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simple blind. Diamonds, now they could be in a secret drawer quite easily."
"But we've looked in all the secret drawers. We had a cabinetmaker over to examine the
furniture."
"Did you, dear? That was clever of you. I should suggest your uncle's own desk would be
the most likely. Was it the tall escritoire against the wall there?"
"Yes. And I'll show you." Charmian went over to it. She took down the flap. Inside were
pigeonholes and little drawers. She opened a small door in the center and touched a
spring inside the left-hand drawer. The bottom of the center recess clicked and slid
forward. Charmian drew it out, revealing a shallow well beneath. It was empty.
"Now isn't that a coincidence," exclaimed Miss Marple. "Uncle Henry had a desk just
like this one, only his was burr walnut and this is mahogany."
"At any rate," said Charmian, "there's nothing there, as you can see."
"I expect," said Miss Marple, "your cabinetmaker was a young man. He didn't know
everything. People were very artful when they made hiding places in those days. There's
such a thing as a secret inside a secret."
She extracted a hairpin from her neat bun of grey hair. Straightening it out, she stuck the
point into what appeared to be a tiny wormhole in one side of the secret recess. With a
little difficulty she pulled out a small drawer. In it was a bundle of faded letters and a
folded paper.
Edward and Charmian pounced on the find together. With trembling fingers Edward
unfolded the paper. He dropped it with an exclamation of disgust.
"A cookery recipe. Baked ham!"
Charmian was untying a ribbon that held the letters together. She drew one out and
glanced at it. "Love letters!"
Miss Marple reacted with Victorian gusto. "How interesting! Perhaps the reason your
uncle never married."
Charmian read aloud:
"My ever dear Mathew,
I must confess that the time seems long indeed since I received your last letter. I try to
occupy myself with the various tasks allotted to me, and often say to myself that I am
indeed fortunate to see as much of the globe, though little did I think when I went to
America that I should voyage off to these far islands!"
Charmian broke off. "Where is it from? Oh, Hawaii!" She went on:
"Alas, these natives are still far from seeing the light. They are in an unclothed and
savage state and spend most of their time swimming and dancing, adorning themselves
with garlands of flowers. Mr Gray has made some covers but it is up-hill work and he and
Mrs Gray get sadly discouraged. I try to do all I can to cheer and encourage him, but I,
too, am often sad for a reason you can guess, dear Mathew. Alas, absence is a severe trial
to a loving heart. Your renewed vows and protestations of affection cheered me greatly.
Now and always you have my faithful and devoted heart, dear Mathew, and I remain -
Your true love,
Betty Martin "
P.S. - I address my letter under cover to our mutual friend, Matilda Graves, as usual. I
hope Heaven will pardon this little subterfuge."
Edward whistled. "A female missionary! So that was Uncle Mathew's romance. I wonder
why they never married?"
"She seems to have gone all over the world," said Charmian, looking through the letters.
"Mauritius - all sorts of places. Probably died of yellow fever or something."
A gentle chuckle made them start. Miss Marple was apparently much amused. "Well,
well," she said. "Fancy that, now!"
She was reading the recipe for baked ham. Seeing their inquiring glances, she read out:
"'Baked Ham with Spinach. Take a nice piece of gammon, stuff with cloves and cover
with brown sugar. Bake in a slow oven. Serve with a border of puréed spinach.'
"What do you think of that now?"
"I think it sounds filthy," said Edward.
"No, no, actually it would be very good - but what do you think of the 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 Maple, "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."
"My dear, dear children - there's really no need to make it all so difficult. Your uncle was
really a very simple man. He had to have his little joke, that was all."
For the first time they gave her their full attention. "Just exactly what do you mean, Miss
Marple?" asked Charmian.
"I mean, dear, that you're actually holding the money in your hand this minute."
Charmian stared down.
"The signature, dear. That gives the whole thing away. The recipe is just an indication.
Shorn of all the cloves and brown sugar and the rest of it, what is it actually? Why,
gammon and spinach to be sure! Gammon and spinach! Meaning - nonsense! So it's clear
that it's the letters that are important. And then, if you take into consideration what your
uncle did just before he died. He tapped his eye, you said. Well, there you are - that gives
you the clue, you see."
Charmian said, "Are we mad, or are you?"
"Surely, my dear, you must have heard the expression meaning that something is not a
true picture, or has it quite died out nowadays? 'All my eye and Betty Martin.'"
Edward gasped, his eyes falling to the letter in his hand. "Betty Martin -"
"Of course, Mr Rossiter. As you have just said, there isn't - there wasn't any such person.
The letters were written by your uncle, and I dare say he got a lot of fun out of writing
them! As you say, the writing on the envelopes is much older - in fact, the envelopes
couldn't belong to the letters anyway, because the postmark of the one you are holding is
eighteen fifty-one."
She paused. She made it very emphatic: "Eighteen fifty-one. And that explains
everything, doesn't it?"
"Not to me," said Edward.
"Well, of course," said Miss Marple. "I dare say it wouldn't to me if it weren't for my
great-nephew Lionel. Such a dear little boy and a passionate stamp collector. Knows all
about stamps. It was he who told me about rare and expensive stamps and that a
wonderful new find had come up for auction. And I actually remember his mentioning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]