'I'11 have to go back rather a long way. It's a complicated story. Several years ago there was a certain dancer doing turns at the music halls. I don't expect you'll have ever heard of her, but she specialized in an Arabian Night's turn. 'Aladdin in the Cave of Jewels,' it was called.
'She wasn't much of a dancer, I believe, but she was - well - attractive. Anyway, a certain Asiatic royalty fell for her in a big way. Among other things he gave her a very magnificent emerald necklace.'
'The historic jewels of a rajah?' murmured Bunch ecstatically.
Inspector Craddock coughed. 'Well, a rather more modern version, Mrs. Harmon. The affair didn't last very long, broke up when our potentate's attention was captured by a certain film star whose demands were not quite so modest.
'Zobeida, to give the dancer her stage name, hung on to the necklace, and in due course it was stolen. It disappeared from her dressing-room at the theatre, and there was a lingering suspicion in the minds of the authorities that she herself might have engineered its disappearance. Such things have been known as a publicity stunt, or indeed from more dishonest motives.
'The necklace was never recovered, but during the course of the investigation the attention of the police was drawn to this man, Walter St. John. He was a man of education and breeding who had come down in the world and who was employed as a working jeweller with a rather obscure firm which was suspected as acting as a fence for jewel robberies.
'There was evidence that this necklace had passed through his hands. It was, however, in connection with the theft of some other jewellery that he was finally brought to trial and convicted and sent to prison. He had not very much longer to serve, so his escape was rather a surprise.'
'But why did he come here?' asked Bunch.
Following up his trail, it seems that he went first to London. He didn't visit any of his old associates, but he visited an elderly woman, a Mrs. Jacobs who had formerly been a theatrical dresser. She won't say a word of what he came for, but according to other lodgers in the house, he left carrying a suitcase.'
'I see,' said Bunch. 'He left it in the cloakroom at Paddington and then he came down here.'
'By that time,' said Inspector Craddock, 'Eccles and the man who calls himself Edwin Moss were on his trail. They wanted that suitcase. They saw him get on the bus. They must have driven out in a car ahead of him and been waiting for him when he left the bus.'
'And he was murdered?' said Bunch.
'Yes,' said Craddock. 'He was shot. It was Eccles's revolver, but I rather fancy It was Moss who did the shooting. Now, Mrs. Harmon, what we want to know is, where is the suitcase that Walter St. John actually deposited at Paddington Station?'
Bunch grinned. 'I expect Aunt Jane's got it by now,' she said. 'Miss Marple, I mean. That was her plan. She sent a former maid of hers with a suitcase packed with her things to the cloakroom at Paddington and we exchanged tickets. I collected her suitcase and brought it down by train. She seemed to expect that an attempt would be made to get it from me.'
It was Inspector Craddock's turn to grin. 'So she said when she rang up. I'm driving up to London to see her. Do you want to come, too, Mrs. Harmon?'
'Well,' said Bunch, considering, 'Wel-1, as a matter of fact, it's very fortunate. I had a toothache last night, so I really ought to go to London to see the dentist, oughtn't I?'
'Definitely,' said Inspector Craddock.
Miss Marple looked from Inspector Craddock's face to the eager face of Bunch Harmon. The suitcase lay on the table.
'Of course, I haven't opened it,' the old lady said. 'I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing till somebody official arrived. Besides,' she added, with a demurely mischievous Victorian smile, 'it's locked.'
'Like to make a guess at what's inside, Miss Marple?' asked the inspector.
'I should imagine, you know,' said Miss Marple, 'that it would be Zobeida's theatrical costumes. Would you like a chisel, Inspector?'
The chisel soon did its work. Both women gave a slight gasp as the lid flew up. The sunlight coming through the window lit up what seemed like an inexhaustible treasure of sparkling jewels, red, blue, green, orange.
'Aladdin's Cave,' said Miss Marple. 'The flashing jewels the girl wore to dance.'
'Ah,' said Inspector Craddock. 'Now, what's so precious about it, do you think, that a man was murdered to get hold of it?'
'She was a shrewd girl, I expect,' said Miss Marple thoughtfully. 'She's dead, isn't she, Inspector?'
'Yes, died three years ago.'
'She had this valuable emerald necklace,' said Miss Marple musingly. 'Had the stones taken out of their setting and fastened here and there on her theatrical costume, where everyone would take them for merely coloured rhinestones. Then she had a replica made of the real necklace, and that, of course, was what was stolen. No wonder it never came on the market. The thief soon discovered the stones were false.'
'Here is an envelope,' said Bunch, pulling aside some of the glittering stones.
Inspector Craddock took it from her and extracted two official-looking papers from it. He read aloud, ' 'Marriage certificate between Walter Edmund St. John and Mary Moss.' That was Zobeida's real name.'
'So they were married,' said Miss Marple. 'I see.' 'What's the other?' asked Bunch.
'A birth certificate of a daughter, Jewel.'
'Jewel?' cried Bunch. 'Why, of course. Jewel! Jill! That's it. I see now why he came to Chipping Cleghorn. That's what he was trying to say to me. Jewel. The Mundys, you know. Laburnam Cottage. They look after a little girl for someone. They're devoted to her. She's been like their own granddaughter. Yes, I remember now, her name is Jewel, only, of course, they call her Jill.
'Mrs. Mundy had a stroke about a week ago, and the old man's been very ill with pneumonia. They were both going to go to the infirmary. I've been trying: hard to find a good home for Jill somewhere. I didn't want her taken away to an institution.
'I suppose her father heard about it in prison and he managed to break way and get hold of this suitcase from the old dresser he or his wife left it with. I suppose if the jewels really belonged to her mother, they can be used for the child now.'
'I should imagine so, Mrs. Harmon. If they're here.'
'Oh, they'll be here all right,' said Miss Marple cheerfully…'
'Thank goodness you're back, dear,' said the Reverend Julian Harmon, greeting his wife with affection and a sigh of content. 'Mrs. Burt always tries to do her best when you're away, but she really gave me some very peculiar fish cakes for lunch. I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I gave them to Tiglash Pileser, but even he wouldn't eat them, so I had to throw them out of the window.'
'Tiglash Pileser,' said Bunch, stroking the vicarage cat, who was purring against her knee, 'is very particular about what fish he eats. I often tell him he's got a proud stomach!' 'And your tooth, dear? Did you have it seen to?'
'Yes,' said Bunch. 'It didn't hurt much, and I went to see Aunt Jane again, too…'
'Dear old thing,' said Julian. 'I hope she's not failing at all.'
'Not in the least,' said Bunch, with a grin.
The following morning Bunch took a fresh supply of chrysanthemums to the church. The sun was once more pouring through the east window, and Bunch stood in the jewelled light on the chancel steps. She said very softly under her breath, 'Your little girl will be all right. I'll see that she is. I promise.'
Then she tidied up the church, slipped into a pew, and knelt for a few moments to say her prayers before returning to the vicarage to attack the piled-up chores of two neglected days.