‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr Broadribb. ‘A cruise abroad, perhaps? One of these excellent tours as arranged nowadays. Theatres, concerts—the ability to replenish one’s cellars.’
‘My tastes would be a little more moderate than that,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Partridges,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘it is very difficult to get partridges nowadays, and they’re very expensive. I should enjoy a partridge—a whole partridge—to myself, very much. A box of marrons glacés is an expensive taste which I cannot often gratify. Possibly a visit to the opera. It means a car to take one to Covent Garden and back, and the expense of a night in a hotel. But I must not indulge in idle chat,’ she said. ‘I will take this back with me and reflect upon it. Really, what on earth made Mr Rafiel—you have no idea why he should have suggested this particular proposition, and why he should think that I could be of service to him in any way? He must have known that it was over a year, nearly two years since he had seen me and that I might have got much more feeble than I have, and much more unable to exercise such small talents as I might have. He was taking a risk. There are other people surely much better qualified to undertake an investigation of this nature?’
‘Frankly, one would think so,’ said Mr Broadribb, ‘but he selected you, Miss Marple. Forgive me if this is idle curiosity but have you had—oh, how shall I put it?—any connection with crime or the investigation of crime?’
‘Strictly speaking I should say no,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Nothing professional, that is to say. I have never been a probation officer or indeed sat as a magistrate on a Bench or been connected in any way with a detective agency. To explain to you, Mr Broadribb, which I think it is only fair for me to do and which I think Mr Rafiel ought to have done, to explain it in any way all I can say is that during our stay in the West Indies, we both, Mr Rafiel and myself, had a certain connection with a crime that took place there. A rather unlikely and perplexing murder.’
‘And you and Mr Rafiel solved it?’
‘I should not put it quite like that,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Mr Rafiel, by the force of his personality, and I, by putting together one or two obvious indications that came to my notice, were successful in preventing a second murder just as it was about to take place. I could not have done it alone, I was physically far too feeble. Mr Rafiel could not have done it alone, he was a cripple. We acted as allies, however.’
‘Just one other question I should like to ask you, Miss Marple. Does the word “Nemesis” mean anything to you?’
‘Nemesis,’ said Miss Marple. It was not a question. A very slow and unexpected smile dawned on her face. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it does mean something to me. It meant something to me and it meant something to Mr Rafiel. I said it to him, and he was much amused by my describing myself by that name.’
Whatever Mr Broadribb had expected it was not that. He looked at Miss Marple with something of the same astonished surprise that Mr Rafiel had once felt in a bedroom by the Caribbean sea. A nice and quite intelligent old lady. But really—Nemesis!
‘You feel the same, I am sure,’ said Miss Marple.
She rose to her feet.
‘If you should find or receive any further instructions in this matter, you will perhaps let me know, Mr Broadribb. It seems to me extraordinary that there should not be something of that kind. This leaves me entirely in the dark really as to what Mr Rafiel is asking me to do or try to do.’
‘You are not acquainted with his family, his friends, his—’
‘No. I told you. He was a fellow traveller in a foreign part of the world. We had a certain association as allies in a very mystifying matter. That is all.’ As she was about to go to the door she turned suddenly and asked: ‘He had a secretary, Mrs Esther Walters. Would it be infringing etiquette if I asked if Mr Rafiel left her fifty thousand pounds?’
‘His bequest will appear in the press,’ said Mr Broadribb. ‘I can answer your question in the affirmative. Mrs Walters’ name is now Mrs Anderson, by the way. She has re-married.’
‘I am glad to hear that. She was a widow with one daughter, and she was a very adequate secretary, it appears. She understood Mr Rafiel very well. A nice woman. I am glad she has benefited.’
That evening, Miss Marple, sitting in her straight-backed chair, her feet stretched out to the fireplace where a small wood fire was burning owing to the sudden cold spell which, as is its habit, can always descend on England at any moment selected by itself, took once more from the long envelope the document delivered to her that morning. Still in a state of partial unbelief she read, murmuring the words here and there below her breath as though to impress them on her mind:
‘To Miss Jane Marple, resident in the village of St Mary Mead.
This will be delivered to you after my death by the good offices of my solicitor, James Broadribb. He is the man I employ for dealing with such legal matters as fall in the field of my private affairs, not my business activities. He is a sound and trustworthy lawyer. Like the majority of the human race he is susceptible to the sin of curiosity. I have not satisfied his curiosity. In some respects this matter will remain between you and myself. Our code word, my dear lady, is Nemesis. I don’t think you will have forgotten in what place and in what circumstances you first spoke that word to me. In the course of my business activities over what is now quite a long life, I have learnt one thing about a man whom I wish to employ. He has to have a flair. A flair for the particular job I want him to do. It is not knowledge, it is not experience. The only word that describes it is flair. A natural gift for doing a certain thing.
You, my dear, if I may call you that, have a natural flair for justice, and that has led to your having a natural flair for crime. I want you to investigate a certain crime. I have ordered a certain sum to be placed so that if you accept this request and as a result of your investigation this crime is properly elucidated, the money will become yours absolutely. I have set aside a year for you to engage on this mission. You are not young, but you are, if I may say so, tough. I think I can trust a reasonable fate to keep you alive for a year at least.
I think the work involved will not be distasteful to you. You have a natural genius, I should say, for investigation. The necessary funds for what I may describe as working capital for making this investigation will be remitted to you during that period, whenever necessary. I offer this to you as an alternative to what may be your life at present.
I envisage you sitting in a chair, a chair that is agreeable and comfortable for whatever kind or form of rheumatism from which you may suffer. All persons of your age, I consider, are likely to suffer from some form of rheumatism. If this ailment affects your knees or your back, it will not be easy for you to get about much and you will spend your time mainly in knitting. I see you, as I saw you once one night as I rose from sleep disturbed by your urgency, in a cloud of pink wool.
I envisage you knitting more jackets, head scarves and a good many other things of which I do not know the name. If you prefer to continue knitting, that is your decision. If you prefer to serve the cause of justice, I hope that you may at least find it interesting.
Let justice roll down like waters.
And righteousness like an everlasting stream.
Amos.’