I finished up with those beautiful and poignant words—perhaps the most poignant words in the whole Bible:
“ This night thy soul shall be required of thee. …”
It was a strange, brief possession. When I got back to the Vicarage I was my usual faded, indeterminate self. I found Griselda rather pale. She slipped her arm through mine.
“Len,” she said, “you were rather terrible tonight. I—I didn’t like it. I’ve never heard you preach like that before.”
“I don’t suppose you ever will again,” I said, sinking down wearily on the sofa. I was tired.
“What made you do it?”
“A sudden madness came over me.”
“Oh! it—it wasn’t something special?”
“What do you mean—something special?”
“I wondered—that was all. You’re very unexpected, Len. I never feel I really know you.”
We sat down to cold supper, Mary being out.
“There’s a note for you in the hall,” said Griselda. “Get it, will you, Dennis?”
Dennis, who had been very silent, obeyed.
I took it and groaned. Across the top left-hand corner was written: By hand—Urgent .
“This,” I said, “must be from Miss Marple. There’s no one else left.”