In an agitated fashion, Miss Murgatroyd plunged across to a line of string on which she had, some hours previously, hung out a couple of jumpers and a pair of woollen combinations to dry.

She was murmuring under her breath:

“Really most extraordinary … Oh, dear, I shall never get these down in time—and they were nearly dry….”

She struggled with a recalcitrant clothes peg, then turned her head as she heard someone approaching.

Then she smiled a pleased welcome.

“Hallo—do go inside, you’ll get wet.”

“Let me help you.”

“Oh, if you don’t mind … so annoying if they all get soaked again. I really ought to let down the line, but I think I can just reach.”

“Here’s your scarf. Shall I put it round your neck?”

“Oh, thank you … Yes, perhaps … If I could just reach this peg….”

The woollen scarf was slipped round her neck and then, suddenly, pulled tight….

Miss Murgatroyd’s mouth opened, but no sound came except a small choking gurgle.

And the scarf was pulled tighter still….

IV

On her way back from the station, Miss Hinchcliffe stopped the car to pick up Miss Marple who was hurrying along the street.

“Hallo,” she shouted. “You’ll get very wet. Come and have tea with us. I saw Bunch waiting for the bus. You’ll be all alone at the Vicarage. Come and join us. Murgatroyd and I are doing a bit of reconstruction of the crime. I rather think we’re just getting somewhere. Mind the dog. She’s rather nervous.”

“What a beauty!”

“Yes, lovely bitch, isn’t she! Those fools kept her at the station since this morning without letting me know. I told them off, the lazy b—s. Oh, excuse my language. I was brought up by grooms at home in Ireland.”

The little car turned with a jerk into the small backyard of Boulders.

A crowd of eager ducks and fowls encircled the two ladies as they descended.

“Curse Murgatroyd,” said Miss Hinchcliffe, “she hasn’t given ’em their corn.”

“Is it difficult to get corn?” Miss Marple inquired.

Miss Hincliffe winked.

“I’m in with most of the farmers,” she said.

Shooing away the hens, she escorted Miss Marple towards the cottage.

“Hope you’re not too wet?”

“No, this is a very good mackintosh.”

“I’ll light the fire if Murgatroyd hasn’t lit it. Hiyah, Murgatroyd? Where is the woman? Murgatroyd! Where’s that dog? She’s disappeared now.”

A slow dismal howl came from outside.

“Curse the silly bitch.” Miss Hinchcliffe tramped to the door and called:

“Hyoup, Cutie—Cutie. Damn” silly name but that’s what they called her apparently. We must find her another name. Hiyah, Cutie.”

The red setter was sniffing at something lying below the taut string where a row of garments swirled in the wind.

“Murgatroyd’s not even had the sense to bring the washing in. Where is she?”