Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories: A Miss Marple Collection (Miss Marple Mysteries)
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The Queen of Mystery has come to Harper Collins! Agatha Christie, the acknowledged mistress of suspense—creator of indomitable sleuth Miss Marple, meticulous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot, and so many other unforgettable characters—brings her entire oeuvre of ingenious whodunits, locked room mysteries, and perplexing puzzles to Harper Paperbacks. Miss Marple: The Complete Story Collection gathers together in one magnificent volume all of Christie’s short stories featuring her beloved intrepid investigator—an unparalleled compendium of murder, mayhem, mystery, and detection that represents some of the finest short form fiction in the crime fiction field.
country shoes. “Exactly as you say, madam,” said Police Constable Abel, turning to Bunch. Nobody could have said that Mr. Edwin Moss underdid things. His dismay and compunction were magnificent. “I do apologize,” he said. “I really do apologize. Please believe me, dear lady, when I tell you how very, very sorry I am. Unpardonable—quite unpardonable—my behaviour has been.” He looked at his watch. “I must rush now. Probably my suitcase has gone on the train.” Raising his hat once more, he said
spent some time in the manager’s office before going up to the bedroom. That was the weakest point—the chance that someone might notice the difference between a body that had been dead two hours and one that had been dead just over half an hour; but he counted on the fact that the people who first discovered the crime would have no expert knowledge.” Dr. Lloyd nodded. “The crime would be supposed to have been committed about a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I suppose,” he said. “It was
got the girl into trouble?” “So it seems. Of course I don’t know anything personally,” said the Colonel cautiously. “It’s all gossip and chat. You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And I’m not like Dolly—leaping to conclusions, flinging accusations all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful in what one says. You know—inquest and all that.” “Inquest?” Colonel Bantry stared. “Yes. Didn’t I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That’s what all the pother’s about.”
get to the bottom of the mystery. “It was a very dreadful night, none of us could sleep, or attempt to do so. The police, when they arrived, were frankly incredulous of the whole thing. They evinced a strong desire to cross-examine Miss Ashley, but there they had to reckon with Dr. Symonds, who opposed the idea vehemently. Miss Ashley had come out of her faint or trance and he had given her a long sleeping draught. She was on no account to be disturbed until the following day. “It was not until
exciting day we’re having.” The figure in the print dress had straightened up and had turned towards them, trowel in hand. She was a sufficiently startling figure. Unkempt locks of iron-grey fell wispily on her shoulders, a straw hat rather like the hats that horses wear in Italy was crammed down on her head. The coloured print dress she wore fell nearly to her ankles. Out of a weather-beaten, not-too-clean face, shrewd eyes surveyed them appraisingly. “I must apologize for trespassing, Miss