*

In which Harry is suddenly given too much information...

*

“I once tried my hand at making some documents of my own,” recalled
Smith, who remained unperturbed by his imprisonment. He seemed to
regard it as a splendid opportunity to natter away to a captive
audience. I suppose the life of an academic, especially one who goes
round swiping valuable documents, must be somewhat on the lonely
side. “Imitated life as best as I could – turned out rather pretty.
They didn’t understand that, either.”

It did at least pass the hours of captivity fairly swiftly without me
having to ponder on the way the future had abruptly closed in on me,
or worry about what Miss Smith and Miss Marple were up to. All the
same, his morals seemed to be a bit lacking in some areas.

“You know, old chap, they might have seen them as forgeries.”

He sat up. “I only made them for myself. Of course, there was that
little scrap of paper that did get out into the world and caused a
furore-. It would have been a shame to tell them the truth, when they
were having such *fun*.”

“You’re clearly an intelligent, creative sort,” I said, since he was,
despite edging towards barking. “Why do these things?”

He appeared struck by that. “Do you know, that’s an excellent
question. You have an incisive mind.”

I waited to see if he was being sarcastic, but he appeared to mean
it. He really must be off his rocker. “I don’t think so.”

“If you must know, I get bored, coped up in Namechester,” he said.
“Oh, I go from archive to archive in my research, but I don’t have the
financial backing to get out in the field.”

I frowned. “I thought Mackenzie said you were interested in
palaeography?”

“I do, but my doctorate is in history and I’m an amateur archaeologist
when I get the chance. However, one needs funding to go on a proper
dig. Egypt, now – that would be something! Mesopotamia, India,
China! Ah, to travel and see the world!”

I thought that he was beginning to remind me of someone else, but I
couldn’t place it.

“Anything but this tedious, provincial existence.”

I wished he’d stop for a moment or two. “I like it here. If they’d
only let me out of this cell and carry on as I was, I couldn’t ask for
anything more.” Well, I amended silently, there was one other thing I
was set on now, but that had probably always been out of the question,
since even when she didn’t think me a villain, she thought me a
buffoon.

*

I should have known not to bother with my own attempts to get out.
Miss Marple established during my day of imprisonment that the
Chancellor sisters had been awake all night when Polly was killed.
Miss Thalia had had toothache and Miss Flavia had apparently been
doing all she could to cure it. As they lived opposite me, they would
have been sure to see me leaving or entering the house had I been out
around midnight.

Miss Marple also enlisted Miss Rumford, who had already told the
Inspector during his original investigations that she had been out
walking her dog, as she wanted to talk a theory over to herself
without disturbing Miss Fay. She had been right down the High Street
and back again and passed the bottom of the hill just after midnight
and had seen nothing, either.

Added to the fact that Dr Smith was still insisting that the thing
about the ‘m’ wasn’t a joke and my own refusal to confess, Inspector
Mackenzie was forced to release his second suspect due to lack of
evidence, much to his annoyance.

“But,” he said, in proper warning, as we prepared to leave, “I still
don’t see how you could *not* be the blackmailer, Dr Sullivan, so I
shall be keeping a close eye on you.”

I smiled at him. “Please do.”

Then Dr Smith and I left the police station, free men once more.
Temporarily at any rate.

*

“You know,” said Smith, as we left, “it’s interesting about that
murder.”

I turned, but I had to clench my fists at his light reference to
Polly’s death. Perhaps if I hadn’t seen the body, I’d be able to
treat it as a joke as well, but I don’t think so. “Is it?”

“Yes,” he said. “Polly Wright. That’s exactly the name that I once
-.” He paused and coughed. “I suppose you’d call that forgery as
well, although I called it helping out a friend in dire need.”

I stopped. “Smith,” I said. “Do you mean to tell me that you know
something about Polly? Something about why she was killed?”

“Oh, no, no, no, nothing like that. It’s probably only coincidence.
Wright – almost as common as Smith, isn’t it?”

I assented, recalling that Miss Barbara Wright was the village
schoolteacher. “All the same, what did you mean?”

He threw a troubled look in my direction. “I suppose the Pollards
still reside at Nether St Yorick?”

“They do,” I said, a little alarmed, given my thoughts about Miss
Pollard and Smith. “Why?”

He stopped and sat on a handy stone wall. “Maybe it is possible. You
see, I once helped a friend give someone a new identity. I really
can’t go into details. It wouldn’t be right. She came to me for help
and I did what I could. If the girl later came back – it could be
her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Smith said, “I’m not sure I want you to. But I know that family –
they wouldn’t murder a girl like that, not even if she did come back.
Unless – I suppose I don’t really know him at all.”

I took that to be a reference to Sir Kastchei. He had been away so
often since I had started my practice that I had little insight into
his character, either.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you’ll swear not to reveal it to another
soul.”

I said, “But if it turns out to be the vital clue to the murder, what
then? It’s all very well, protecting a friend, but what if they
killed someone? Probably went round blackmailing half the village and
set me up as well -.”

“No,” he said again. “That doesn’t make sense. I read that book,
remember? Lady Louisa was being blackmailed and over this very
thing.”

I folded my arms. “Well, in that case, Mackenzie knows, so I don’t
know why you’re being coy about telling me.”

“He knows one thing, not the whole,” he said. Then he took the
plunge. “Sullivan, before Louisa married Pollard, she had a child.
Don’t ask questions – it’s not our business. It’s complicated and she
said he would have called off the engagement had he known. It was
years ago but I already knew how to make a few little necessary
alterations to the register -. Anyhow, she gave the child up and
nothing more was said.”

I waited.

“If she’s the same girl, then Polly Wright was Lady Louisa’s
daughter,” he said, spelling it out. “But she’d never have killed
her.”

I was inclined to agree, but I did wonder a little. Perhaps she
hadn’t meant to, but in an effort to preserve her marriage, her status
and her position – maybe it wasn’t impossible?

“I wonder if Polly knew,” I said. “I think she might have done.
McCrimmon seemed to know about something involving her and the
Pollards.”

He sighed. “Poor girl. Anyhow, I must be off home – do tell me how
you get on.”

He was certainly an odd chap. It was a sharp reminder that I had no
idea whether to believe anything he said or not.

*

I went round to Miss Marple’s right away, hurrying along the path
bordered by neat rows of flowers up to her door.

“Miss Marple,” I told her, once I had been shown in by Martha, “you’re
a positive wonder and I can’t thank you enough.”

She became pink and flustered. “It was nothing, Dr Sullivan. I’m
sure the inspector would have come to the same conclusion
*eventually*.”

“I’m not,” I said. “Anyhow, what other discoveries have you made?”

She took up her knitting. “Very little so far, I’m afraid, but I am
expecting to hear from Mr Jackson soon.”

“Is it a good idea to let one suspect race after another?” I asked.

She shook her head as she clicked her needles. “I believe you are
also a suspect, Dr Sullivan.”

“True. I suppose I had better go home and hope Mrs Hudson hasn’t
given notice.”

*

Mrs Hudson wasn’t all that taken with her new notoriety as housekeeper
to a doctor turned blackmailer and murder suspect, but she seemed to
prefer lecturing me about it and gossiping to her friends to giving
notice.

I ignored her as best as I could and then went to have a wash and a
change of clothes. By the time I’d finished, I came back down to find
the vicar waiting for me. After the past two days, I wasn’t pleased.

“Dr Sullivan,” he said, rising to greet me with the smallest of bows.
“A pleasure to see you at liberty once more.”

I nodded at him. “I’m relieved as well. What did you want,
reverend?”

“I believe I have something of vital importance to divulge,” he said.
“It appears to be of very little use informing Inspector Mackenzie, so
I thought I may as well come and tell you.”

Well, this was a turn up for the books. After days of struggling to
get anywhere, people were suddenly falling over themselves to divulge
their secrets. “Go on.”

“Obviously, until yesterday I was convinced that you were the
blackmailer. I was certain that your uncle had been – and who else
could have so neatly inherited that set of secrets? However, on
discovering that you were ignorant of what the notebook contained, I
put my mind to unravelling the mystery.”

I leant forward. “And you think you know?”

“Bear in mind how wrong I have been until now,” he said
apologetically. “I cannot be sure, but I do wonder about Professor
Smith.”

I nearly burst out laughing, but I managed not to in the face of his
gravity. “Professor Smith? But how could he have done any of it?”

“There’s a certain hollowed out tree where I am expected to -.”

I started. “There really is a hollow oak tree? I thought the
inspector made that up.”

“I don’t think it’s an oak,” he corrected me. “But this is beside the
point. I once, many months ago, saw Professor Smith in the vicinity,
but thought no more of it. And on more than one occasion, I have seen
him walking about Mill Cottage, even though he claims to be barely
able to get about the house -.”

I smiled. “He likes to make a fuss, that’s all. I admit he’s a bit of
an old fraud, but that doesn’t mean -.”

“Hmm. But he is a frequent patient of yours, dear boy. I suspect he
would have had ample opportunity to steal the book and replace it.”

For the first time, I began to take him seriously. I let my mouth
fall open. “He said something – something about my uncle being fond
of books. I didn’t think he meant anything by it, but maybe he did.”

“Who knows?” said Magister. “But if he was blackmailing others, who
would be more likely to find out and confront him than his own
secretary? And if he is not quite as frail as he claims, then he
might well have been able to take the girl by surprise.”

I nodded. “I follow you. But you see – there’s something you don’t
know – something that involves Miss Wright and the Pollards. I wonder
about Sir Kastchei, or even his wife.”

“Ah,” he said. “Still, you will let Miss Marple and the blundering
inspector know, won’t you?”

I said, “Why don’t you tell them yourself?”

“The inspector knows the truth about my past, but I hope very much
that the rest of the village – including the excellent Miss Jane
Marple and, in particular, my charming but inappropriate wife –
don’t. I would prefer that she did not learn that I had been
blackmailed along with Colonel Mace and Lady Louisa.”

That made sense, although if anyone knew, it would be Miss Marple.
Plus, I still didn't know what sort of past the vicar had that he
didn't want anyone knowing about. Was he to be trusted either? It
was all beginning to give me a headache and I was half wishing I'd
stayed in the cell. Nevertheless, I gave my word. “I promise.”