anxiously how they ortheir families were going to get where they wanted to be.

　　“– I rang up and begged Susan not to come by car…it means the M.I and always so dangerous in fog –”

　　"They say it‘s clearerin the Midlands…”

　　Chief-Inspector Davy noted them as he passed.Without haste, and with no seeming purpose, he arrived at his objective.

　　Miss Marple was sitting near the fire and observinghis approach.

　　"So you’re still here,Miss Marple. I‘m glad."

　　"I go tomorrow," saidMiss Marple.

　　That fact had, somehow, been implicit in herattitude. She had sat, not relaxed, but upright, as one sits in an airport lounge, or arailway waiting-room. Her luggage, he was sure, would be packed, only toilet things andnight wear to be added.

　　"It is the end of my fortnight’s holiday," she explained.

　　"You‘ve enjoyed it, Ihope?"

　　Miss Marple did not answer at once.

　　"In a way – yes…”She stopped.

　　"And in another way, no?"

　　"It’s difficult toexplain what I mean –”

　　"Aren‘t you, perhaps,a little too near the fire? Rather hot, here. Wouldn’t youlike to move – into that corner perhaps."

　　Miss Marple looked at the corner indicated, then shelooked at Chief-Inspector Davy.

　　"I think you are quite right," she said.

　　He gave her a hand up, carried her handbag and herbook for her and established her in the quiet corner he had indicated.

　　"All right?"

　　"Quite all right."

　　"You know why I suggested it?"

　　"You thought – verykindly – that it was too hot for me by the fire. Besides,"she added, "our conversation cannot beoverheard here."

　　"Have you got something you want to tell me, MissMarple?"

　　"Now why should you think that?"

　　"You looked as though you had," said Davy.

　　"I‘m sorry I showed itso plainly," said Miss Marple. "Ididn’t mean to."

　　"Well, what about it?"

　　"I don‘t know if Iought to do so. I would like you to believe, Inspector, that I am not really fond ofinterfering. I am against interference. Though often well meant, it can cause a great dealof harm."

　　"It’s like that, isit? I see. Yes, it‘s quite a problem for you."

　　"Sometimes one sees people doing things that seemto unwise – even dangerous. But has one any right tointerfere? Usually not, I think."

　　"Is this Canon Pennyfather you’re talking about?"

　　"Canon Pennyfather?" MissMarple sounded very surprised. "Oh no. Oh dear me no, nothingwhatever to do with him. It concerns – a girl."

　　"A girl, indeed? And you thought I could help?"

　　"I don‘t know,"said Miss Marple. "I simply don’t know. But I‘m worried, very worried."

Father did not press her. He sat there looking largeand comfortable and rather stupid. He let her take her time. She had been willing to doher best to help him, and he was quite prepared to do anything he could to help her. Hewas not, perhaps, particularly interested. On the other hand, one never knew.