Agatha Christie - Miss Marples Final Cases

Agatha Christie

Contents

Sanctuary

Strange Jest

Tape-Measure Murder

The Case of the Caretaker

The Case of the Perfect Maid

Miss Marple Tells a Story

The Dressmaker's Doll

In a Glass Darkly

SANCTUARY

The vicars wife came round the corner of the vicarage full ofchrysanthemums. A good deal of rich garden soil attached to herstrong brogue shoes and a few fragments of earth were adhering toher nose, but of that fact she was perfectly unconscious.

She had a slight struggle in opening the vicarage gate which hung,rustily, half off its hinges. A puff of wind caught at her battered felthat, causing it to sit even more rakishly than it had done before.

'Bother!' said Bunch.

Christened by her optimistic parents Diana, Mrs Harmon hadbecome Bunch at an early age for somewhat obvious reasons andthe

name

had

stuck

to

her

ever

since.

Clutching

the

chrysanthemums, she made her way through the gate to thechurchyard, and so to the church door.

The November air was mild and damp. Clouds scudded across thesky with patches of blue here and there. Inside, the church was darkand cold: it was unheated except at service times.

Brrrrrh! said Bunch expressively. 'I'd better get on with this quickly.I don't want to die of cold.'

With the quickness born of practice she collected the necessaryparaphernalia: vases, water, flower-holders. 'I wish we had lilies,'

thought Bunch to herself. 'I get so tired of these scraggychrysanthemums.' Her nimble fingers arranged the blooms in theirholders.

There was nothing particularly original or artistic about thedecorations, for Bunch Harmon herself was neither original norartistic, but it was a homely and pleasant arrangement. Carrying thevases carefully, Bunch stepped up the aisle and made her waytowards the altar. As she did so the sun came out.

It shone through the east window of somewhat crude coloured glass,mostly blue and red - the gift of a wealthy Victorian churchgoer. Theeffect was almost startling in its sudden opulence. 'Like jewels,'

thought Bunch. Suddenly she stopped, staring ahead of her. On thechancel steps was a huddled dark form.

Putting down the flowers carefully, Bunch went up to it and bent overit. It was a man lying there, huddled over on himself. Bunch kneltdown by him and slowly, carefully, she turned him over. Her fingerswent to his pulse - a pulse so feeble and fluttering that it told its ownstory, as did the almost greenish pallor of his face. There was nodoubt. Bunch thought, that the man was dying.

He was a man of about forty-five, dressed in a dark, shabby suit. Shelaid down the limp hand she had picked up and looked at his otherhand. This seemed clenched like a fist on his breast. Looking moreclosely she saw that the fingers were closed over what seemed to bea large wad or handkerchief which he was holding tightly to hischest. All round the clenched hand there were splashes of a drybrown fluid which, Bunch guessed, was dry blood. Bunch sat backon her heels, frowning.

Up till now the man's eyes had been closed but at this point theysuddenly opened and fixed themselves on Bunch's face. They wereneither dazed nor wandering. They seemed fully alive and intelligent.His lips moved, and Bunch bent forward to catch the words, orrather the word. It was only one word that he said:

'Sanctuary.'

There was, she thought, just a very faint smile as he breathed outthis word. There was no mistaking it, for after a moment he said itagain, 'Sanctuary...'

Then, with a faint, long-drawn-out sigh, his eyes closed again. Oncemore Bunch's fingers went to his pulse. It was still there, but fainternow and more intermittent. She got up with decision.

'Dont move,' she said, 'or try to move. I'm going for help.'

The man's eyes opened again but he seemed now to be fixing hisattention on the coloured light that came through the east window.He murmured something that Bunch could not quite catch. Shethought, startled, that it might have been her husband's name.

'Julian?' she said. 'Did you come here to find Julian?' But there wasno answer. The man lay with eyes closed, his breathing in slow,shallow fashion.

Bunch turned and left the church rapidly. She glanced at her watchand nodded with some satisfaction. Dr Griffiths would still be in hissurgery. It was only a couple of minutes walk from the church. Shewent in, without waiting to knock or ring, passing through the waitingroom and into the doctor's surgery.

You must come at once,' said Bunch. 'There's a man dying in thechurch.'

Some minutes later Dr Griffiths rose from his knees after a briefexamination.

Can we move him from here into the vicarage? I can attend to himbetter there - not that it's any use.'

'Of course,' said Bunch. 'I'll go along and gel things ready. I'll getHarper and Jones, shall I? To help you carry him.'

'Thanks. I can telephone from the vicarage for an ambulance, but I'mafraid - by the time it comes...' He left the remark unfinished.Bunch said, 'Internal bleeding?

Dr Griffiths nodded. He said, 'How on earth did he come here?'

'I think he must have been here all night,' said Bunch, considering.

'Harper unlocks the church in the morning as he goes to work, but hedoesn't usually come in.

It was about five minutes later when Dr Griffiths put down thetelephone receiver and came back into the morning-room where theinjured man was lying on quickly arranged blankets on the sofa.Bunch was moving a basin of water and clearing up after thedoctor's examination.

'Well, that's that,' said Griffiths. 'I've sent for an ambulance and I'venotified the police.' He stood, frowning, looking down on the patientwho lay with closed eyes. His left hand was plucking in a nervous,spasmodic way at his side.

'He was shot,' said Griffiths. 'Shot at fairly close quarters. He rolledhis handkerchief up into a ball and plugged the wound with it so as tostop the bleeding.'

'Could he have gone far after that happened?' Bunch asked.

'Oh, yes, it's quite possible. A mortally wounded man has beenknown to pick himself up and walk along a street as though nothinghad happened, and then suddenly collapse five or ten minutes later.So he needn't have been shot in the church. Oh no. He may havebeen shot some distance away. Of course, he may have shot himselfand then dropped the revolver and staggered blindly towards thechurch. I don't quite know why he made for the church and not forthe vicarage.'

'Oh, I know that,' said Bunch. 'He said it: "Sanctuary."

The doctor stared at her. 'Sanctuary?'

'Here's Julian,' said Bunch, turning her head as she heard herhusband's steps in the hall. 'Julian! Come here.'

The Reverend Julian Harmon entered the room. His vague, scholarly