Sleeping Murder Read Online Free Page B

Sleeping Murder
Book: Sleeping Murder Read Online Free
Author: Agatha Christie
Pages:
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about anything. Just go to sleep.”
    She drew the covers up, smiled, patted Gwenda and went out.
    Downstairs Raymond was saying irritably to Joan: “What on earth was the matter with the girl? Did she feel ill, or what?”
    â€œMy dear Raymond, I don’t know, she just screamed! I suppose the play was a bit too macabre for her.”
    â€œWell, of course Webster is a bit grisly. But I shouldn’t havethought—” He broke off as Miss Marple came into the room. “Is she all right?”
    â€œYes, I think so. She’d had a bad shock, you know.”
    â€œShock? Just seeing a Jacobean drama?”
    â€œI think there must be a little more to it than that,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
    Gwenda’s 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.
    â€œGood morning, my dear. You’re feeling better, I hope.”
    â€œOh yes, I’m quite all right. How I could make such an utter idiot of myself last night, I don’t know. Are they—are they very mad with me?”
    â€œOh no, my dear. They quite understand.”
    â€œUnderstand what?”
    Miss Marple glanced up over her knitting.
    â€œThat you had a bad shock last night.” She added gently: “Hadn’t you better tell me all about it?”
    Gwenda walked restlessly up and down.
    â€œI think I’d better go and see a psychiatrist or someone.”
    â€œThere are excellent mental specialists in London, of course. But are you sure it is necessary?”
    â€œWell—I think I’m going mad … I must be going mad.”
    An elderly parlourmaid entered the room with a telegram on a salver which she handed to Gwenda.
    â€œThe boy wants to know if there’s an answer, ma’am?”
    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.
    â€œThere’s no answer,” she said mechanically.
    The maid left the room.
    â€œNot bad news, I hope, dear?”
    â€œIt’s Giles—my husband. He’s flying home. He’ll be here in a week.”
    Her voice was bewildered and miserable. Miss Marple gave a gentle little cough.
    â€œWell—surely—that is very nice, isn’t it?”
    â€œIs it? When I’m not sure if I’m mad or not? If I’m mad I ought never to have married Giles. And the house and everything. I can’t go back there. Oh, I don’t know what to do.”
    Miss Marple patted the sofa invitingly.
    â€œNow suppose you sit down here, dear, and just tell me all about it.”
    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.
    â€œAnd so I got rather frightened,” she ended. “And I thought I’d come up to London—get away from it all. Only, you see, I couldn’t get away from it. It followed me. Last night—” she shut her eyes and gulped reminiscently.
    â€œLast night?” prompted Miss Marple.
    â€œI dare say you won’t believe this,” said Gwenda, speaking very fast. “You’ll think I’m hysterical or queer or something. It happened quite suddenly, right at the end. I’d enjoyed the play. I’d neverthought once of the house. And then it came—out of the blue—when he said those words—”
    She repeated in a low quivering voice: “ Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle, she died young.
    â€œI was back there—on the stairs, looking down on the hall through the banisters,
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