Murder She Said Page #6

What are you doing?

- Making up the bed.

- You made it up this morning.

Yes but the pillowslips

need changing.

They look all right to me.

But not to me.

Oh, what am I doing?

I do wish that woman would hurry up.

They know I don't like the dark.

Are you afraid

some man will get you?

It's funny how things

come together.

My sister's eldest had measles

and then her Ernie broke his arm

and her husband came out all over

with boils, all in the same week.

You wouldn't believe it, would you?

It will be the same thing here.

First that nasty murder,

then Mr Albert poisoned.

Who's going to be next?

Things always go in threes.

Here you are.

Sorry to keep you, but the doctor was

with Mr Ackenthorpe.

Hmm! Long wait for very little.

The younger generation.

Well, I don't know!

What's the matter?

It's Mr Harold.

Did he use it or did somebody else

pull the trigger?

It adds up if it was suicide.

Harold killed the other two,

got cold feet

and took the easy way out.

They all knew he liked shooting

before dinner at the Hall.

He was shot from a two-inch range.

All right.

Someone he knows casually

asks him for the gun and...

It could still be suicide.

That's what the murderer

wants us to think.

We can't risk any more killings.

Come on.

- Where to, sir?

- The Hall.

I'll find the compact even if I have

to turn the place upside down.

Excuse me, sir,

there's a Miss Marple to see you.

- Come in. Good afternoon.

- You were going somewhere?

- Yes.

- I'll come to the point at once.

BeautifuI little piece, isn't it?

- Who had it?

- Alexander.

I should have realised.

That boy's incorrigible.

Playing it at midnight like that.

Typical.

- So we're back where we began?

- No, Inspector.

I think I know who our murderer is.

The difficulty is getting him

to show his hand.

- Sit down, Miss Marple.

- Thank you.

Hold that expression.

Oh, pity, you spoilt it.

What's the matter?

Things not working out for you?

You make everything you say

sound like an insinuation.

He works at it.

Do stop fussing, Quimper.

If I wish to come down,

I shall do so.

I think this chair, Hillman.

- Father, don't you...

- Don't start!

Sorry, Emma,

but once his mind is made up...

I'm not going to stay up there

all alone.

Might get murdered in my bed.

At least there's safety in numbers.

- I quite agree with you.

- That makes a nice change.

I want a drink.

No, not you... Quimper.

Then I must leave.

Don't smother me with it,

put it over my knees!

This is all very cosy.

How about a rubber of bridge?

Just a thought!

What have you got there, boy?

A charming little thing.

French, second empire.

Valuable, I'd say.

Where did you get it?

It belongs to Miss Marple.

- You had better give it back.

- I only borrowed it.

I'll drop it in on my way to bed.

- Come in, Doctor.

- You were expecting me?

- Didn't Alexander tell you?

- Tell me what?

ForgetfuI boy.

I have a sore throat

and asked him to ask you

to look at it before you left.

I see.

I haven't had one of these throats

in years.

Well you've been lucky, Miss Marple.

Any headaches?

No, just the sore throat.

Well, we'll have a look.

This is attractive.

- Yes, isn't it?

- Where did you get it?

- I found it.

- Oh, where?

- In the stables here.

- Really?

Open wide, please.

- Say, "Ahh".

- Ahh.

No inflammation.

Don't you think that was dishonest,

keeping the compact?

Under the circumstances, Doctor, no.

- Is there any swelling?

- I don't think so.

I've seen you like that once before,

your hands at a woman's throat.

It was on a train

and you were strangling her.

- That's quite an allegation.

- I have a few more.

Oh?

You want the compact because

you had given it to that woman

and it might be traced back to you.

- I think she was your wife.

- Do you?

You killed her after you had written

that letter to Emma.

- You signed it Martine Ackenthorpe.

- Why should I do that?

The murder - so that you would then

be free to marry Emma.

The letter - so that people would

think the dead woman was Martine

and look among the family

for the killer...

...never at you.

How did you arrive

at this fascinating hypothesis?

It was I who found her body.

Martine was, or is, for all I know,

a Normandy peasant.

The dead woman

had never worked on a farm.

I saw her hands.

- Go on.

- Certainly.

You proceeded to augment

your prospects...

...by eliminating Albert and Harold.

How, conceivably?

You contrived to introduce arsenic

into my curry,

which I find unforgivable,

knowing that you would be asked

to deal with the after-effects.

Easy then to give Albert

his final dose in the medicine.

And Harold?

You shot him

and made it look like suicide.

Ingenious, I must admit.

More than that.

Now you are here to secure

your wife's compact...

...a fair case.

Yes, a pity you won't be able

to present it.

One more murder, Doctor,

might be one too many.

This won't look like murder,

Miss Marple.

The death certificate signed by me

will register heart failure.

- All right?

- Yes, thank you.

You're under arrest. I warn you...

That everything was recorded

and will be used in evidence.

You were right about everything.

You're a very brave woman,

Miss Marple. Good night.

Oh!

About time too!

I was coming up to see you

before leaving.

No need to leave.

I have my own home.

- Sell it!

- Why on earth should I?

Well...

taking one thing and another...

...I mean, you're a fair cook

and... er... you seem to have

your wits about you and...

Well, I've decided to marry you.

- Well?

- Well, I'm honoured, of course.

Yes, but come to the point.

- I'm afraid that cannot be.

- Why?

Well if I ever do embark on such

a venture, there is someone else.

Nonsense! I don't believe it.

Who would have you?

Apparently you for one,

Mr Ackenthorpe.

Goodbye.

The woman is completely unbalanced!

- Oh, Miss Marple, I am so glad...

- How good of you to come.

- Let me help.

- Thank you.

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