Agatha Christie - Miss Marple and Mystery: The Complete Short Stories

Agatha Christie

Miss
Marple
and Mystery
The Complete Short Stories

Contents

These problems were Miss Marples first introduction to the world of detective story readers. Miss Marple has some faint affinity with my own grandmother, also a pink and white pretty old lady who, although having led the most sheltered and Victorian of lives, nevertheless always appeared to be intimately acquainted with all the depths of human depravity. One could be made to feel incredibly nave and credulous by her reproachful remark: But did you believe what they said to you? You shouldnt do that. I never do!

I enjoyed writing the Miss Marple stories very much, conceived a great affection for my fluffy old lady, and hoped that she might be a success. She was. After the first six stories had appeared, six more were requested, Miss Marple had definitely come to stay.

She has appeared now in several books and also in a play and actually rivals Hercule Poirot in popularity. I get about an equal number of letters, one lot saying: I wish you would always have Miss Marple and not Poirot, and the other I wish you would have Poirot and not Miss Marple. I myself incline to her side. I think, that she is at her best in the solving of short problems; they suit her more intimate style. Poirot, on the other hand, insists on a full length book to display his talents.

These Thirteen Problems contain, I consider, the real essence of Miss Marple for those who like her.

A GATHA C HRISTIE
Penguin edition, 1953

The Actress was first published as A Trap for the Unwary in The Novel Magazine, May 1923.

The shabby man in the fourth row of the pit leant forward and stared incredulously at the stage. His shifty eyes narrowed furtively.

Nancy Taylor! he muttered. By the Lord, little Nancy Taylor!

His glance dropped to the programme in his hand. One name was printed in slightly larger type than the rest.

Olga Stormer! So thats what she calls herself. Fancy yourself a star, dont you, my lady? And you must be making a pretty little pot of money, too. Quite forgotten your name was ever Nancy Taylor, I daresay. I wonder now I wonder now what youd say if Jake Levitt should remind you of the fact?

The curtain fell on the close of the first act. Hearty applause filled the auditorium. Olga Stormer, the great emotional actress, whose name in a few short years had become a household word, was adding yet another triumph to her list of successes as Cora, in The Avenging Angel .

Jake Levitt did not join in the clapping, but a slow, appreciative grin gradually distended his mouth. God! What luck! Just when he was on his beam-ends, too. Shed try to bluff it out, he supposed, but she couldnt put it over on him . Properly worked, the thing was a gold-mine!

On the following morning the first workings of Jake Levitts gold-mine became apparent. In her drawing-room, with its red lacquer and black hangings, Olga Stormer read and re-read a letter thoughtfully. Her pale face, with its exquisitely mobile features, was a little more set than usual, and every now and then the grey-green eyes under the level brows steadily envisaged the middle distance, as though she contemplated the threat behind rather than the actual words of the letter.

In that wonderful voice of hers which could throb with emotion or be as clear-cut as the click of a typewriter, Olga called: Miss Jones!

A neat young woman with spectacles, a shorthand pad and a pencil clasped in her hand, hastened from an adjoining room.

Ring up Mr Danahan, please, and ask him to come round, immediately.

Syd Danahan, Olga Stormers manager, entered the room with the usual apprehension of the man whose life it is to deal with and overcome the vagaries of the artistic feminine. To coax, to soothe, to bully, one at a time or all together, such was his daily routine. To his relief, Olga appeared calm and composed, and merely flicked a note across the table to him.

Read that.

The letter was scrawled in an illiterate hand, on cheap paper.

Dear Madam,

I much appreciated your performance in The Avenging Angel last night. I fancy we have a mutual friend in Miss Nancy Taylor, late of Chicago. An article regarding her is to be published shortly. If you would care to discuss same, I could call upon you at any time convenient to yourself.

Yours respectfully,

Jake Levitt

Danahan looked slightly bewildered.

I dont quite get it. Who is this Nancy Taylor?

A girl who would be better dead, Danny. There was bitterness in her voice and a weariness that revealed her 34 years. A girl who was dead until this carrion crow brought her to life again.

Oh! Then...

Me, Danny. Just me.

This means blackmail, of course?

She nodded. Of course, and by a man who knows the art thoroughly.

Danahan frowned, considering the matter. Olga, her cheek pillowed on a long, slender hand, watched him with unfathomable eyes.

What about bluff? Deny everything. He cant be sure that he hasnt been misled by a chance resemblance.

Olga shook her head.

Levitt makes his living by blackmailing women. Hes sure enough.

The police? hinted Danahan doubtfully.

Her faint, derisive smile was answer enough. Beneath her self-control, though he did not guess it, was the impatience of the keen brain watching a slower brain laboriously cover the ground it had already traversed in a flash.

You dont er think it might be wise for you to er say something yourself to Sir Richard? That would partly spike his guns.

The actresss engagement to Sir Richard Everard, MP, had been announced a few weeks previously.

I told Richard everything when he asked me to marry him.

My word, that was clever of you! said Danahan admiringly.

Olga smiled a little.

It wasnt cleverness, Danny dear. You wouldnt understand. All the same, if this man Levitt does what he threatens, my number is up, and incidentally Richards Parliamentary career goes smash, too. No, as far as I can see, there are only two things to do.

Well?

To pay and that of course is endless! Or to disappear, start again.

The weariness was again very apparent in her voice.

It isnt even as though Id done anything I regretted. I was a half-starved little gutter waif, Danny, striving to keep straight. I shot a man, a beast of a man who deserved to be shot. The circumstances under which I killed him were such that no jury on earth would have convicted me. I know that now, but at the time I was only a frightened kid and I ran.

Danahan nodded.

I suppose, he said doubtfully, theres nothing against this man Levitt we could get hold of?

Olga shook her head.

Very unlikely. Hes too much of a coward to go in for evil-doing. The sound of her own words seemed to strike her. A coward! I wonder if we couldnt work on that in some way.

If Sir Richard were to see him and frighten him, suggested Danahan.

Richard is too fine an instrument. You cant handle that sort of man with gloves on.

Well, let me see him.

Forgive me, Danny, but I dont think youre subtle enough. Something between gloves and bare fists is needed. Let us say mittens! That means a woman! Yes, I rather fancy a woman might do the trick. A woman with a certain amount of finesse , but who knows the baser side of life from bitter experience. Olga Stormer, for instance! Dont talk to me, Ive got a plan coming.

She leant forward, burying her face in her hands. She lifted it suddenly.

Whats the name of that girl who wants to understudy me? Margaret Ryan, isnt it? The girl with the hair like mine?

Her hairs all right, admitted Danahan grudgingly, his eyes resting on the bronze-gold coil surrounding Olgas head. Its just like yours, as you say. But shes no good any other way. I was going to sack her next week.