A Caribbean Mystery

‘I’ll go in when I’m ready,’ said Mr Rafiel, snappishly.

‘It’s half past eleven,’ said Mrs Walters.

‘What of it?’ said Mr Rafiel. ‘Think I’m the kind of man to be tied by the clock? Do this at the hour, do this at twenty minutes past, do that at twenty to—bah!’

Mrs Walters had been in attendance on Mr Rafiel long enough to have adopted her own formula for dealing with him. She knew that he liked a good space of time in which to recover from the exertion of bathing and she had therefore reminded him of the time, allowing a good ten minutes for him to rebut her suggestion and then be able to adopt it without seeming to do so.

‘I don’t like these espadrilles,’ said Mr Rafiel, raising a foot and looking at it. ‘I told that fool Jackson so. The man never pays attention to a word I say.’

‘I’ll fetch you some others, shall I, Mr Rafiel?’

‘No, you won’t, you’ll sit here and keep quiet. I hate people rushing about like clucking hens.’

Evelyn shifted slightly in the warm sand, stretching out her arms.

Miss Marple, intent on her knitting—or so it seemed—stretched out a foot, then hastily she apologized.

‘I’m so sorry, so very sorry, Mrs Hillingdon. I’m afraid I kicked you.’

‘Oh, it’s quite all right,’ said Evelyn. ‘This beach gets rather crowded.’

‘Oh, please don’t move. Please. I’ll move my chair a little back so that I won’t do it again.’

As Miss Marple resettled herself, she went on talking in a childish and garrulous manner.

‘It still seems so wonderful to be here! I’ve never been to the West Indies before, you know. I thought it was the kind of place I never should come to and here I am. All by the kindness of my dear nephew. I suppose you know this part of the world very well, don’t you, Mrs Hillingdon?’

‘I have been in this island once or twice before and of course in most of the others.’