“If she says anything of the kind, she’s wrong. There’s no name on it. Nearly everybody’s got a suitcase like that. As for poor Dr. Stone, accusing him of being a common burglar! And he has a lot of letters after his name.”
“You refuse to give us any explanation, then, Miss Cram?”
“No refusing about it. You’ve made a mistake, that’s all. You and your meddlesome Marples. I won’t say a word more—not without my solicitor present. I’m going this minute—unless you’re going to arrest me.”
For answer, the inspector rose and opened the door for her, and with a toss of the head, Miss Cram walked out.
“That’s the line she takes,” said Slack, coming back to his chair. “Absolute denial. And, of course, the old lady may have been mistaken. No jury would believe you could recognize anyone from that distance on a moonlit night. And, of course, as I say, the old lady may have made a mistake.”
“She may,” I said, “but I don’t think she did. Miss Marple is usually right. That’s what makes her unpopular.”
The inspector grinned.
“That’s what Hurst says. Lord, these villages!”
“What about the silver, inspector?”
“Seemed to be perfectly in order. Of course, that meant one lot or the other must be a fake. There’s a very good man in Much Benham, an authority on old silver. I’ve phoned over to him and sent a car to fetch him. We’ll soon know which is which. Either the burglary was an accomplished fact, or else it was only planned. Doesn’t make a frightful