Miss Marple had found no difficulty in enjoying herstay in London. She did a lot of the things that she had not had the time to do in herhitherto brief visits to the capital. It has to be regretfully noted that she did notavail herself of the wide cultural activities that would have been possible to her. Shevisited no picture galleries and no museums. The idea of patronising a dress show of anykind would not even have occurred to her. What she did visit were the glass and chinadepartments of the large stores, and the household linen departments, and she also availedherself of some marked down lines in furnishing fabrics. Having spent what she considereda reasonable sum upon these household investments, she indulged in various excursions ofher own. She went to places and shops she remembered from her young days, sometimes merelywith the curiosity of seeing whether they were still there. It was not a pursuit that shehad ever had time for before, and she enjoyed it very much. After a nice little nap afterlunch, she would go out, and avoiding the attentions of the commissionaire if possible,because he was so firmly imbued with the idea that a lady of her age and frailty shouldalways go in a taxi, she walked towards a bus stop, or tube station. She had bought asmall guide to buses and their routes – and an UndergroundTransport Map; and she would plan her excursion carefully. One afternoon she could be seenwalking happily and nostalgically round Evelyn Gardens or Onslow Square murmuring softly, "Yes, that was Mrs. Van Dylan's house. Of courseit looks quite different now. They seem to have remodelled it. Dear me, I see it's got four bells. Four flats, I suppose. Such a nice old-fashioned squarethis always was."
Rather shamefacedly she paid a visit to MadameTussaud's, a well-remembered delight of her childhood. InWestbourne Grove she looked in vain for Bradley's. Aunt Helenhad always gone to Bradley's about her sealskin jacket.
Window shopping in the general sense did notinterest Miss Marple, but she had a splendid time rounding up knitting patterns, newvarieties of knitting wool, and suchlike delights. She made a special expedition toRichmond to see the house that had been occupied by Great-Uncle Thomas, the retiredadmiral. The handsome terrace was still there but here again each house seemed to beturned into flats. Much more painful was the house in Lowndes Square where a distantcousin, Lady Merridew, had lived in some style. Here a vast skyscraper building ofmodernistic design appeared to have arisen. Miss Marple shook her head sadly and saidfirmly to herself, "There must be progress I suppose. IfCousin Ethel knew, she'd turn in her grave, I'm sure."
It was on one particularly mild and pleasantafternoon that Miss Marple embarked on a bus that took her over Battersea Bridge. She wasgoing to combine the double pleasure of taking a sentimental look at Princes TerraceMansions where an old governess of hers had once lived, and visiting Battersea Park. Thefirst part of her quest was abortive. Miss Ledbury's formerhome had vanished without trace and had been replaced by a great deal of gleamingconcrete. Miss Marple turned into Battersea Park. She had always been a good walker buthad to admit that nowadays her walking powers were not what they were. Half a mile wasquite enough to tire her. She could manage, she thought, to cross the Park and go out overChelsea Bridge and find herself once more on a convenient but route, but her steps grewgradually slower and slower, and she was pleased to come upon a tea enclosure situated onthe edge of the lake.
Teas were still being served there in spite of theautumn chill. There were not many people today, a certain amount of mothers and prams, anda few pairs of young lovers. Miss Marple collected a tray with tea and two sponge cakes.She carried her tray carefully to a table and sat down. The tea was just what she needed.Hot, strong and very reviving. Revived, she looked round her, and her eyes stoppingsuddenly at a particular table, she sat up very straight in her chair. Really, a verystrange coincidence, very strange indeed! First the Army & Navy Stores and now here.Very unusual places those particular two people chose! But no! She was wrong. Miss Marpletook a second and stronger pair of glasses from her bag. Yes, she had been mistaken. Therewas a certain similarity, of course. That long straight blonde hair; but this was not BessSedgwick. It was someone years younger. Of course! It was the daughter! The young girl whohad come into Bertram's with Lady Selina Hazy's friend, Colonel Luscombe. But the man was the same man who had beenlunching with Lady Sedgwick in the Army & Navy Stores. No doubt about it, the samehandsome, hawklike look, the same leanness, the same predatory toughness and – yes, the same strong, virile attraction.
"Bad!" said MissMarple. "Bad all through! Cruel! Unscrupulous. I don't like seeing this. First the mother, now the daughter. What does it mean?"
It meant no good. Miss Marple was sure of that. MissMarple seldom gave anyone the benefit of the doubt; she invariably thought the worst, andnine times out of ten, so she insisted, she was right in so doing. Both these meetings,she was sure, were more or less secret meetings. She observed now the way these two bentforward over the table until their heads nearly touched; and the earnestness with whichthey talked. The girl's face – MissMarple took off her spectacles, rubbed the lenses carefully, then put them on again. Yes,this girl was in love. But what were her guardians about to let her run about London andhave these clandestine assignments in Battersea Park? A nicely brought up, well-behavedgirl like that. Too nicely brought up, no doubt! Her people probably believed her to be insome quite other spot. She had to tell lies.
On her way out Miss Marple passed the table wherethey were sitting, slowing down as much as she could without its being too obvious.Unfortunately, their voices were so low that she could not hear what they said. The manwas speaking, the girl was listening, half pleased, half afraid. "Planning to run away together, perhaps?" thoughtMiss Marple. "She's still underage."
Miss Marple passed through the small gate in thefence that led to the sidewalk of the park. There were cars parked along there andpresently she stopped beside one particular car. Miss Marple was not particularlyknowledgeable over cars but such cars as this on did not come her way very often, so shehad noted and remembered it. She had acquired a little information about cars of thisstyle from an enthusiastic great-nephew. It was a racing car. Some foreign make –she couldn't remember the name now. Notonly that, she had seen this car or one exactly like it, seen it only yesterday in a sidestreet close to Bertram's Hotel. She had noticed it not only because of its size and itspowerful and unusual appearance but because the number had awakened some vague memory,some trace of association in her memory. FAN 1166. It had made hr think of her cousinFanny Godfrey. Poor Fanny who stuttered, who had said "I havegot t-t-t-wo s-s-s-potz…」
She walked along and looked at the number of thiscar. Yes, she was quite right. FAN 2266. It was the same car. Miss Marple, her footstepsgrowing more painful every moment, arrived deep in thought at the other side of ChelseaBridge and by then was so exhausted that she hailed the first taxi she saw with decision.She was worried by the feeling that there was something she ought to do about things. Butwhat things and what to do about them? It was all so indefinite. She fixed her eyesabsently on some newsboards.
"Sensational developments in train robbery,"they ran. "Engine driver's story," said another one. Really! Miss Marplethought to herself, every day there seemed to be a bank hold-up or a train robbery or awage pay snatch.
Crime seemed to have got above itself.
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