‘Of course,’ said Miss Marple.

The young man Edgar sat staring in front of him.

‘This is all highly confidential,’ he said suddenly.

‘Of course,’ said Miss Marple.

‘If I had my rights — ’

‘Yes?’

‘I might as well tell you…You won’t let it go any further I’m sure?’

‘Oh no.’ She noticed he did not wait for her disclaimer.

‘My father — actually, my father is a very important man.’

This time there was no need to say anything. She had only to listen.

‘Nobody knows except Mr Serrocold. You see, it might prejudice my father’s position if the story got out.’ He turned to her. He smiled. A sad dignified smile. ‘You see, I’m Winston Churchill’s son.’

‘Oh,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I see.’

And she did see. She remembered a rather sad story in St Mary Mead — and the way it had gone.

Edgar Lawson went on, and what he said had the familiarity of a stage scene.

‘There were reasons. My mother wasn’t free. Her own husband was in an asylum — there could be no divorce — no question of marriage. I don’t really blame them. At least, I think I don’t…He’s done, always, everything he could. Discreetly, of course. And that’s where the trouble has arisen. He’s got enemies — and they’re against me, too. They’ve managed to keep us apart. They watch me. Wherever I go, they spy on me. And they make things go wrong for me.’

Miss Marple shook her head.

‘Dear, dear,’ she said.

‘In London I was studying to be a doctor. They tampered with my exams — they altered the answers. They wanted me to fail. They followed me about the streets. They told things about me to my landlady. They hound me wherever I go.’

‘Oh, but you can’t be sure of that,’ said Miss Marple soothingly.

‘I tell you I know! Oh they’re very cunning. I never get a glimpse of them or find out who they are. But I shall find out…Mr Serrocold took me away from London and brought me down here. He was kind — very kind. But even here, you know, I’m not safe. They’re here too. Working against me. Making the others dislike me. Mr Serrocold says that isn’t true — but Mr Serrocold doesn’t know. Or else — I wonder — sometimes I’ve thought — ’

He broke off. He got up.

‘This is all confidential,’ he said. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? But if you notice anyone following me — spying, I mean — you might let me know who it is!’

He went away, then — neat, pathetic, insignificant. Miss Marple watched him and wondered…

A voice spoke.

‘Nuts,’ it said. ‘Just nuts.’

Walter Hudd was standing beside her. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he was frowning as he stared after Edgar’s retreating figure.

‘What kind of a joint is this, anyway?’ he said. ‘They’re all bughouse, the whole lot of them.’