That means that our murderer can't afford to wait."
"True."
"And another thing, sir. He - or she - must know that we're checking up on everybody."
"And that takes time," said Rydesdale with a sigh.
"It means checking with the East, with India.
Yes, it's a long tedious business."
"So that's another reason for hurry.
I'm sure, sir, that the danger is very real.
It's a very large sum that's at stake.
If Belle Goedler dies -" He broke off as a constable entered.
"Constable Legg on the line from Chipping Cleghorn, sir."
"Put him through here."
Inspector Craddock, watching the Chief Constable, saw his features harden and stiffen.
"Very good," barked Rydesdale.
"Detective-Inspector Craddock will be coming out immediately."
He put the receiver down.
"Is it -" Craddock broke off.
Rydesdale shook his head.
"No," he said.
"It's Dora Bunner.
She wanted some aspirin.
Apparently she took some from a bottle beside Letitia Blacklog's bed.
There were only a few tablets left in the bottle.
She took two and left one.
The doctor's got that one and is sending it to be analysed.
He says it's definitely not aspirin."
"She's dead?"
"Yes, found dead in her bed this morning.
Died in her sleep, doctor says.
He doesn't think it was natural though her health was in a bad state.
Narcotic poisoning, that's his guess.
Autopsy's fixed for tonight."
"Aspirin tablets by Letitia Blacklog's bed. The clever clever devil.
Patrick told me Miss Blacklog threw away a half bottle of sherry - opened a new one.
I don't suppose she'd have thought of doing that with an open bottle of aspirin.
Who had been in the house this time - within the last day or two?
The tablets can't have been there long."
Rydesdale looked at him.
"All our lot were there yesterday," he said.
"Birthday party for Miss Bunner.
Any of them could have nipped upstairs and done a neat little substitution.
Or of course anyone living in the house could have done it any time."
Chapter 17 THE ALBUM
Standing by the Vicarage gate, well wrapped up, Miss Marple took the note from Bunch's hand.
"Tell Miss Blacklog," said Bunch, "that Julian is terribly sorry he can't come up himself.
He's got a parishioner dying out at Locke Hamlet.
He'll come up after lunch if Miss Blacklog would like to see him.
The note's about the arrangements for the funeral.
He suggests Wednesday if the inquest's on Tuesday.
Poor old Bunny.