They Do It With Mirrors by Agatha Christie Page A

Marple burst firmly into speech.
    â€œMr. Serrocold,” she said. “Are you quite satisfied about young Mr. Lawson? Is he—is he quite normal?”
    A disturbed expression appeared on Lewis Serrocold’s face.
    â€œI do hope he’s not relapsing. What has he been saying?”
    â€œHe told me that he was Winston Churchill’s son—”
    â€œOf course—of course. The usual statements. He’s illegitimate, as you’ve probably guessed, poor lad, and of very humble beginnings. He was a case recommended to me by a society in London. He’d assaulted a man in the street who he said was spying on him. All very typical—Dr. Maverick will tell you. I went into his case history. Mother was of a poor class but a respectable family in Plymouth. Father a sailor—she didn’t even know his name … child brought up in difficult circumstances. Started romancing about his father and later about himself. Wore uniform and decorations he wasn’t entitled to—all quite typical. But Maverick considers the prognosis hopeful. If we can give him confidence in himself. I’ve given him responsibility here, tried to make him appreciate that it’s not a man’s birth that matters, but what he is. I’ve tried to give him confidence in his own ability. The improvement was marked. I was very happy about him. And now you say—”
    He shook his head.
    â€œMightn’t he be dangerous, Mr. Serrocold?”
    â€œDangerous? I don’t think he has shown any suicidal tendencies.”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking of suicide. He talked to me of enemies—of persecution. Isn’t that, forgive me—a dangerous sign?”
    â€œI don’t really think it has reached such a pitch. But I’ll speak to Maverick. So far, he has been hopeful—very hopeful.”
    He looked at his watch.
    â€œI must go. Ah, here is our dear Jolly. She will take charge of you.”
    Miss Bellever, arriving briskly, said, “The car is at the door,Mr. Serrocold. Dr. Maverick rang through from the Institute. I said I would bring Miss Marple over. He will meet us at the gates.”
    â€œThank you. I must go. My briefcase?”
    â€œIn the car, Mr. Serrocold.”
    Lewis Serrocold hurried away. Looking after him, Miss Bellever said:
    â€œSomeday that man will drop down dead in his tracks. It’s against human nature never to relax or rest. He only sleeps four hours a night.”
    â€œHe is very devoted to this cause,” said Miss Marple.
    â€œNever thinks of anything else,” said Miss Bellever grimly. “Never dreams of looking after his wife or considering her in any way. She’s a sweet creature, as you know, Miss Marple, and she ought to have love and attention. But nothing’s thought of or considered here except a lot of whining boys and young men who want to live easily and dishonestly and don’t care about the idea of doing a little hard work. What about the decent boys from decent homes? Why isn’t something done for them? Honesty just isn’t interesting to cranks like Mr. Serrocold and Dr. Maverick and all the bunch of half-baked sentimentalists we’ve got here. I and my brothers were brought up the hard way, Miss Marple, and we weren’t encouraged to whine. Soft, that’s what the world is nowadays!”
    They had crossed the garden and passed through a palisaded gate and had come to the entrance gate which Eric Gulbrandsen had erected as an entrance to his College, a sturdily built, hideous, red brick building.
    Dr. Maverick, looking, Miss Marple decided, distinctly abnormal himself, came out to meet them.
    â€œThank you, Miss Bellever,” he said. “Now, Miss—er—oh yes,Miss Marple—I’m sure you’re going to be interested in what we’re doing here. In our splendid approach to this great problem. Mr. Serrocold is a man of great insight—great vision. And we’ve