about anything. Just go to sleep.â
She drew the covers up, smiled, patted Gwenda and went out.
Downstairs Raymond was saying irritably to Joan: âWhat on earth was the matter with the girl? Did she feel ill, or what?â
âMy dear Raymond, I donât know, she just screamed! I suppose the play was a bit too macabre for her.â
âWell, of course Webster is a bit grisly. But I shouldnât havethoughtââ He broke off as Miss Marple came into the room. âIs she all right?â
âYes, I think so. Sheâd had a bad shock, you know.â
âShock? Just seeing a Jacobean drama?â
âI think there must be a little more to it than that,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
Gwendaâs breakfast was sent up to her. She drank some coffee and nibbled a little piece of toast. When she got up and came downstairs, Joan had gone to her studio, Raymond was shut up in his workroom and only Miss Marple was sitting by the window, which had a view over the river; she was busily engaged in knitting.
She looked up with a placid smile as Gwenda entered.
âGood morning, my dear. Youâre feeling better, I hope.â
âOh yes, Iâm quite all right. How I could make such an utter idiot of myself last night, I donât know. Are theyâare they very mad with me?â
âOh no, my dear. They quite understand.â
âUnderstand what?â
Miss Marple glanced up over her knitting.
âThat you had a bad shock last night.â She added gently: âHadnât you better tell me all about it?â
Gwenda walked restlessly up and down.
âI think Iâd better go and see a psychiatrist or someone.â
âThere are excellent mental specialists in London, of course. But are you sure it is necessary?â
âWellâI think Iâm going mad ⦠I must be going mad.â
An elderly parlourmaid entered the room with a telegram on a salver which she handed to Gwenda.
âThe boy wants to know if thereâs an answer, maâam?â
Gwenda tore it open. It had been retelegraphed on from Dillmouth. She stared at it for a moment or two uncomprehendingly, then screwed it into a ball.
âThereâs no answer,â she said mechanically.
The maid left the room.
âNot bad news, I hope, dear?â
âItâs Gilesâmy husband. Heâs flying home. Heâll be here in a week.â
Her voice was bewildered and miserable. Miss Marple gave a gentle little cough.
âWellâsurelyâthat is very nice, isnât it?â
âIs it? When Iâm not sure if Iâm mad or not? If Iâm mad I ought never to have married Giles. And the house and everything. I canât go back there. Oh, I donât know what to do.â
Miss Marple patted the sofa invitingly.
âNow suppose you sit down here, dear, and just tell me all about it.â
It was with a sense of relief that Gwenda accepted the invitation. She poured out the whole story, starting with her first view of Hillside and going onto the incidents that had first puzzled her and then worried her.
âAnd so I got rather frightened,â she ended. âAnd I thought Iâd come up to Londonâget away from it all. Only, you see, I couldnât get away from it. It followed me. Last nightââ she shut her eyes and gulped reminiscently.
âLast night?â prompted Miss Marple.
âI dare say you wonât believe this,â said Gwenda, speaking very fast. âYouâll think Iâm hysterical or queer or something. It happened quite suddenly, right at the end. Iâd enjoyed the play. Iâd neverthought once of the house. And then it cameâout of the blueâwhen he said those wordsââ
She repeated in a low quivering voice: â Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle, she died young.
âI was back thereâon the stairs, looking down on the hall through the banisters,