thrust my arm in and with a good deal of difficulty I extracted a small brown suitcase.
I uttered an ejaculation of triumph. I had been successful. Coldly snubbed by Constable Hurst, I had yet proved right in my reasoning. Here without doubt was the suitcase carried by Miss Cram. I tried the hasp, but it was locked.
As I rose to my feet I noticed a small brownish crystal lying on the ground. Almost automatically, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.
Then grasping my find by the handle, I retraced my steps to the path.
As I climbed over the stile into the lane, an agitated voice near at hand called out:
“Oh! Mr. Clement. You’ve found it! How clever of you!”
Mentally registering the fact that in the art of seeing without being seen, Miss Marple had no rival, I balanced my find on the palings between us.
“That’s the one,” said Miss Marple “I’d know it anywhere.”
This, I thought, was a slight exaggeration. There are thousands of cheap shiny suitcases all exactly alike. No one could recognize one particular one seen from such a distance away by moonlight, but I realized that the whole business of the suitcase was Miss Marple’s particular triumph and, as such, she was entitled to a little pardonable exaggeration.
“It’s locked, I suppose, Mr. Clement?”
“Yes. I’m just going to take it down to the police station.”
“You don’t think it would be better to telephone?”