A Murder Is Announced

‘But you’re not, are you, darling?’ Mrs Easterbrook lowered her voice persuasively. ‘And I do think, Archie, that you reallyought to go-just to help poor Miss Blacklock out. I’m sure she’s counting on you to make the thing a success. I mean, you know so much about police work and procedure. The whole thing will fall flat if you don’t go and help to make it a success. After all, one must beneighbourly.’

Mrs Easterbrook put her synthetic blonde head on one side and opened her blue eyes very wide.

‘Of course, if you put it like that, Laura…’ Colonel Easterbrook twirled his grey moustache again, importantly, and looked with indulgence on his fluffy little wife. Mrs Easterbrook was at least thirty years younger than her husband.

‘If you put it likethat, Laura,’ he said.

‘I really do think it’s yourduty, Archie,’ said Mrs Easterbrook solemnly.

TheChipping Cleghorn Gazette had also been delivered at Boulders, the picturesque three cottages knocked into one inhabited by Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd.

‘Hinch?’

‘What is it, Murgatroyd?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Henhouse.’

‘Oh.’

Padding gingerly through the long wet grass, Miss Amy Murgatroyd approached her friend. The latter, attired in corduroy slacks and battledress tunic, was conscientiously stirring in handfuls of balancer meal to a repellently steaming basin full of cooked potato peelings and cabbage stumps.

She turned her head with its short man-like crop and weather-beaten countenance toward her friend.

Miss Murgatroyd, who was fat and amiable, wore a checked tweed skirt and a shapeless pullover of brilliant royal blue. Her curly bird’s nest of grey hair was in a good deal of disorder and she was slightly out of breath.

‘In theGazette,’ she panted. ‘Just listen-what can itmean?

A murder is announced…and will take place on Friday, October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.’

She paused, breathless, as she finished reading, and awaited some authoritative pronouncement.

‘Daft,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe.

‘Yes, but what do you think itmeans?’

‘Means a drink, anyway,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe.

‘You think it’s a sort of invitation?’

‘We’ll find out what it means when we get there,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. ‘Bad sherry, I expect. You’d better get off the grass, Murgatroyd. You’ve got your bedroom slippers on still. They’re soaked.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully at her feet. ‘How many eggs today?’

‘Seven. That damned hen’s still broody. I must get her into the coop.’

‘It’s a funny way of putting it, don’t you think?’ Amy Murgatroyd asked, reverting to the notice in theGazette. Her voice was slightly wistful.

But her friend was made of sterner and more single-minded stuff. She was intent on dealing with recalcitrant poultry and no announcement in a paper, however enigmatic, could deflect her.

She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced upon a speckled hen. There was a loud and indignant squawking.

‘Give me ducks every time,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. ‘Farless trouble…’

***

‘Oo, scrumptious!’ said Mrs Harmon across the breakfast table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon, ‘there’s going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock’s.’

‘A murder?’ said her husband, slightly surprised. ‘When?’

‘This afternoon…at least, this evening. 6.30. Oh, bad luck, darling, you’ve got your preparations for confirmation then. Itis a shame. And you do so love murders!’

‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about, Bunch.’

Mrs Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face had early led to the soubriquet of ‘Bunch’ being substituted for her baptismal name of Diana, handed theGazette across the table.

‘There. All among the second-hand pianos, and the old teeth.’

‘What a very extraordinary announcement.’

‘Isn’t it?’ said Bunch happily. ‘You wouldn’t think that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and things, would you? I suppose it’s the young Simmonses put her up to it-though I should have thought Julia Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it is, and I do think, darling, it’s ashame you can’t be there. Anyway, I’ll go and tell you all about it, though it’s rather wasted on me, because I don’t really like games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and Ido hope I shan’t have to be the one who’s murdered. If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “You’re dead,” I know my heart will give such a big bump that perhaps it reallymight kill me! Do you think that’s likely?’

‘No, Bunch. I think you’re going to live to be an old, old woman-with me.’

‘And die on the same day and be buried in the same grave. That would be lovely.’

Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.

‘You seem very happy, Bunch?’ said her husband, smiling.

‘Who’dnot be happy if they were me?’ demanded Bunch, rather confusedly. ‘With you and Susan and Edward, and all of you fond of me and not caring if I’m stupid…And the sun shining! And this lovely big house to live in!’

The Rev. Julian Harmon looked round the big bare dining-room and assented doubtfully.