They Do It With Mirrors (Miss Marple, #5)

by Agatha Christie

A recherché meal, affectionate reminiscences, and a hurried and affectionate good-bye. Ruth had never had time to visit St. Mary Mead. Miss Marple had not, indeed, ever expected it. Everyone’s life has a tempo. Ruth’s was presto whereas Miss Marple’s was content to be adagio.

Odd, but quite natural, because when one lives in the same country there is no need to arrange meetings with old friends. One assumes that, sooner or later, one will see them without contrivance. Only, if you move in different spheres, that does not happen.

but he’s bitten by that same bug of wanting to improve everybody’s lives for them. And really, you know, nobody can do that but yourself.”

There’s Lewis just living for his ideas and not noticing anything else, and Carrie Louise, bless her, never seeing or hearing or thinking anything except what’s a lovely sight, or a lovely sound, or a lovely thought. It’s sweet but it isn’t practical. There is such a thing as evil—and I want you, Jane, to go down there right away and find out just exactly what’s the matter.” “Me?” exclaimed Miss Marple. “Why me?” “Because you’ve got a nose for that sort of thing. You always had. You’ve always been a sweet innocent looking creature, Jane, and all the time underneath nothing has ever surprised you, you always believe the worst.” “The worst is so often true,” murmured Miss Marple. “Why you have such a poor idea of human nature, I can’t think—living in that sweet peaceful village of yours, so old world and pure.” “You have never lived in a village, Ruth. The things that go on in a pure peaceful village would probably surprise you.”

“Maybe, Jane,” she said, “that St. Mary Mead of yours isn’t quite the idyllic retreat that I’ve always imagined it.” “Human nature, dear, is very much the same everywhere. It is more difficult to observe it closely in a city, that is all.”

“Carrie Louise’s invitation will hardly be for an indefinite stay. Three weeks, perhaps—a month. That should be ample.” “For you to find out what is wrong?” “For me to find out what is wrong.” “My, Jane,” said Mrs. Van Rydock, “you’ve got a lot of confidence in yourself, haven’t you?” Miss Marple looked faintly reproachful. “You have confidence in me, Ruth. Or so you say … I can only assure you that I shall endeavour to justify your confidence.”

Miss Marple considered this information thoughtfully. “It’s the thugs I like best,” said Gina. “I don’t fancy the queers so much. Of course, Lewis and Dr. Maverick think they’re all queers—I mean they think it’s repressed desires and disordered home life and their mothers getting off with soldiers and all that. I don’t really see it myself because some people have had awful home lives and yet have managed to turn out quite all right.”

Miss Bellever arranged them and herself suitably. It might have been she and not Inspector Curry who was in charge of the investigation. The moment had come, however, when the initiative passed to him. Inspector Curry had a pleasant voice and manner. He looked quiet and serious and just a little apologetic. Some people made the mistake of underrating him. Actually he was as competent in his way as Miss Bellever was in hers. But he preferred not to make a parade of the fact.

“There’s Gina’s husband, isn’t there?” “Yes,” said Lewis gravely. “There is Gina’s husband.” “You don’t really know much about him. And one can’t help seeing that he’s a very unhappy young man.” Lewis sighed. “He hasn’t fitted in here—no. He’s no interest in or sympathy for what we’re trying to do. But after all, why should he? He’s young, crude, and he comes from a country where a man is esteemed by the success he makes of life.” “Whilst here we are so very fond of failures,” said Miss Marple.

“I think sometimes, you know, one can overdo things the other way … I mean the young people with a good heredity, and brought up wisely in a good home—and with grit and pluck and the ability to get on in life—well, they are really, when one comes down to it—the sort of people a country needs.”

“I don’t mind. I think it’s a very good idea. Does Mr. Serrocold know just how well qualified you are for the post?” “I don’t quite understand, Inspector.” “I see. He thinks you’re just a very nice, elderly lady who was at school with his wife.” He shook his head at her. “We know you’re a bit more than that, Miss Marple, aren’t you? Crime is right down your street. Mr. Serrocold only knows one aspect of crime—the promising beginners. Makes me a bit sick, sometimes. Daresay I’m wrong and old-fashioned. But there are plenty of good decent lads about, lads who could do with a start in life. But there, honesty has to be its own reward—millionaires don’t leave trust funds to help the worthwhile. Well—well, don’t pay any attention to me. I’m old-fashioned. I’ve seen boys—and girls—with everything against them, bad homes, bad luck, every disadvantage, and they’ve had the grit to win through. That’s the kind I shall leave my packet to, if I ever have one. But then, of course, that’s what I never shall have. Just my pension and a nice bit of garden.”

She looked, Inspector Curry reflected, exactly as the relict of a canon of the Established Church should look—which was almost odd, because so few people ever did look like what they really were. Even the tight line of her lips had an ascetic ecclesiastical flavour. She expressed Christian Endurance, and possibly Christian Fortitude. But not, Curry thought, Christian Charity. Moreover it was clear that Mrs. Strete was offended.

Inspector Curry had a wild wish to reply: “Pigs may fly but they’re very unlikely birds.” It had been a saying of his grandmother’s. Miss Marple, he thought, was sure to know it.

We thought nothing mattered except having a swell time together. Well, stage one is over. Your folks didn’t—and don’t—think much of me. Maybe they’re right. I’m not their kind. But if you think I’m staying on here, kicking my heels, and doing odd jobs in what I consider is just a crazy setup—well, think again! I want to live in my own country, doing the kind of job I want to do, and can do. My idea of a wife is the kind of wife who used to go along with the old pioneers, ready for anything, hardship, unfamiliar country, danger, strange surroundings … Perhaps that’s too much to ask of you, but it’s that or nothing!