Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie Page B

Kennedy.
    Helen….

Seven
D R . K ENNEDY
    I
    A few days later Gwenda, walking along the Esplanade in a sharp wind, stopped suddenly beside one of the glass shelters which a thoughtful Corporation had provided for the use of its visitors.
    â€œMiss Marple?” she exclaimed in lively surprise.
    For indeed Miss Marple it was, nicely wrapped up in a thick fleecy coat and well wound round with scarves.
    â€œQuite a surprise to you, I’m sure, to find me here,” said Miss Marple briskly. “But my doctor ordered me away to the seaside for a little change, and your description of Dillmouth sounded so attractive that I decided to come here—especially as the cook and butler of a friend of mine take in boarders.”
    â€œBut why didn’t you come and see us?” demanded Gwenda.
    â€œOld people can be rather a nuisance, my dear. Newly marriedyoung couples should be left to themselves.” She smiled at Gwenda’s protest. “I’m sure you’d have made me very welcome. And how are you both? And are you progressing with your mystery?”
    â€œWe’re hot on the trail,” Gwenda said, sitting beside her.
    She detailed their various investigations up to date.
    â€œAnd now,” she ended, “we’ve put an advertisement in lots of papers—local ones and The Times and the other big dailies. We’ve just said will anyone with any knowledge of Helen Spenlove Halliday, née Kennedy, communicate etc. I should think, don’t you, that we’re bound to get some answers.”
    â€œI should think so, my dear—yes, I should think so.”
    Miss Marple’s tone was placid as ever, but her eyes looked troubled. They flashed a quick appraising glance at the girl sitting beside her. That tone of determined heartiness did not ring quite true. Gwenda, Miss Marple thought, looked worried. What Dr. Haydock had called “the implications” were, perhaps, beginning to occur to her. Yes, but now it was too late to go back….
    Miss Marple said gently and apologetically, “I have really become most interested in all this. My life, you know, has so few excitements. I hope you won’t think me very inquisitive if I ask you to let me know how you progress?”
    â€œOf course we’ll let you know,” said Gwenda warmly. “You shall be in on everything. Why, but for you, I should be urging doctors to shut me up in a loony bin. Tell me your address here, and then you must come and have a drink—I mean, have tea with us, and see the house. You’ve got to see the scene of the crime, haven’t you?”
    She laughed, but there was a slightly nervy edge to her laugh.
    When she had gone on her way Miss Marple shook her head very gently and frowned.
    II
    Giles and Gwenda scanned the mail eagerly every day, but at first their hopes were disappointed. All they got was two letters from private enquiry agents who pronounced themselves willing and skilled to undertake investigations on their behalf.
    â€œTime enough for them later,” said Giles. “And if we do have to employ some agency, it will be a thoroughly first-class firm, not one that touts through the mail. But I don’t really see what they could do that we aren’t doing.”
    His optimism (or self-esteem) was justified a few days later. A letter arrived, written in one of those clear and yet somewhat illegible handwritings that stamp the professional man.
    Galls Hill
Woodleigh Bolton.
    Dear Sir,
    In answer to your advertisement in The Times, Helen Spenlove Kennedy is my sister. I have lost touch with her for many years and should be glad to have news of her.
    Yours faithfully,
    James Kennedy, MD
    â€œWoodleigh Bolton,” said Giles. “That’s not too far away. Woodleigh Camp is where they go for picnics. Up on the moorland. About thirty miles from here. We’ll write and ask Dr. Kennedy if we may come and see him, or if he would prefer to come