It was the following afternoon that the Inspector called at the Vicarage.

It was a dark gusty day.

Miss Marple had her chair pulled close to the fire and was knitting. Bunch was on hands and knees, crawling about the floor, cutting out material to a pattern.

She sat back and pushed a mop of hair out of her eyes, looking up expectantly at Craddock.

“I don’t know if it’s a breach of confidence,” said the Inspector, addressing himself to Miss Marple, “but I’d like you to look at this letter.”

He explained the circumstances of his discovery in the attic.

“It’s rather a touching collection of letters,” he said. “Miss Blacklock poured out everything in the hopes of sustaining her sister’s interest in life and keeping her health good. There’s a very clear picture of an old father in the background—old Dr. Blacklock. A real old pig-headed bully, absolutely set in his ways, and convinced that everything he thought and said was right. Probably killed thousands of patients through obstinacy. He wouldn’t stand for any new ideas or methods.”

“I don’t really know that I blame him there,” said Miss Marple. “I always feel that the young doctors are only too anxious to experiment. After they’ve whipped out all our teeth, and administered quantities of very peculiar glands, and removed bits of our insides, they then confess that nothing can be done for us. I really prefer the old-fashioned remedy of big black bottles of medicine. After all, one can always pour those down the sink.”

She took the letter that Craddock handed her.

He said: “I want you to read it because I think that that generation is more easily understood by you than by me. I don’t know really quite how these people’s minds worked.”

Miss Marple unfolded the fragile paper.

Dearest Charlotte,

I’ve not written for two days because we’ve been having the most terrible domestic complications. Randall’s sister Sonia (you remember her? She came to take you out in the car that day? How I wish you would go out more). Sonia has declared her intention of marrying one Dmitri Stamfordis. I have only seen him once. Very attractive—not to be trusted, I should say. R.G. raves against him and says he is a crook and a swindler. Belle, bless her, just smiles and lies on her sofa. Sonia, who though she looks so impassive has really a terrific temper, is simply wild with R.G. I really thought yesterday she was going to murder him!