Chapter 2

                                       I

True to the precepts handed down to her by her mother and grandmother - to
wit: that a true lady can neither be shocked nor surprised - Miss Marple
merely raised her eyebrows and shook her head, as she said:

"Most distressing for you, Elspeth, and surely most unusual. I think you
had better tell me about it at once."

That was exactly what Mrs. McGillicuddy wanted to do. Allowing her hostess
to draw her nearer to the fire, she sat down, pulled off her gloves and
plunged into a vivid narrative.

Miss Marple listened with close attention. When Mrs. McGillicuddy at last
paused for breath, Miss Marple spoke with decision.

"The best thing, I think, my dear, is for you to go upstairs and take off
your hat and have a wash. Then we will have supper – during which we will
not discuss this at all. After supper we can go into the matter thoroughly
and discuss it from every aspect."

Mrs. McGillicuddy concurred with this suggestion. The two ladies had
supper, discussing, as they ate, various aspects of life as lived in the
village of St. Mary Mead. Miss Marple commented on the general distrust of
the new organist, related the recent scandal about the chemist's wife, and
touched on the hostility between the schoolmistress and the village
institute. They then discussed Miss Marple's and Mrs. McGillicuddy's
gardens.

"Paeonies," said Miss Marple as she rose from table, "are most
unaccountable. Either they do - or they don't do. But if they do establish
themselves, they are with you for life, so to speak, and really most
beautiful varieties nowadays."

They settled themselves by the fire again, and Miss Marple brought out two
old Waterford glasses from a corner cupboard, and from another cupboard
produced a bottle.

"No coffee to-night for you, Elspeth," she said. "You are already
over-excited (and no wonder!) and probably would not sleep. I prescribe a
glass of my cowslip wine, and later, perhaps, a cup of chamomile tea."

Mrs. McGillicuddy acquiescing in these arrangements, Miss Marple poured out
the wine.

"Jane," said Mrs. McGillicuddy, as she took an appreciative sip, "you don't
think, do you, that I dreamt it, or imagined it?"



"Certainly not," said Miss Marple with warmth.

Mrs. McGillicuddy heaved a sigh of relief.

"That ticket collector," she said, "he thought so. Quite polite, but all
the same -"

"I think, Elspeth, that that was quite natural under the circumstances. It
sounded - and indeed was – a most unlikely story. And you were a complete
stranger to him. No, I have no doubt at all that you saw what you've told
me you saw. It's very extraordinary - but not at all impossible. I
recollect myself being interested when a train ran parallel to one in which
I was travelling, to notice what a vivid and intimate picture one got of
what was going on in one or two of the carriages. A little girl, I remember
once, playing with a teddy bear, and suddenly she threw it deliberately at
a fat man who was asleep in the corner and he bounced up and looked most
indignant, and the other passenger looked so amused. I saw them all quite
vividly. I could have described afterwards exactly what they looked like
and what they had on."

Mrs. McGillicuddy nodded gratefully.

"That's just how it was."

"The man had his back to you, you say. So you didn't see his face?"

"No."

"And the woman, you can describe her? Young, old?"

"Youngish. Between thirty and thirty-five, I should think. I couldn't say
closer than that."

"Good-looking?"

"That again, I couldn't say. Her face, you see, was all contorted and –"

Miss Marple said quickly:

"Yes, yes, I quite understand. How was she dressed?"

"She had on a fur coat of some kind, a palish fur. No hat. Her hair was
blonde."

"And there was nothing distinctive that you can remember about the man?"

Mrs. McGillicuddy took a little time to think carefully before she replied.

"He was tallish - and dark, I think. He had a heavy coat on so that I
couldn't judge his build very well." She added despondently, “It's not
really very much to go on."

"It's something," said Miss Marple. She paused before saying: “You feel
quite sure, in your own mind, that the girl was – dead?"

"She was dead, I'm sure of it. Her tongue came out and I'd rather not talk
about it…."

"Of course not. Of course not," said Miss Marple quickly. "We shall know
more, I expect, in the morning."

"In the morning?"

"I should imagine it will be in the morning papers. After this man had
attacked and killed her, he would have a body on his hands. What would he
do? Presumably he would leave the train quickly at the first station – by
the way, can you remember if it was a corridor carriage?"

"No, it was not."

"That seems to point to a train that was not going far afield. It would
almost certainly stop at Brackhampton. Let us say he leaves the train at
Brackhampton, perhaps arranging the body in the corner seat, with the face
hidden by the fur collar to delay discovery. Yes - I think that is what he
would do. But of course it will be discovered before very long – and I
should imagine that the news of a murdered woman discovered on a train
would be almost certain to be in the morning papers - we shall see."

                                       II

But it was not in the morning papers.

Miss Marple and Mrs. McGillicuddy, after making sure of this, finished
their breakfast in silence. Both were reflecting.

After breakfast, they took a turn round the garden. But this, usually an
absorbing pastime, was to-day somewhat half-hearted. Miss Marple did indeed
call attention to some new and rare species she had acquired for her
rock-garden but did so in an almost absent-minded manner. And Mrs.
McGillicuddy did not, as was customary, counter-attack with a list of her
own recent acquisitions.

"The garden is not looking at all as it should," said Miss Marple, but
still speaking absent-mindedly. "Doctor Haydock has absolutely forbidden me
to do any stooping or kneeling – and really, what can you do if you don't
stoop or kneel? There's old Edwards, of course – but so opinionated. And
all this jobbing gets them into bad habits, lots of cups of tea and so much
pottering - not any real work."

"Oh, I know," said Mrs. McGillicuddy. "Of course there's no question of my
being forbidden to stoop, but really, especially after meals - and having
put on weight" – she looked down at her ample proportions - "it does bring
on heartburn."

There was a silence and then Mrs. McGillicuddy planted her feet sturdily,
stood still, and turned on her friend.

"Well?" she said.

It was a small insignificant word, but it acquired full significance from
Mrs. McGillicuddy's tone, and Miss Marple understood its meaning perfectly.

"I know," she said.

The two ladies looked at each other.

"I think," said Miss Marple "we might walk down to the police station and
talk to Sergeant Cornish. He's intelligent and patient, and I know him very
well, and he knows me. I think he'll listen – and pass the information on
to the proper quarter."

Accordingly, some three-quarters of an hour later, Miss Marple and Mrs.
McGillicuddy were talking to a fresh-faced grave man between thirty and
forty who listened attentively to what they had to say.

Frank Cornish received Miss Marple with cordiality and even deference. He
set chairs for the two ladies, and said: “Now what can we do for you, Miss
Marple?"

Miss Marple said: "I would like you, please, to listen to my friend Mrs.
McGillicuddy's story."

And Sergeant Cornish had listened. At the close of the recital he remained
silent for a moment or two.

Then he said:

"That's a very extraordinary story." His eyes, without seeming to do so,
had sized Mrs. McGillicuddy up whilst she was telling it.

On the whole, he was favourably impressed. A sensible woman, able to tell a
story clearly; not, so far as he could judge, an over-imaginative or a
hysterical woman. Moreover, Miss Marple, so it seemed, believed in the
accuracy of her friend's story and he knew all about Miss Marple. Everybody
in St. Mary Mead knew Miss Marple; fluffy and dithery in appearance, but
inwardly as sharp and as shrewd as they make them.

He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Of course," he said, “you may have been mistaken - I'm not saying you
were, mind - but you may have been. There's a lot of horse-play goes on –
it mayn't have been serious or fatal."

"I know what I saw," said Mrs. McGillicuddy grimly.

"And you won't budge from it," thought Frank Cornish, "and I'd say that,
likely or unlikely, you may be right."

Aloud he said: "You reported it to the railway officials, and you've come
and reported it to me. That's the proper procedure and you may rely on me
to have inquiries instituted."

He stopped. Miss Marple nodded her head gently, satisfied. Mrs.
McGillicuddy was not quite so satisfied, but she did not say anything.
Sergeant Cornish addressed Miss Marple, not so much because he wanted her
ideas, as because he wanted to hear what she would say.

"Granted the facts are as reported," he said, "what do you think has
happened to the body?"

"There seem to be only two possibilities," said Miss Marple without
hesitation. "The most likely one, of course, is that the body was left in
the train, but that seems improbable now, for it would have been found some
time last night, by another traveller, or by the railway staff at the
train's ultimate destination."

Frank Cornish nodded.

"The only other course open to the murderer would be to push the body out
of the train on to the line. It must, I suppose, be still on the track
somewhere as yet undiscovered - though that does seem a little unlikely.
But there would be, as far as I can see, no other way of dealing with it."

"You read about bodies being put in trunks," said Mrs. McGillicuddy, "but
no one travels with trunks nowadays, only suitcases, and you couldn't get a
body into a suitcase."

"Yes," said Cornish. "I agree with you both. The body, if there is a body,
ought to have been discovered by now, or will be very soon. I'll let you
know any developments there are - though I dare say you’ll read about them
in the papers. There's the possibility, of course, that the woman, though
savagely attacked, was not actually dead. She may have been able to leave
the train on her own feet."

"Hardly without assistance," said Miss Marple. "And if so, it will have
been noticed. A man, supporting a woman whom he says is ill."

"Yes, it will have been noticed," said Cornish. "Or if a woman was found
unconscious or ill in a carriage and was removed to hospital, that, too
will be on record. I think you may rest assured that you'll hear about it
all in a very short time."

But that day passed and the next day. On that evening Miss Marple received
a note from Sergeant Cornish.

In regard to the matter on which you consulted me, full inquiries have been
made, with no result. No woman's body has been found. No hospital has
administered treatment to a woman such as you describe, and no case of a
woman suffering from shock or taken ill, or leaving a station supported by
a man has been observed. I suggest that your friend may have witnessed a
scene such as she described but that if was much less serious than she
supposed.

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