I. PRE-READING TASKS

1. You are going to read A. Christie story "The Herb of Death". Before reading, make sure you understand the following words and word-combinations:

*Scheherazade – a fictitious oriental queen, the relator of the stories of “The Arabian Nights”

*Ascot – the famous annual horse races at Ascot in June

* Clodderham Court – a fictitious place name

* Must puddle your own canoe – you must get along by your own efforts

* Twenty Questions – a game in which one player tries to determine from Yes or No answers to not more than twenty questions what word or objest the others have chosen to be guessed

* dame de compagnie (Fr.) – a woman who acts as a paid companion

* No rat in that hole – nothing suspicioud there

* to plump for – to choose, to express an opinion

Practice the pronunciation of the following proper names from the text.

Sir Henry Clithering, Mrs. Bantry, Scheherazade, Arthur, Dolly, Dr. Lloyd, Ascot, Jane Helier, Clodderham Court, Sir Ambrose Bercy, Sylvia Keene, Maud Wye, Mr. Curle, Jerry Lorimer, Fairlies, Mrs. Carpenter,

Mrs. MacArthur, Mrs. Toomie.

Read the paragraph from the text, mark the stresses and tunes and be ready to present your reading.

Don't tell me it's absurd for a man of sixty to fall in love with a girl of twenty. It happens every day - and I dare say with an old autocrat like Sir Ambrose, it might take him queerly. These things become a madness sometimes. He couldn't bear the thought of her getting mar­ried - did his best to oppose it - and failed. His mad jealousy became so great that he pre­ferred killing her to letting her go to young Lorimer.

II. READING

1. Read the text “The Herb of Death” and be ready to do the exercises given after the text.

“Now then, Mrs. B.,” said Sir Henry Clithering encouragingly.

Mrs. Bantry, his hostess, looked at him in cold reproof.

“I’ve told you before that I will not be called Mrs.B. It’s not dignified.”

"Scheherazade*, - then."

"And even less am I Sche -. What's her name? I never can tell a story properly; ask Arthur if you don't believe me."

"You're quite good at the facts, Dolly," said Colonel Bantry, "but poor at the embroidery." "That's just it," said Mrs. Bantry. She flapped the bulb catalogue she was holding on the table in front of her. "I've been listening to you all and I don't know how you do it. 'He said, she said, you wondered, they thought, everyone implied' -well, I just couldn't, and here it is! And besides, I don't know anything to tell a story about."

"We can't believe that, Mrs. Bantry," said Dr. Lloyd. He shook his grey head in mocking disbelief.

Old Miss Marple said in her gentle voice,

"Surely, dear--" Mrs. Bantry continued obstinately to shake her head. "You don't know how banal my life is. What with the servants and the difficulties of getting scullery maids, and just going to town for clothes, and dentists, and Ascot* which Arthur hates, and then the garden--"

"Ah!" said Dr. Lloyd. "The garden. We all know where your heart lies, Mrs. Bantry." "It must be nice to have a garden," said Jane Helier, the beautiful young actress. "That is, if you hadn't got to dig or to get your hands messed up. I'm ever so fond of flowers." "The garden," said Sir Henry. "Can't we take that as a starting point? Come, Mrs. B. The poisoned bulb, the deadly daffodils, the herb of death!"

"Now it's odd your saying that," said Mrs. Bantry. "You've just reminded me. Arthur, do you remember that business at Clodderham Court?* - You know, old Sir Ambrose Bercy. Do you remember what a courtly charming old man we thought him?"

"Why, of course. Yes, that was a strange business. Go ahead, Dolly."

'You'd better tell it, dear.'

"Nonsense. Go ahead. Must paddle your own canoe.* I did my bit just now."

Mrs. Bantry drew a deep breath. She clasped her hands and. her face registered com­plete mental anguish. She spoke rapidly and fluently.

"Well, there's really not much to tell. The Herb of Death - that's what put it into my head, though in my own mind I call it sage and onions.”

"Sage and onions?" asked Dr. Lloyd.

Mrs. Bantry nodded.

"That was how it happened, you see," she explained. "We were staying, Arthur and I, with Sir Ambrose Bercy at Clodderham Court, and one day, by mistake (though very stupidly, I've always thought), a lot of foxglove leaves were picked with the sage. The ducks for din­ner that night were stuffed with it and every­one was very ill, and one poor girl - Sir Ambrose's ward - died of it."

She stopped.

"Dear, dear," said Miss Marple, "how very tragic.»

"Wasn't it?"

"Well," said Sir Henry, "what next?" "There isn't any next," said Mrs. Bantry. "That's all." Everyone gasped. Though warned before­hand, they had not expected quite such brevity as this. "But, my dear lady," remonstrated Sir Henry, "it can't be all. What you have related is a tragic occurrence but not in any sense of the word a problem."

"Well, of course there's some more," said Mrs. Bantry. "But if I were to tell you, you'd know what it was."

She looked defiantly round the assembly and said plaintively: "I told you I couldn't dress things up and make it sound properly like a story ought to do."

"Ah ha!" said Sir Henry. He sat up in his chair and adjusted an eyeglass. "Really, you know, Scheherazade, this is most refreshing. Our ingenuity is challenged. I’m not so sure you haven't done it on purpose - to stimulate our curiosity. A few brisk rounds of 'Twenty Questions'* is indicated, I think. Miss Marple, will you begin?"

"I'd like to know something about the cook," said Miss Marple. "She must have been a very stupid woman, or else very inexperienced."

"She was just very stupid," said Mrs. Bantry. "She cried a great deal afterward and said the leaves had been picked and brought into her kitchen as sage, and how was she to know?"

"Not one who thought for herself," said Miss Marple. "Probably an elderly woman and, I dare say a very good cook?"

"Oh, excellent," said Mrs. Bantry.

"Your turn, Miss Helier," said Sir Henry.

"Oh! You mean-to ask a question?" There was a pause while Jane pondered. Finally she said helplessly, "Really- I don't know what to ask.»

Her beautiful eyes looked appealingly at Sir Henry.

"Why not dramatis personae, Miss Helier?" he suggested, smiling.

Jane still looked puzzled.

"Characters in order of their appearance," said Sir Henry gently.

"Oh, yes," said Jane. "That's a good idea."

Mrs. Bantry began briskly to tick people off on her fingers.

"Sir Ambrose - Sylvia Keene (that's the girl who died) - a friend of hers who was staying there, Maud Wye, one of those dark ugly girls who manage to make an effect somehow - I never know how they do it. Then there was a Mr. Curle who had come down to discuss books with Sir Ambrose - you know, rare books - queer old things in Latin - all musty parch­ment. There was Jerry Lorimer - he was a kind of next-door neighbour. His place, Fairlies, joined Sir Ambrose's estate. And there was Mrs. Carpenter, one of those middle-aged pus­sies who always seem to manage to dig themselves in comfortably somewhere. She was by way of being dame de compagnie* to Sylvia, I suppose."

"If it is my turn," said Sir Henry, "and I suppose it is, as I'm sitting next to Miss Helier, I want a good deal, I want a short verbal por­trait, please, Mrs. Bantry, of all the foregoing."

"Oh!" Mrs. Bantry hesitated.

"Sir Ambrose now," continued Sir Henry. "Start with him. What was he like?"

"Oh, he was a very distinguished-looking old man - and not so very old really - not more than sixty, I suppose. But he was very deli­cate - he had a weak heart, could never go up­stairs - had to have a lift put in, and so that made him seem older than he was. Very charm­ing manners – courtly - that's the word that describes him best. You never saw him ruffled or upset. He had beautiful white hair and a particularly charming voice."

"Good," said Sir Henry. "I see Sir Ambrose. Now the girl Sylvia - what did you say her name was?"

"Sylvia Keene. She was pretty - really very pretty. Fair-haired, you know, and a lovely skin. Not, perhaps, very clever. In fact, rather stupid."

"Oh, come, Dolly," protested her husband. "Arthur, of course, wouldn't think so," said Mrs. Bantry dryly. "But she was stupid - she really never said anything worth listening to.

"One of the most graceful creatures I ever saw," said Colonel Bantry warmly. "See her playing tennis -charming, simply charming. And she was full of fun - most amusing little thing. And such a pretty way with her. - I bet the young fellows all thought so."

"That's just where you're wrong," said Mrs. Bantry. "Youth, as such, has no charms for young men nowadays. It's only old duffers like you, Arthur, who sit maundering on about young girls."

"Being young's no good," said Jane. "You've got to have S.A."

"What," said Miss Marple, "is S.A.?"

"Sex appeal," said Jane.

"Ah yes," said Miss Marple. "What in my day they used to call 'having the come hither in your eye.' "

"Not a bad description," said Sir Henry. "The dame de compagnie you described, I think, as a pussy, Mrs. Bantry?"

"I didn't mean a cat you know," said Mrs. Bantry. "It's quite different. Just a big soft white purry person. Always very sweet. That's what Adelaide Carpenter was like."

"What sort of aged woman?"

"Oh! I should say fortyish. She'd been there some time - ever since Sylvia was eleven, I believe. A very tactful person. One of those widows left in unfortunate circumstances, with plenty of aristocratic relations, but no ready cash. I didn't like her myself - but then I never do like people with very white long hands. And I don't like pussies."

"Mr. Curle?"

"Oh, one of those elderly stooping men. There are so many of them about, you'd hardly know one from the other. He showed enthu­siasm when talking about his musty books, but not at any other time. I don't think Sir Am­brose knew him very well."

"And Jerry next door?"

"A really charming boy. He was engaged to Sylvia. That's what made it so sad."

"Now I wonder--" began Miss Marple, and then stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing, dear."

Sir Henry looked at the old lady curiously. Then he said thoughtfully: "So this young couple were engaged. Had they been engaged long?"

"About a year. Sir Ambrose had opposed the engagement on the plea that Sylvia was too young. But after a year's engagement he had given in and the marriage was to have taken place quite soon."

"Ah! Had the young lady any property?"

"Next to nothing -a bare hundred or two a year."

"No rat in that hole,* Clithering," said Colo­nel Bantry, and laughed.

"It's the doctor's turn to ask a question," said Sir Henry. "I stand down."

"My curiosity is mainly professional," said Dr. Lloyd. "I should like to know what med­ical evidence was given at the inquest - that is, if our hostess remembers, or, indeed, if she knows.»

"I know roughly," said Mrs. Bantry. "It was poisoning by digitalin - is that right?"

Dr. Lloyd nodded: "The active principle of the foxglove-digi­talis - acts on the heart. Indeed, it is a very valuable drug in some forms of heart trouble. A very curious case altogether. I would never have believed that eating a preparation of fox­glove leaves could possibly result fatally. These ideas of eating poisonous leaves and berries are very much exaggerated. Very few people realise that the vital principle, or alkaloid, has to be extracted with much care and prep­aration. "

"Mrs. MacArthur sent some special bulbs round to Mrs. Toomie the other day," said Miss Marple. "And Mrs. Toomie's cook mis­took them for onions, and all the Toomies were very ill indeed."

"But they didn't die of it," said Dr. Lloyd.

"No, they didn't die of it," admitted Miss Marple.

“A girl I knew died of ptomaine poisoning," said Jane Helier.

"We must get on with investigating the crime," said Sir Henry.

"Crime?" said Jane, startled. "I thought it was an accident."

"If it were an accident," said Sir Henry gen­tly, "I do not think Mrs. Bantry would have told us this story. No, as I read it, this was an accident only in appearance - behind it is some­thing more sinister. I remember a case -various guests in a house party were chatting after dinner. The walls were adorned with all kinds of old-fashioned weapons. Entirely as a joke, one of the party seized an ancient horse pistol and pointed it at another man, pretending to fire it. The pistol was loaded and went off, killing the man. We had to ascertain in that case, first, who had secretly prepared and load­ed that pistol, and secondly, who had so led and directed the conversation that that final bit of horseplay resulted - for the man who had fired the pistol was entirely innocent!

"It seems to me we have much the same prob­lem here. Those digitalin leaves were delib­erately mixed with the sage, knowing what the result would be. Since we exonerate the cook-we do exonerate the cook, don't we?­ the question arises: Who picked the leaves and delivered them to the kitchen?"

"That's easily answered," said Mrs. Bantry. "At least the last part of it is. It was Sylvia herself who took the leaves to the kitchen. It was part of her daily job to gather things like salad or herbs, bunches of young carrots-all the sort of things that gardeners never pick right. They hate giving you anything young and tender - they wait for them to be fine speci­mens. Sylvia and Mrs. Carpenter used to see to a lot of these things themselves. And there was foxglove actually growing all among the sage in one corner, so the mistake was quite natural. "

"But did Sylvia actually pick them herself?"

"That nobody ever knew. It was assumed so."

"Assumptions," said Sir Henry, "are danger­ous things."

"But I do know that Mrs. Carpenter didn't pick them," said Mrs. Bantry. "Because, as it happened, she was walking with me on the ter­race that morning. We went out there after breakfast. It was unusually nice and warm for early spring. Sylvia went alone down into the garden, but later I saw her walking arm in arm with Maud Wye."

"So they were great friends, were they?" asked Miss Marple.

"Yes," said Mrs. Bantry. She seemed as though about to say something but did not do so.

"Had she been staying- there long?" asked Miss Marple.

"About a fortnight," said Mrs. Bantry. There was a note of trouble in her voice.

"You didn't like Miss W ye?" suggested Sir Henry.

"I did. That's just it. I did." The trouble in her voice had grown to dis­tress.

"You're keeping something back, Mrs. Bantry," said Sir Henry accusingly.

"I wondered just now," said Miss Marple, "but I didn't like to go on."

"When did you wonder?"

"When you said that the young people were engaged. You said that that was what made it so sad. But, if you know what I mean, your voice didn't sound right when you said it - not convincing, you know."

"What a dreadful person you are," said Mrs. Bantry. "You always seem to know. Yes, I was thinking of something. Bun don't really know whether I ought to say it or not."

"You must say it," said Sir Henry. "What­ever your scruples, it mustn't be kept back."

"Well, it was just this," said Mrs. Bantry. "One evening - in fact the very evening before the tragedy - I happened to go out on the ter­race before dinner. The window in the draw­ing-room was open. And as it chanced I saw Jerry Lorimer and Maud Wye. He was - well - kissing her. Of course I didn't know whether it was just a sort of chance affair, or whether­ - well, I mean, one can't tell. I knew Sir Am­brose never had really liked Jerry Lorimer­so perhaps he knew he was that kind of young man. But one thing I am sure of: that girl, Maud Wye, was really fond of him. You'd only to see her looking at him when she was off guard. And I think, too, they were really better suited than he and Sylvia were."

"I am going to ask a question quickly, before Miss Marple can," said Sir Henry. "I want to know whether, after the tragedy, Jerry Lori­mer married Maud Wye?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Bantry. "He did. Six months afterward."

"Oh! Scheherazade, Scheherazade," said Sir Henry. "To think of the way you told us this story at first! Bare bones indeed - and to think of the amount of flesh we're finding on them now."

"Don't speak so ghoulishly," said Mrs. Bantry. "And don't use the word flesh. Vegetarians always do. They say, 'I never eat flesh,' in a way that puts you right off your nice little beefsteak. Mr. Curle was a vegetarian. He used to eat some peculiar stuff that looked like bran for breakfast. Those elderly stooping men with beards are often faddy. They have patent kinds of underwear too."

"What on earth, Dolly," said her husband, "do you know about Mr. Curle's underwear?"

"Nothing," said Mrs. Bantry with dignity. "I was just making a guess."

"I'll amend my former statement," said Sir Henry. "I'll say instead that the dramatis personae in your problem are very interesting. I'm beginning to see them all - eh, Miss Marple?"

"Human nature is always interesting, Sir Henry. And it's curious to see how certain types always tend to act in exactly the same way."

"Two women and a man," said Sir Henry.

"The old eternal human triangle. Is that the base of our problem here? I rather fancy it is."

Dr. Lloyd cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking," he said rather diffi­dently. "Do you say, Mrs. Bantry, that you yourself were ill?"

"Was I not! So was Arthur! So was every­one!"

"That's just it - everyone," said the doctor. "You see what I mean? I'm saying that who­ever planned this thing went about it very curi­ously, either with a blind belief in chance, or else with an absolutely reckless disregard for human life. I can hardly believe there is a man capable of deliberately poisoning eight people with the object of removing one among them."

"I see your point," said Sir Henry thoughtfully. "I confess I ought to have thought of that. "

"And mightn't he have poisoned himself too?" asked Jane.

"Was anyone absent from dinner that night?" asked Miss Marple.

Mrs. Bantry shook her head. "Everyone was there."

"Except Mr. Lorimer, I suppose, my dear. He wasn't staying in the house, was he?"

"No, but he was dining there that evening," said Mrs. Bantry.

"Oh!" said Miss Marple in a changed voice. "That makes all the difference in the world."

She frowned vexedly to herself.

"I've been very stupid," she murmured. "Very stupid indeed."

"I confess your point worries me, Lloyd," said Sir Henry. "How ensure that the girl, and the girl only, should get a fatal dose?"

"You can't," said the doctor. "That brings me to the point I'm going to make. Supposing the girl was not the intended victim, after all?"

"What?"

"In all cases of food poisoning the result is very uncertain. Several people share a dish. What happens? One or two are slightly ill; two more, say, are seriously indisposed; one dies. That's the way of it - there's no certainty any­where. But there are cases where another fac­tor might enter in. Digitalin is a drug that acts directly on the heart - as I've told you, it's prescribed in certain cases. Now, there was one person in that house who suffered from a heart complaint. Suppose he was the victim select­ed? What would not be fatal to the rest would be fatal to him - or so the murderer might reasonably suppose. That the thing turned out differently is only proof of what I was saying just now - the uncertainty and unreliability of the effect of drugs on human beings."

"Sir Ambrose," said Sir Henry, "you think he was the person aimed at? Yes, yes-and the girl's death was a mistake."

"Who got his money after he was dead?" asked Jane.

"A very sound question, Miss Helier. One of the first we always ask in my late profes­sion," said Sir Henry. "Sir Ambrose had a son," said Mrs. Bantry slowly. "He had quarrelled with him many years previously. The boy was wild, I believe. Still, it was not in Sir Ambrose's power to disinherit him - Clodderham Court was en­tailed. Martin Bercy succeeded to the title and estate. There was, however, a good deal of other property that Sir Ambrose could leave as he chose, and that he left to his ward Sylvia. I know this because Sir Ambrose died less than a year after the events I am telling you of, and he had not troubled to make a new will after Sylvia's death. I think the money went to the Crown - or perhaps it was to his son as next of kin - I don't really remember."

"So it was only to the interest of a son who wasn't there and the girl who died herself to make away with him," said Sir Henry thought­fully. "That doesn't seem very promising."

"Didn't the other woman get anything?" asked Jane. "The one Mrs. Bantry calls the Pussy woman.'"

"She wasn't mentioned in the will," said Mrs. Bantry.

"Miss Marple, you're not listening," said Sir Henry. "You're somewhere far away."

"I was thinking of old Mr. Badger, the chem­ist," said Miss Marple. "He had a very young housekeeper - young enough to be not only his daughter but his granddaughter. Not a word to anyone, and his family, a lot of nephews and nieces, full of expectations. And when he died, would you believe it, he'd been secretly married to her for two years? Of course, Mr. Badger was a chemist, and a very rude, common old man as well, and Sir Ambrose Bercy was a very courtly gentleman, so Mrs. Bantry says, but for all that human nature is much the same everywhere."

There was a pause. Sir Henry looked very hard at Miss Marple who looked back at him with gently quizzical blue eyes. Jane Helier broke the silence.

"Was this Mrs. Carpenter good-looking?" she asked.

"Yes, in a very quiet way. Nothing startling."

"She had a very sympathetic voice," said Colonel Bantry.

"Purring - that's what I call it," said Mrs. Bantry. "Purring!"

"You'll be called a cat yourself one of these days, Dolly."

"I like being a cat in my home circle," said Mrs. Bantry. "I don't much like women any­way, and you know it. I like men and flowers."

"Excellent taste," said Sir Henry. "Especially in putting men first."

"That was tact," said Mrs. Bantry. "Well, now, what about my little problem? I've been quite fair, I think, Arthur, don't you think I've been fair?"

"Yes, my dear. i don't think there'll be any inquiry into the running by the stewards of the Jockey Club.

"First boy," said Mrs. Bantry, pointing, a finger at Sir Henry.

"I'm going to be long-winded. Because, you see, I haven't really got any feeling of certain­ty about the matter. First Sir Ambrose. Well, he wouldn't take such an original method of committing suicide - and on the other hand, he certainly had nothing to gain by the death of his ward. Exit Sir Ambrose. Mr. Curle. No motive for death of girl. If Sir Ambrose was intended victim, he might possibly have pur­loined a rare manuscript or two that no one else would miss. Very thin, and most unlikely. So I think that, in spite of Mrs. Bantry's sus­picions, Mr. Curle is cleared. Miss Wye. Mo­tive for death of Sir Ambrose - none. Motives for death of Sylvia pretty strong. She wanted Sylvia's young man, and wanted him rather badly - from Mrs. Bantry's account. She was with Sylvia that morning in the garden so had opportunity to pick leaves. No, we can't dis­miss Miss Wye so easily. Young Lorimer. He's got a motive in either case. If he gets rid of his sweetheart, he can marry the other girl. Still it seems a bit drastic to kill her - what's a bro­ken engagement these days? If Sir Ambrose dies, he will marry a rich girl instead of a poor one. That might be important or not­-depends on his financial position. If I find that his estate was heavily mortgaged and that Mrs. Bantry has deliberately withheld that fact from us, I shall claim a foul. Now Mrs. Carpenter. You know, I have suspicions of Mrs. Carpenter. Those white hands, for one thing, and her excellent alibi at the time the herbs were picked - I always distrust alibis. And I've got another reason for suspecting her which I shall keep to myself. Still, on the whole, if I've got to plump*, I shall plump for Miss Maud Wye, because there's more evi­dence against her than anyone else."

"Next boy," said Mrs. Bantry, and pointed at Dr. Lloyd.

"I think you're wrong, Clithering, in stick­ing to the theory that the girl's death was meant. I am convinced that the murderer in­tended to do away with Sir Ambrose. 1Idon't think that young Lorimer had the necessary knowledge. I am inclined to believe that Mrs. Carpenter was the guilty party. She had been a long time with the family, knew all about the state of Sir Ambrose's health, and could easily arrange for this girl Sylvia (who, you said yourself, was rather stupid) to pick the right leaves. Motive, I confess, I don't see; but I hazard the guess that Sir Ambrose had at one time made a will in which she was men­tioned. That's the best I can do."

Mrs. Bantry's pointing finger went on to Jane Helier.

"I don't know what to say," said Jane, "except this: Why shouldn't the girl herself have done it? She took the leaves into the kitch­en after all. And you say Sir Ambrose had been sticking out against her marriage. If he died, she'd get the money and be able to mar­ry at once. She'd know just as much about Sir Ambrose's health as Mrs. Carpenter would."

Mrs. Bantry's finger came slowly round to Miss Marple.

"Now then, school marm," she said.

"Sir Henry has put it all very clearly - very clearly indeed," said Miss Marple. "And Dr. Lloyd was so right in what he said. Be­tween them they seem to have made things so very clear. Only I don't think Dr; Lloyd quite realised one aspect of what he said. You see, not being Sir Ambrose's medical adviser, he couldn't know just what kind of heart trouble Sir Ambrose had, could he?"

"I don't quite see what you mean, Miss Marple," said Dr. Lloyd.

"You're assuming - aren't you? - that Sir Ambrose had the kind of heart that digitalin would affect adversely? But there's nothing to prove that that's so. It might be just - the other way about."

"The other way about?"

"Yes, you did say that it was often pre­scribed for heart trouble?"

"Even then, Miss Marple, I don't see what that leads to?"

"Well, it would mean - that he would have digitalin in his possession quite naturally­ without having to account for it. What I am trying to say, (I always express myself so badly) is this: Supposing you wanted to poison anyone with a fatal dose of digitalin. Wouldn't the simplest and the easiest way be to arrange for everyone to be poisoned - actually by digitalin leaves? It wouldn't be fatal in anyone else's case, of course, but no one would be surprised at one victim because, as Dr. Lloyd said, these things are so uncertain. No one would be like­ly to ask whether the girl had actually had a fatal dose of infusion of digitalis or something of that kind. He might have put it in a cocktail or in her coffee or even made her drink it quite simply as a tonic."

"You mean Sir Ambrose poisoned his ward, the charming girl whom he loved?"

"That's just it," said Miss Marple. "Like Mr. Badger and his young housekeeper. Don't tell me it's absurd for a man of sixty to fall in love with a girl of twenty. It happens every day - and I dare say with an old autocrat like Sir Ambrose, it might take him queerly. These things become a madness sometimes. He couldn't bear the thought of her getting mar­ried - did his best to oppose it - and failed. His mad jealousy became so great that he pre­ferred killing her to letting her go to young Lorimer. He must have thought of it some time beforehand, because that foxglove seed would have to be sown among the sage. He'd pick it himself when the time came and send her into the kitchen with it. It's horrible to think of, but I suppose we must take as merciful a view of it as we can. Gentlemen of that age are some­times very peculiar indeed where young girls are concerned. Our last organist - but there, I mustn't talk scandal."

"Mrs. Bantry," said Sir Henry, "is this so?

Mrs. Bantry nodded. "Yes. I'd no idea of it - never dreamed of the thing being anything but an accident. Then, after Sir Ambrose's death, I got a letter. He had left directions to send it to me. He told me the truth in it. I don't know why - but he and I always got on very well together."

In the momentary silence she seemed to feel an unspoken criticism and went on hastily: "You think I'm betraying a confidence - but that isn't so. I've changed all the names. He wasn't really called Sir Ambrose Bercy. Didn't you see how Arthur stared stupidly when I said that name to him? He didn't understand at first. I've changed everything. It's like they say in magazines and in the beginning of books: 'All the characters in this story are purely fictitious.' You'll never know who they really are."

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 793