“And saw you, Miss Marple.”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t see me,” said Miss Marple, flushing slightly. “Because, you see, just at that minute I was bending right over—trying to get up one of those nasty dandelions, you know. So difficult. And then he went through the gate and down to the studio.”
“He didn’t go near the house?”
“Oh, no! He went straight to the studio. Mrs. Protheroe came to the door to meet him, and then they both went inside.”
Here Miss Marple contributed a singularly eloquent pause.
“Perhaps she was sitting for him?” I suggested.
“Perhaps,” said Miss Marple.
“And they came out—when?”
“About ten minutes later.”
“That was roughly?”
“The church clock had chimed the half-hour. They strolled out through the garden gate and along the lane, and just at that minute, Dr. Stone came down the path leading to the Hall, and climbed over the stile and joined them. They all walked towards the village together. At the end of the lane, I think, but I can’t be quite sure, they were joined by Miss Cram. I think it must have been Miss Cram because her skirts were so short.”
“You must have very good eyesight, Miss Marple, if you can observe as far as that.”
“I was observing a bird,” said Miss Marple. “A golden crested wren, I think he was. A sweet little fellow. I had my glasses out, and that’s how I