夜雨聆风Swettenham could have been dark when she was a girl?”
“Not very dark,” said Bunch. “She’s got blue eyes.”
“I hoped there might be a photo of Dmitri Stamfordis—but I supposethat was too much to hope for … Well”—he took up the letter—“I’m sorrythis doesn’t suggest anything to you, Miss Marple.”
“Oh! but it does,” said Miss Marple. “It suggests a good deal. Just read itthrough again, Inspector—especially where it says that Randall Goedlerwas making inquiries about Dmitri Stamfordis.”
Craddock stared at her.
The telephone rang.
Bunch got up from the floor and went out into the hall where, in accord-ance with the best Victorian traditions, the telephone had originally beenplaced and where it still was.
She reentered the room to say to Craddock:
“It’s for you.”
Slightly surprised, the Inspector went out to the instrument—carefullyshutting the door of the living room behind him.
“Craddock? Rydesdale here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been looking through your report. In the interview you had withPhillipa Haymes I see she states positively that she hasn’t seen her hus-band since his desertion from the Army?”
“That’s right, sir—she was most emphatic. But in my opinion she wasn’tspeaking the truth.”
“I agree with you. Do you remember a case about ten days ago—manrun over by a lorry—taken to Milchester General with concussion and afractured pelvis?”
“The fellow who snatched a child practically from under the wheels of alorry, and got run down himself?”
“That’s the one. No papers of any kind on him and nobody came for-ward to identify him. Looked as though he might be on the run. He diedlast night without regaining consciousness. But he’s been identified —deserter from the Army—Ronald Haymes, ex-Captain in the South Loam-shires
