We were both silent. Then she said:
“I wish I knew. It’s very difficult. No, I don’t think anyone can help me. But thank you for offering to do so.”
That seemed final, so I went. But as I did so, I wondered. We are not used to mysteries in St. Mary Mead.
So much is this the case that as I emerged from the gate I was pounced upon. Miss Hartnell is very good at pouncing in a heavy and cumbrous way.
“ I saw you!” she exclaimed with ponderous humour. “And I was so excited. Now you can tell us all about it.”
“About what?”
“The mysterious lady! Is she a widow or has she a husband somewhere?”
“I really couldn’t say. She didn’t tell me.”
“How very peculiar. One would think she would be certain to mention something casually. It almost looks, doesn’t it, as though she had a reason for not speaking?”
“I really don’t see that.”
“Ah! But as dear Miss Marple says, you are so unworldly, dear vicar. Tell me, has she known Dr. Haydock long?”
“She didn’t mention him, so I don’t know.”
“Really? But what did you talk about then?”
“Pictures, music, books,” I said truthfully.