hatever the alarms and excursions of the night, Mr. Rafiel had not heard them.

He was fast asleep in bed, a faint thin snore coming from his nostrils, when he was taken by the shoulders and shaken violently.

“Eh-what-what the devil's this?”

“It's me,” said Miss Marple, for once ungrammatical, “though I should put it a little more strongly than that. The Greeks, I believe, had a word for it. Nemesis, if I am not wrong.”

Mr. Rafiel raised himself on his pillows as far as he could. He stared at her. Miss Marple, standing there in the moonlight, her head encased in a fluffy scarf of pale pink wool, looked as unlike a figure of Nemesis as it was possible to imagine.

“So you're Nemesis, are you?” said Mr. Rafiel after a momentary pause.

“I hope to be-with your help.”

“Do you mind telling me quite plainly what you're talking about like this in the middle of the night.”

“I think we may have to act quickly. Very quickly. I have been foolish. Extremely foolish. I ought to have known from the very beginning what all this was about. It was so simple.”

“What was simple, and what are you talking about?”

“You slept through a good deal,” said Miss Marple. “A body was found. We thought at first it was the body of Molly Kendal. It wasn't, it was Lucky Dyson. Drowned in the creek.”

“Lucky, eh?” said Mr. Rafiel. “And drowned? In the creek. Did she drown herself or did somebody drown her?”

“Somebody drowned her,” said Miss Marple.

“I see. At least I think I see. That's what you mean by saying it's so simple, is it? Greg Dyson was always the first possibility, and he's the right one. Is that it? Is that what you're thinking? And what you're afraid of is that he may get away with it.”

Miss Marple took a deep breath.

“Mr. Rafiel, will you trust me. We have got to stop a murder being committed.”

“I thought you said it had been committed.”

“That murder was committed in error. Another murder may be committed any moment now. There's no time to lose. We must prevent it happening. We must go at once.”

“It's all very well to talk like that,” said Mr. Rafiel. “We, you say? What do you think I can do about it? I can't even walk without help. How can you and I set about preventing a murder? You're about a hundred and I'm a broken up old crock.”

“I was thinking of Jackson,” said Miss Marple. “Jackson will do what you tell him, won't he?”

“He will indeed,” said Mr. Rafiel, “especially if I add that I'll make it worth his while. Is that what you want?”

“Yes. Tell him to come with me and tell him to obey any orders I give him.”

Mr. Rafiel looked at her for about six seconds. Then he said: “Done. I expect I'm taking the biggest risk of my life. Well, it won't be the first one.” He raised his voice. “Jackson.”

At the same time he picked up the electric bell that lay beside his hand and pressed the button.

Hardly thirty seconds passed before Jackson appeared through the connecting door to the adjoining room.

“You called and rang, sir? Anything wrong?” He broke off, staring at Miss Marple.

“Now Jackson, do as I tell you. You will go with this lady. Miss Marple. You'll go where she takes you and you'll do exactly as she says. You'll obey every order she gives you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And for doing that,” said Mr. Rafiel, “you won't be the loser. I'll make it worth your while.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come along, Mr. Jackson,” said Miss Marple. She spoke over her shoulder to Mr. Rafiel. “We'll tell Mrs. Walters to come to you on our way. Get her to get you out of bed and bring you along.”

“Bring me along where?”

“To the Kendals' bungalow,” said Miss Marple. “I think Molly will be coming back there.”