night whilst she stayed here to disarm suspicion. Well, there’s one thing to the good. This lets him out over the murder. He’d nothing to do with that. Quite a different game.”
He repacked the suitcase and took his departure, refusing Miss Marple’s offer of a glass of sherry.
“Well, that’s one mystery cleared up,” I said with a sigh. “What Slack says is quite true; there are no grounds for suspecting him of the murder. Everything’s accounted for quite satisfactorily.”
“It really would seem so,” said Miss Marple. “Although one never can be quite certain, can one?”
“There’s a complete lack of motive,” I pointed out. “He’d got what he came for and was clearing out.”
“Y—es.”
She was clearly not quite satisfied, and I looked at her in some curiosity. She hastened to answer my inquiring gaze with a kind of apologetic eagerness.
“I’ve no doubt I am quite wrong. I’m so stupid about these things. But I just wondered—I mean this silver is very valuable, is it not?”
“A tazza sold the other day for over a thousand pounds, I believe.”
“I mean—it’s not the value of the metal.”
“No, it’s what one might call a connoisseur’s value.”
“That’s what I mean. The sale of such things would take a little time to arrange, or even if it was arranged, it couldn’t be carried through without secrecy. I mean—if the robbery were reported and a hue and cry were raised, well, the things couldn’t be marketed at all.”