Free A Caribbean Mystery by Agatha Christie

Marple. Thanks for the drink, Mr. Kendal.”
    He strode away.
    “I feel sorry for that chap,” said Tim. “I have to stand him a drink now and then, just to cheer him up. Can I offer you something, Miss Marple? How about fresh lime? I know you're fond of that.”
    ''Not just now, thank you. I suppose looking after someone like Mr. Rafiel must always be rather exacting. Invalids are frequently difficult-"
    “I didn't mean only that. It's very well paid and you expect to put up with a good deal of crotchetiness-old Rafiel's not really a bad sort. I meant more that-” he hesitated.
    Miss Marple looked inquiring.
    “Well-how shall I put it-it's difficult for him socially. People are so damned snobbish-there's no one here of his class. He's better than a servant-and below the average visitor-or they think he is. Rather like the Victorian governess. Even the secretary woman, Mrs. Walters, feels she's a cut above him. Makes things difficult.” Tim paused, then said with feeling: “It's really awful the amount of social problems there are in a place like this.”
    Dr. Graham passed them. He had a book in his hand. He went and sat at a table overlooking the sea.
    “Dr. Graham looks rather worried,” remarked Miss Marple.
    “Oh! We're all worried.”
    “You too? Because of Major Palgrave's death?”
    “I've left off worrying about that. People seem to have forgotten it-taken it in their stride. No-it's my wife-Molly. Do you know anything about dreams?”
    “Dreams?” Miss Marple was surprised.
    “Yes-bad dreams-nightmares, I suppose. Oh, we all get that sort of thing sometimes. But Molly-she seems to have them nearly all the time. They frighten her. Is there anything one can do about them? Take for them? She's got some sleeping pills, but she says they make it worse-she struggles to wake up and can't.”
    “What are the dreams about?”
    “Oh, something or someone chasing her. Or watching her and spying on her. She can't shake off the feeling even when she's awake.”
    “Surely a doctor-”
    “She's got a thing against doctors. Won't hear of it. Oh well, I daresay it will all pass off. But we were so happy. It was all such fun- And now, just lately- Perhaps old Palgrave's death upset her. She seems like a different person since...”
    He got up.
    “Must get on with the daily chores-are you sure you won't have that fresh lime?”
    Miss Marple shook her head.
    She sat there, thinking. Her face was grave and anxious. She glanced over at Dr. Graham. Presently she came to a decision. She rose and went across to his table.
    “I have got to apologise to you. Dr. Graham,” she said.
    “Indeed?” The doctor looked at her in kindly surprise. He pulled forward a chair and she sat down.
    “I am afraid I have done the most disgraceful thing,” said Miss Marple. “I told you, Dr. Graham, a deliberate lie.”
    She looked at him apprehensively.
    Dr. Graham did not look at all shattered, but he did look a little surprised. “Really?” he said. “Ah well, you mustn't let that worry you too much.” What had the dear old thing been telling lies about, he wondered; her age? Though as far as he could remember she hadn't mentioned her age. “Well, let's hear about it,” he said, since she clearly wished to confess.
    “You remember my speaking to you about a snapshot of my nephew, one that I showed to Major Palgrave, and that he didn't give back to me?”
    “Yes, yes, of course I remember. Sorry we couldn't find it for you.”
    “There wasn't any such thing,” said Miss Marple, in a small, frightened voice.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “There wasn't any such thing. I made up that story, I'm afraid.”
    “You made it up?” Dr. Graham looked slightly annoyed. “Why?”
    Miss Marple told him. She told him quite clearly, without twittering. She told him about Major Palgrave's murder story and how he'd been about to show her this particular snapshot and his sudden confusion and then she went on to her own anxiety and to her