Miss Marple’s Final Cases. Агата Кристи

whole thing?’

      A sudden ray of light illuminated Edward’s face. ‘Do you think it’s a code—cryptogram of some kind?’ He seized it. ‘Look here, Charmian, it might be, you know! No reason to put a cooking-recipe in a secret drawer otherwise.’

      ‘Exactly,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Very, very significant.’

      Charmian said, ‘I know what it might be—invisible ink! Let’s heat it. Turn on the electric fire.’

      Edward did so, but no signs of writing appeared under the treatment.

      Miss Marple coughed. ‘I really think, you know, that you’re making it rather too difficult. The recipe is only an indication, so to speak. It is, I think, the letters that are significant.’

      ‘The letters?’

      ‘Especially,’ said Miss Marple, ‘the signature.’

      But Edward hardly heard her. He called excitedly, ‘Charmian! Come here! She’s right. See—the envelopes are old, right enough, but the letters themselves were written much later.’

      ‘Exactly,’ said Miss Marple.

      ‘They’re only fake old. I bet anything old Uncle Mat faked them himself—’

      ‘Precisely,’ said Miss Marple.

      ‘The whole thing’s a sell. There never was a female missionary. It must be a code.’