Free The Mirror Crack'd: from Side to Side by Agatha Christie Page B

stairs?”
    â€œWell, it’s possible, isn’t it?” said Miss Marple.
    â€œYes—of course—now let me see. There was the mayor, all dressed up too with his chains and all, and his wife, and there was a man with long hair and one of those funny beards they wear nowadays. Quite a young man. And there was the girl with the camera. She’d taken her position on the stairs so as to get photos of people coming up and having their hands shaken by Marina, and—let me see, two people I didn’t know. Studio people, I think, and the Grices from Lower Farm. There may have been others, but that’s all I can remember now.”
    â€œDoesn’t sound very promising,” said Miss Marple. “What happened next?”
    â€œI think Jason Rudd nudged her or something because all of a sudden she seemed to pull herself together and she smiled at Mrs. Badcock, and she began to say all the usual things. You know, sweet, unspoilt, natural, charming, the usual bag of tricks.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œAnd then Jason Rudd gave them drinks.”
    â€œWhat kind of drinks?”
    â€œDaiquiris, I think. He said they were his wife’s favourites. He gave one to her and one to the Badcock woman.”
    â€œThat’s very interesting,” said Miss Marple. “Very interesting indeed. And what happened after that?”
    â€œI don’t know, because I took a gaggle of women to look at the bathrooms. The next thing I knew was when the secretary woman came rushing along and said someone had been taken ill.”

Seven
    T he inquest, when it was held, was short and disappointing. Evidence of identification was given by the husband, and the only other evidence was medical. Heather Badcock had died as a result of four grains of hy-ethyl-dexyl-barbo-quinde-lorytate, or, let us be frank, some such name. There was no evidence to show how the drug was administered.
    The inquest was adjourned for a fortnight.
    After it was concluded, Detective-Inspector Frank Cornish joined Arthur Badcock.
    â€œCould I have a word with you, Mr. Badcock?”
    â€œOf course, of course.”
    Arthur Badcock looked more like a chewed-out bit of string than ever. “I can’t understand it,” he muttered. “I simply can’t understand it.”
    â€œI’ve got a car here,” said Cornish. “We’ll drive back to your house, shall we? Nicer and more private there.”
    â€œThank you, sir. Yes, yes, I’m sure that would be much better.”
    They drew up at the neat little blue-painted gate of No. 3 Arlington Close. Arthur Badcock led the way and the inspector followed him. He drew out his latchkey but before he had inserted it into the door, it was opened from inside. The woman who opened it stood back looking slightly embarrassed. Arthur Badcock looked startled.
    â€œMary,” he said.
    â€œI was just getting you ready some tea, Arthur. I thought you’d need it when you came back from the inquest.”
    â€œThat’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” said Arthur Badcock gratefully. “Er—” he hesitated. “This is Inspector Cornish, Mrs. Bain. She’s a neighbour of mine.”
    â€œI see,” said Inspector Cornish.
    â€œI’ll get another cup,” said Mrs. Bain.
    She disappeared and rather doubtfully Arthur Badcock showed the inspector into the bright cretonne-covered sitting room to the right of the hall.
    â€œShe’s very kind,” said Arthur Badcock. “Very kind always.”
    â€œYou’ve known her a long time?”
    â€œOh, no. Only since we came here.”
    â€œYou’ve been here two years, I believe, or is it three?”
    â€œJust about three now,” said Arthur. “Mrs. Bain only got here six months ago,” he explained. “Her son works near here and so, after her husband’s death, she came down to live here and he boards with her.”
    Mrs. Bain appeared