olly came up the path from the sea.

Her eyes stared fixedly ahead of her.

Occasionally, under her breath, she gave a little whimper...

She went up the steps of the loggia, paused a moment, then pushed open the window and walked into the bedroom.

The lights were on, but the room itself was empty. Molly went across to the bed and sat down. She sat for some minutes, now and again passing her hand over her forehead and frowning. Then, after a quick surreptitious glance round, she slipped her hand under the mattress and brought out the book that was hidden there. She bent over it, turning the pages to find what she wanted.

Then she raised her head as a sound of running footsteps came from outside.

With a quick guilty movement she pushed the book behind her back.

Tim Kendal, panting and out of breath, came in, and uttered a great sigh of relief at the sight of her.

“Thank God. Where have you been, Molly? I've been searching everywhere for you.”

“I went to the creek.”

“You went-” he stopped.

“Yes. I went to the creek. But I couldn't wait there. I couldn't. There was someone in the water-and she was dead.”

“You mean- Do you know I thought it was you. I've only just found out it was Lucky.”

“I didn't kill her. Really, Tim, I didn't kill her. I'm sure I didn't. I mean- I'd remember if I did, wouldn't I?”

Tim sank slowly down on the end of the bed.

“You didn't - are you sure of that? No. No, of course you didn't!” He fairly shouted the words. “Don't start thinking like that, Molly. Lucky drowned herself. Of course she drowned herself. Hillingdon was through with her. She went and lay down with her face in the water-”

“Lucky wouldn't do that. She'd never do that. But I didn't kill her. I swear I didn't.”

“Darling, of course you didn't!” He put his arms round her but she pulled herself away.

“I hate this place. It ought to be all sunlight. It seemed to be all sunlight. But it isn't. Instead there's a shadow-a big black shadow... And I'm in it-and I can't get out-” Her voice had risen to a shout.

“Hush, Molly. For God's sake, hush!”

He went into the bathroom, came back with a glass.

“Look. Drink this. It'll steady you.”

“I-I can't drink anything. My teeth are chattering so.”

“Yes you can, darling. Sit down. Here, on the bed.” He put his arm round her. He approached the glass to her lips. “There you are now. Drink it.”

A voice spoke from the window.

“Jackson,” said Miss Marple clearly. “Go over. Take that glass from him and hold it tightly. Be careful. He's strong and he may be pretty desperate.”

There were certain points about Jackson. He was a man of training, trained to obey orders. He was a man with a great love for money, and money had been promised him by his employer, that employer being a man of stature and authority. He was also a man of extreme muscular development heightened by his training. His not to reason why, his but to do. Swift as a flash he had crossed the room. His hand went over the glass that Tim was holding to Molly's lips, his other arm had fastened round Tim. A quick flick of the wrist and he had the glass. Tim turned on him wildly, but Jackson held him firmly.

“What the devil-let go of me. Let go of me. Have you gone mad? What are you doing?” Tim struggled violently.

“Hold him, Jackson,” said Miss Marple.

“What's going on? What's the matter here?”

Supported by Esther Walters, Mr. Rafiel came through the window.

“You ask what's the matter?” shouted Tim. “Your man's gone mad, stark, staring mad, that's what's the matter. Tell him to let go of me.”

“No,” said Miss Marple.

Mr. Rafiel turned to her. “Speak up, Nemesis,” he said. “We've got to have chapter and verse of some kind.”

“I've been stupid and a fool,” said Miss Marple, “but I'm not being a fool now. When the contents of that glass that he was trying to make his wife drink, have been analysed, I'll wager-yes, I'll wager my immortal soul that you'll find it's got a lethal does of narcotic in it. It's the same pattern, you see, the same pattern as in Major Palgrave's story. A wife in a depressed state, and she tries to do away with herself, husband saves her in time. Then the second time she succeeds. Yes, it's the right pattern. Major Palgrave told me the story and he took out a snapshot and then he looked up and saw-”

“Over your right shoulder-” continued Mr. Rafiel.

“No,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head. “He didn't see anything over my right shoulder.”

“What are you talking about? You told me...”

“I told you wrong. I was completely wrong. I was stupid beyond belief. Major Palgrave appeared to me to be looking over my right shoulder, glaring, in fact, at something. But he couldn't have seen anything, because he was looking through his left eye and his left eye was his glass eye.”

“I remember-he had a glass eye,” said Mr. Rafiel. “I'd forgotten-or I took it for granted. You mean he couldn't see anything?”

“Of course he could see,” said Miss Marple. “He could see all right, but he could only see with one eye. The eye he could see with was his right eye. And so, you see, he must have been looking at something or someone not to the right of me but to the left of me.”

“Was there anyone on the left of you?”

“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “Tim Kendal and his wife were sitting not far off. Sitting at a table just by a big hibiscus bush. They were doing accounts there. So you see the Major looked up. His glass left eye was glaring over my shoulder, but what he saw with his other eye was a man sitting by a hibiscus bush and the face was the same, only rather older, as the face in the snapshot. Also by a hibiscus bush. Tim Kendal had heard the story the Major had been telling and he saw that the Major had recognised him. So, of course, he had to kill him. Later, he had to kill the girl, Victoria, because she'd seen him putting a bottle of tablets in the Major's room. She didn't think anything of it at first because of course it was quite natural on various occasions for Tim Kendal to go into the guests' bungalows. He might have just been returning something to it that had been left on a restaurant table. But she thought about it and then she asked him questions and so he had to get rid of her. But this is the real murder, the murder he's been planning all along. He's a wife killer, you see.”

“What damned nonsense, what-” Tim Kendal shouted.

There was a sudden cry, a wild angry cry. Esther Walters detached herself from Mr. Rafiel, almost flinging him down and rushed across the room. She pulled vainly at Jackson.

“Let go of him-let go of him. It's not true. Not a word of it's true. Tim- Tim darling, it's not true. You could never kill anyone, I know you couldn't. I know you wouldn't. It's that horrible girl you married. She's been telling lies about you. They're not true. None of them are true. I believe in you. I love you and trust in you. I'll never believe a word anyone says. I'll-”

Then Tim Kendal lost control of himself.

“For God's sake, you damned bitch,” he said, “shut up, can't you? D'you want to get me hanged? Shut up, I tell you. Shut that big, ugly mouth of yours.”

“Poor silly creature,” said Mr. Rafiel softly. “So that's what's been going on, is it?”