Though really I should have thought the whole thing was obvious from the beginning…
Well, I'll tell you my little story, and if you think I'm inclined to be conceited about it, you must remember that I at least help a fellow creature who was in very grave distress.
The first I knew of this business was one evening about nine o'clock when Gwen - (you remember Gwen? My little maid with red hair) well-Gwen came in and told me that Mr. Petherick and a gentleman had called to see me. Gwen had showed them into the drawing-room - quite rightly. I was sitting in the dining-room because in early spring I think it is so wasteful to have two rites going.
I directed Gwen to bring in the cherry brandy and some glasses and I hurried into the drawing-room. I don't know whether you remember Mr. Petherick? He died two years ago, but he had been a friend of mine for many years as well as attending to all my legal business. A very shrewd man and a really clever solicitor. His son does my business for me now - - a very nice lad and very up to date - but somehow I don't feel quite the confidence I had in Mr. Petherick.
I explained to Mr. Petherick about the fires and he said at once that he and his friend would come into the dining-room - and then he introduced his friend a Mr. Rhodes. He was a youngish man - not much over forty - and I saw at once that there was something very wrong. His manner, was most peculiar. One might have called it rude if one hadn't realized that the poor fellow was suffering from strain.
When we were settled in the dining-room and Gwen had brought the cherry brandy, Mr. Petherick explained the reason for his visit.
'Miss Marple,' he said, 'you must forgive an old friend for taking a liberty. What I have come here for is a consultation.'
I couldn't understand at all what he meant, and he went on: 'In a case of illness one likes two points of view - that of the specialist and that of the family physician. It is the fashion to regard the former as of more value, but I am not sure that I agree. The specialist has experience only in his own subject - the family doctor has, perhaps, less knowledge - but a wider experience.'
I knew just what he meant, because a young niece of mine not long before had hurried her child off to a very well-known specialist in skin diseases without consulting her own doctor whom she considered an old dodderer, and the specialist had ordered some very expensive treatment, and later they found that all the child was suffering from was rather an unusual form of measles. I just mention this - though I have a horror of digressing - to show that I appreciated Mr. Petherick's point - but I still hadn't any idea of what he was driving at.
'If Mr. Rhodes is ill 'I said, and stopped - because the poor man gave the most dreadful laugh. He said: 'I expect to die of a broken neck in a few months' time.'
And then it all came out. There had been a case of murder lately in Barnchester - a town about twenty miles away. I'm afraid I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, because we had been having a lot of excitement in the village about our district nurse, and outside occurrences like an earthquake in India and a murder in Barnchester, although of course far more important really - had given way to our own little local excitements. I'm afraid villages are like that. Still, I did remember having read about a woman having been stabbed in a hotel, though I hadn't remembered her name.
But now it seemed that this woman had been Mr. Rhodes's wife - and as if that wasn't bad enough - he was actually under suspicion of having murdered her himself.
All this Mr. Petherick explained to me very clearly, saying that, although the Coroner's jury had brought in a verdict of murder by a person or persons unknown, Mr. Rhodes had reason to believe that he would probably be arrested within a day or two, and that he had come to Mr. Petherick and placed himself in his hands. Mr. Petherick went on to say that they had that afternoon consulted Sir Malcolm Olde, K.C., and that in the event of the case coming to trial Sir Malcolm had been briefed to defend Mr. Rhodes.
Sir Malcolm was a young man, Mr. Petherick said, very up to date in his methods, and he had indicated a certain line of defence. But with that line of defence Mr. Petherick was not entirely satisfied.
'You see, my dear lady,' he said, 'it is tainted with what I call the specialist's point of view. Give Sir Malcolm a case and he sees only one point - the most likely line of defence. But even the best line of defence may ignore completely what is, to my mind, the vital point. It takes no account of what actually happened.'
Then he went on to say some very kind and flattering things about my acumen and judgment and my knowledge of human nature, and asked permission to tell me the story of the case in the hopes that I might be able to suggest some explanation.
I could see that Mr. Rhodes was highly sceptical of my being of any use and that he was annoyed at being brought here. But Mr. Petherick took no notice and proceeded to give me the facts of what occurred on the night of March 8th.
Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had been staying at the Crown Hotel in Barnchester. Mrs. Rhodes who (so I gathered from Mr. Petherick's careful language) was perhaps just a shade of a hypochondriac, had retired to bed immediately after dinner.
She and her husband occupied adjoining rooms with a connecting door. Mr. Rhodes, who is writing a book on prehistoric flints, settled down to work in the adjoining room.
At eleven o'clock he tidied up his papers and prepared to go to bed. Before doing do, he just glanced into his wife's room to make sure that there was nothing she wanted. He discovered the electric light on and his wife lying in bed stabbed through the heart. She had been dead at least an hour - probably longer. The following were the points made. There was another door in Mrs. Rhodes's room leading to the corridor. This door was locked and bolted on the inside. The only window in the room was closed and latched. According to Mr. Rhodes nobody had passed through the room in which he was sitting except a chambermaid bringing hot water bottles. The weapon found in the wound was a stiletto dagger which had been lying on Mrs. Rhodes's dressing-table. She was in the habit of using it as a paper knife. There were no fingerprints on it.
The situation boiled down to this - no one but Mr. Rhodes and the chambermaid had entered the victim's room. I inquired about the chambermaid. 'That was our first line of inquiry,' said Mr. Petherick. 'Mary Hill is a local woman. She has been chambermaid at the Crown for ten years. There seems absolutely no reason why she should commit a sudden assault on a guest. She is, in any case, extraordinarily stupid, almost half-witted. Her story has never varied. She brought Mrs. Rhodes her hot water bottle and says the lady was drowsy - just dropping off to sleep. Frankly, I cannot believe, and I am sure no jury would believe, that she committed the crime.'
Mr. Petherick went on to mention a few additional details. At the head of the staircase in the Crown Hotel is a kind of miniature lounge where people sometimes sit and have coffee. A passage goes off to the right and the last door in it is the door into the room occupied by Mr. Rhodes. The passage then turns sharply to the right again and the first door around the corner is the door into Mrs. Rhodes's room. As it happened, both these doors could be seen by witnesses.
The first door - that into Mr. Rhodes's room, which I will call A, could be seen by four people, two commercial travellers and an elderly married couple who were having coffee. According to them nobody went in or out of door A except Mr. Rhodes and the chambermaid. As to the other door in passage B, there was an electrician at work there and he also swears that nobody entered or left door B except the chambermaid.