Poirot took a quick step forwards. “You should not do that. Mademoiselle–“ The young woman started nervously at the sound of his voice. The revolver slipped through her fingers. She was standing by the edge of the pool and the revolver fell with a splash into the water.
Her mouth opened and she uttered an “Oh” of consternation, turning her head to look at Poirot apologetically. “What a fool I am,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Just for a moment an odd restlessness came to him – a rippling of his previous placidity. He felt, There’s something – something I haven’t got – something I want – I want – I want…. The golden green light, the softness in the air – with them came a quickened pulse, a stirring of the blood, a sudden impatience. A girl came through the trees toward him – a girl with pale, gleaming hair and a rose-flushed skin. He thought, How beautiful – how unutterably beautiful. Something gripped him; he stood quite still, as though frozen into immobility. The world, he felt, was spinning, was topsy-turvy, was suddenly and impossibly and gloriously crazy! The girl stopped suddenly, then she came on. She came up to him where he stood, dumb and absurdly fish-like, his mouth open.
‘Hallo,’ said the young man. ‘Nice place this. Do you often come here?’
‘Nearly every day.’
‘Just my luck that I never came here before. Was that your lunch you were eating?’
‘I don’t think you eat enough. I’d be starving if I only had two sandwiches. What about coming along and having a sausage at the SPO in Tottenham Court Road?’
‘No thanks. I’m quite all right. I couldn’t eat any more now.’
She rather expected that he would say: ‘Another day,’ but he did not. He merely sighed – then he said: ‘My name’s Edward, what’s yours?’
‘Why did your people want to call you after a railway station?’
‘Victoria isn’t only a railway station,’ Miss Jones pointed out. ‘There’s Queen Victoria as well.’
‘Mm yes. What’s your other name?’
‘Victoria Jones,’ said Edward, trying it over on his tongue. He shook his head. ‘They don’t go together.’
Yes. I saw her pass through the garden and go round to the study window. Miss Marple always sees everything. Gardening is as good as a smoke screen, and the habit of observing birds through powerful glasses can always be turned to account.
“Yes, she went inside and waited. Presently Mr. Redding came along the lane from the village. He came to the Vicarage gate, looked all round…” “And saw you, Miss Marple.” “As a matter of fact, he didn’t see me” said Miss Marple