Speaker 1: Chapter one, The Mysterious Delivery. In the winter of nineteen
Speaker 1: thirty two, the village of Saint mary Mead lay blanketed
Speaker 1: in a gentle frost, Its thatched cottages and winding lanes
Speaker 1: aglow with the quiet anticipation of advent. The air carried
Speaker 1: the scent of pine and coal smoke, and the villagers
Speaker 1: busied themselves with preparations for the Christmas season. Fairy lights
Speaker 1: twinkled in shop windows, and children sang carols by the
Speaker 1: village green, their voices crisp in the December chill. Yet
Speaker 1: beneath this festive veneer, an undercurrent of unease was about
Speaker 1: to ripple through the community. Miss Jane Marple sat by
Speaker 1: her parlor window, her knitting needles clicking softly as she
Speaker 1: observed the world beyond her lace curtains. Her cottage, nestled
Speaker 1: at the edge of the village, offered a perfect vantage
Speaker 1: point for noting the comings and goings of Saint Mary Mead.
Speaker 1: At seventy, her eyes were as sharp as her mind,
Speaker 1: and her gentle demeanor belied a knack for unraveling the
Speaker 1: tangled threads of human nature. She had just set down
Speaker 1: her needles to sip a cup of Darjeeling when she
Speaker 1: noticed a curious sight, a delivery boy, not one of
Speaker 1: the usual lads, pedaling a bicycle with a basket overflowing
Speaker 1: with parcels most peculiar, Miss Marple murmured, adjusting her spectacles.
Speaker 1: The boys stopped at the grander houses, the vicarage, the
Speaker 1: bantery's manner, Doctor Haydock's residence, and even the newer home
Speaker 1: of mister Clement, the Solicitor. At each he left an
Speaker 1: identical parcel, a flat, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper
Speaker 1: and tied with red twine. Miss Marple's curiosity was piqued.
Speaker 1: Advent calenders, perhaps, she mused, though the packages seemed to large,
Speaker 1: too deliberate for such a simple tradition. By tea time,
Speaker 1: the village was a buzz. Missus Price, the postmistress had
Speaker 1: received one such parcel, and, unable to resist, had opened
Speaker 1: it at the village shop. It's an advent calendar, but
Speaker 1: not like any I've seen, she declared to a small crowd,
Speaker 1: her voice tinged with unease. The calendar was exquisitely crafted,
Speaker 1: made of heavy card with embossed gold lettering, and twenty
Speaker 1: four numbered doors, each adorned with a tiny holly sprick.
Speaker 1: A note pinned to it read, simply open one door
Speaker 1: each day and truth shall be revealed by Christmas Eve.
Speaker 1: No signature, no sender's address. Miss Marple, who had ventured
Speaker 1: to the shop for a skein of wool, overheard the chatter.
Speaker 1: No sender, you say, she asked, her tone mild, but
Speaker 1: her eyes bright with interest. None at all, missus Price replied,
Speaker 1: clutching the calendar and the paper's foreign I'd wager too
Speaker 1: fine for our local stationers. Most intriguing, Miss Marple said,
Speaker 1: her mind already turning. She declined to linger, but not
Speaker 1: before noting that several others, Colonel Bantry, the Vicar's wife,
Speaker 1: missus Clement, and even young Miss Hartnell, had received identical calenders.
Speaker 1: Each recipient was a pillar of Saint Mary Mead's Society,
Speaker 1: which made the anonymous delivery all the more curious. That evening,
Speaker 1: as Miss Marple sat by her fire, her maid Florence
Speaker 1: brought in a tray of scones and a letter from
Speaker 1: Dolly Bantry, her dear friend. They're all talking about those calenders,
Speaker 1: miss Florence said, setting the tray down. Some say it's
Speaker 1: a prank. But missus Bantry's in a right state, says
Speaker 1: it feels like a Miss Marple opened the letter, which
Speaker 1: confirmed Florence's report. Dolly wrote of Colonel Bantry's unease, He'd
Speaker 1: grumbled about damned nonsense, but kept glancing at the calendar
Speaker 1: on their mantle Jane. The letter read, you've a nose
Speaker 1: for these things. Do come to tea tomorrow and tell
Speaker 1: me what you make of it. Miss Marple folded the letter,
Speaker 1: her thoughts drifting to the calenders. A prank, perhaps, but
Speaker 1: the craftsmanship suggested purpose, and the choice of recipients hinted
Speaker 1: at something personal. She recalled a similar incident years ago
Speaker 1: in Chipping Cleghorn, a seemingly innocent notice that had led
Speaker 1: to murder. People are so careless with their secrets. She murmured,
Speaker 1: her needles, resuming their rhythm. As the clock struck nine,
Speaker 1: a sharp cry echoed from the direction of the vicarage.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple set her knitting aside and moved to the window.
Speaker 1: Lanterns bobbed in the darkness, and voices carried on the wind.
Speaker 1: Something had happened, something dire. She wrapped her shawl about
Speaker 1: her shoulders and stepped into the night, her heart quickening
Speaker 1: with the certainty that the advent calender's first door was
Speaker 1: about to open, revealing not holiday cheer, but something far
Speaker 1: more sinister. Before we move on, detective, where in the
Speaker 1: world are you solving mysteries with us? Drop your location
Speaker 1: in the comments, and if you're craving more twisted tails,
Speaker 1: hit subscribe. Tomorrow's case file gets even darker. Stay sharp.
Speaker 1: Chapter two. Behind the first door. The night air was
Speaker 1: sharp as Miss Marple stepped onto the frosty lane, her
Speaker 1: breath misting in the glow of the village lamps. The
Speaker 1: cry from the vicarage had drawn a small crowd curious neighbors,
Speaker 1: their faces pale in the lantern light, murmuring as they
Speaker 1: gathered near the ivy clad walls of Saint Mary's. Miss Marple,
Speaker 1: her shawl drawn tight, moved with quiet purpose, her keen
Speaker 1: eyes scanning the scene. The vicarage door stood ajar and
Speaker 1: inside missus Harmon, the vicar's wife, was wringing her hands,
Speaker 1: her usual composure shattered. It's dreadful, simply dreadful, She gasped
Speaker 1: to Constable Park, who was scribbling notes with a furrowed
Speaker 1: brow on the parlor floor. Lay mister Giles, the churchwarden,
Speaker 1: his face ashen. A broken teacup beside him. The advent calendar,
Speaker 1: its first door, torn open, rested on the table nearby.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple slipped inside, unnoticed. Amid the chaos, She noted
Speaker 1: the calender's open door, number one for December first, revealing
Speaker 1: a slip of paper with elegant script, the first She'll
Speaker 1: fall by the shepherd's hand. Her lips pursed. The message
Speaker 1: was cryptic, yet chillingly precise. Mister Giles, a stout man
Speaker 1: of sixty known for his piety and temper, had collapsed
Speaker 1: during tea. Clutching his chest. Doctor Haydock, summoned from his
Speaker 1: own home, knelt beside the body, His expression grim poison,
Speaker 1: I'd wager, Doctor Haydock muttered, glancing at the teacup, something fast, cyanide.
Speaker 1: Perhaps we'll need a proper autopsy. Poison. Missus Harmon whispered,
Speaker 1: her eyes wide, But we were just having tea. He
Speaker 1: opened the calendar, read that dreadful note, and then oh
Speaker 1: it was awful. Miss Marple's gaze lingered on the teacup,
Speaker 1: its contents spilled across the rug. Who else was present
Speaker 1: missus Harmon, She asked gently, just the vicar, myself and
Speaker 1: mister Giles, She replied, trembling. We thought the calendar was
Speaker 1: a curiosity, nothing more. Then he read the note and laughed,
Speaker 1: said it was nonsense. Moments later he was gone. Constable Polk,
Speaker 1: a diligent but unimaginative man, took charge. Right, No one
Speaker 1: touch anything. I'll need statements from everyone. He eyed the
Speaker 1: calendar suspiciously. This thing's got something to do with it,
Speaker 1: mark my words. Miss Marple, standing quietly by the hearth,
Speaker 1: studied the room. The vicarage was cozy, cluttered with books
Speaker 1: and advent decorations, Holly reads a small crash, but the
Speaker 1: calendar dominated the scene. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, almost mocking
Speaker 1: in its beauty. She noted a faint smudge of ink
Speaker 1: on the paper, as if the writer had been careless
Speaker 1: or hurried. As the crowd dispersed and mister Giles's body
Speaker 1: was carried away, Miss Marple lingered her mind turning. Poison
Speaker 1: suggested intent, and the calender's message implied for knowledge. But
Speaker 1: why mister Giles? He was respected, if a touch overbearing,
Speaker 1: with no obvious enemies. Yet Miss Marple, knew that even
Speaker 1: the most upright lives could hide secrets. She recalled a
Speaker 1: conversation with her nephew Raymond, about village grudges, how they
Speaker 1: festered unseen like embers beneath ash. Outside, she met Dolly Bantry,
Speaker 1: who had hurried over upon hearing the news. Jane, it's ghastly,
Speaker 1: Dolly exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. First, those calendars, now this,
Speaker 1: do you think they're connected? I should be very surprised
Speaker 1: if they were not, Miss Marple replied, softly. The question
Speaker 1: is who sent them and why Dolly shivered. We opened
Speaker 1: our first door tonight too, it said, Beware the second,
Speaker 1: for justice follows. Arthur laughed it off, but I'm not
Speaker 1: so sure now, Miss Marple's eyes narrowed. Indeed, we must
Speaker 1: see what to morrow's door reveals. As she walked home,
Speaker 1: the village silence save for the crunch of frost underfoot,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple considered the recipients of the calenders. All were
Speaker 1: prominent figures. Colonel Bantry, a retired military man, Doctor Haydock,
Speaker 1: the village physician, Mister Clement the solicitor, missus Price the postmistress,
Speaker 1: and Miss Hartnell the spinster with a sharp tongue. Each
Speaker 1: held influence and influence. Miss Marple knew often bred resentment.
Speaker 1: Back in her cottage, she sat by the fire, her
Speaker 1: knitting untouched. The calender's message echoed in her mind. The
Speaker 1: first shall fall by the shepherd's hand. The vicar, often
Speaker 1: called the shepherd of his flock, had been present. But
Speaker 1: was he the hand or merely a witness? And what
Speaker 1: did the second message portend? As the clock chimed midnight,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple resolved to attend Dolly's tea tomorrow, where she
Speaker 1: could observe the others. In Saint mary Mead, secrets were
Speaker 1: rarely shouted, they were whispered, and she knew how to listen.
Speaker 1: Chapter three whispers in the village. The morning after mister
Speaker 1: Giles's untimely demise dawned crisp and clear, with a light
Speaker 1: snow dusting the rooftops of Saint mary Mead like icing
Speaker 1: on a Christmas cake. Yet the village's usual cheer was muted,
Speaker 1: replaced by hushed conversations in the shops and furtive glances
Speaker 1: over garden fences. News of the churchwarden's death had spread
Speaker 1: like wildfire, and the advent calendars were now viewed with
Speaker 1: suspicion rather than curiosity. Miss Marple, ever, the early riser,
Speaker 1: was already at her window when the postman arrived with
Speaker 1: the morning papers. She noted the headline in the local gazette,
Speaker 1: mysterious death at vicarage poison suspected. Sipping her tea, she
Speaker 1: pondered the implications poison required, planning, access and motive elements
Speaker 1: that pointed to someone intimately familiar with the victim's habits.
Speaker 1: By midday, she made her way to Gossington Hall, the
Speaker 1: Bantery's stately home, for the promised tea. The hall was
Speaker 1: festooned with holly and ribbons, but the atmosphere was tense.
Speaker 1: Dolly Bantry greeted her at the door. Her vivacious nature
Speaker 1: subdued Jane, Thank heavens you're here. The whole village is
Speaker 1: in an uproar. Arthur's been on the telephone with Inspector
Speaker 1: Slack all morning. Inside the drawing room, a small group
Speaker 1: had gathered, Colonel Bantry puffing on his pipe, Doctor Haydock,
Speaker 1: looking weary from his night's vigil, Mister Clement, the Solicitor,
Speaker 1: fidgeting with his cufflinks, and Miss Hartnell her lips pursed
Speaker 1: in disapproval. The advent calender sat on a side table,
Speaker 1: its second door still sealed. Ghastly business Colonel Bantry grumbled,
Speaker 1: handing Miss Marple a cup of tea. Giles was a
Speaker 1: good man, bit of a bore at committee meetings, but harmless.
Speaker 1: Who'd want him dead? Indeed, Miss Marple murmured, settling into
Speaker 1: a chintz armchair. And yet the calender's message seemed to
Speaker 1: predict it. The first she'll fall by the shepherd's hand.
Speaker 1: The vicar was there, was he not? Doctor Haydock nodded.
Speaker 1: He called the tea himself. But poison. It's unthinkable. I've
Speaker 1: known Reverend Harmon for years. Miss Hartnell sniffed, unthinkable or not?
Speaker 1: Facts are facts, and those calenders who scent them, I
Speaker 1: say it's someone with a grudge against us all Why
Speaker 1: my own said the same as the bantries. Beware the
Speaker 1: second for justice follows justice. For what I ask you,
Speaker 1: Mister Clement cleared his throat. Perhaps it's a hoax gone wrong.
Speaker 1: Giles had a weak heart. Maybe the shock nonsense, doctor
Speaker 1: Haydock interrupted. Autopsy will confirm, but the symptoms were classic
Speaker 1: cyanide bitter almond smell in the cup. The room fell silent,
Speaker 1: broken only by the crackle of the fire. Miss Marple
Speaker 1: sipped her tea, her eyes drifting over the group. Colonel Bantry,
Speaker 1: blustery but kind, Dolly the host hears, Doctor Haydok, reliable
Speaker 1: yet secretive about his war experiences. Mister Clement, whose legal
Speaker 1: work often involved delicate matters, Miss Hartnell, a gossip with
Speaker 1: a heart of gold beneath her stern exterior. Each had
Speaker 1: received a calendar, each a potential target or suspect. Tell me,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple, said, mildly. Has anyone inquired about the delivery boy?
Speaker 1: He seemed unfamiliar? Dolly brightened, Arthur did. The lad was
Speaker 1: from Daymouth, hired by a man in a dark coat
Speaker 1: at the station, paid in cash, no name given. Most interesting,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple replied, And the calenders themselves foreign paper, missus
Speaker 1: Price said. As the conversation turned to village affairs, Miss
Speaker 1: Marple listened intently. Whispers of old scandal's surfaced, mister Giles's
Speaker 1: strict enforcement of church funds, which had irked some, a
Speaker 1: rumored dispute with mister Clement over a will, even a
Speaker 1: long ago affair involving the doctor. Nothing concrete but threads
Speaker 1: nonetheless outside. As Miss Marple prepared to leave, Dolly pulled
Speaker 1: her aside. Jane, you're thinking something I can tell? Is
Speaker 1: it one of us? Miss Marple smiled gently, my dear Dolly.
Speaker 1: In villages like ours, it's always one of us. But
Speaker 1: motives are like snowflakes, unique, yet they melt under scrutiny.
Speaker 1: Walking home through the gathering dusk, Miss Marple reflected on
Speaker 1: the whispers. The village was a web of interconnections, and
Speaker 1: the calenders were tugging at its strands. As she passed
Speaker 1: the post office, missus Price waved her in, Miss Marple,
Speaker 1: I've been thinking those calenders remind me of what I
Speaker 1: saw in London and years ago from a fancy shop.
Speaker 1: Perhaps it's a clue. Perhaps, Miss Marple agreed, but her
Speaker 1: mind was on the second door, unopened yet pregnant with
Speaker 1: promise or peril. Tomorrow would bring advent second day, and
Speaker 1: with it she feared another shadow over Saint mary Mead.
Speaker 1: Chapter four, The second omen December. The second brought a
Speaker 1: heavier snowfall to Saint mary Mead, transforming the village into
Speaker 1: a picturesque postcard of whitecapped roofs and muffled lanes. But
Speaker 1: the beauty belied the growing dread. Whispers of poison and
Speaker 1: prophecies had cast a pall over the advent preparations. Church
Speaker 1: bells told somberly, and even the children's snowball fights seemed subdued.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple spent the morning in her garden room, poring
Speaker 1: over her notes, scribbled observations from the previous day's time
Speaker 1: he and recollections of village history. She had a way
Speaker 1: of connecting dots that others overlooked, like the intricate patterns
Speaker 1: in her knitting. The second omen, she murmured, recalling the
Speaker 1: calender's warning justice follows, what justice and for whom. Her
Speaker 1: musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. It
Speaker 1: was young Raymond West, her nephew, down from London for
Speaker 1: the holidays. A successful author with a flare for the dramatic,
Speaker 1: he burst in with his usual energy. Aunt Jane, I've
Speaker 1: heard about this calendar business. Sounds like material for a thriller,
Speaker 1: poisoned tea cryptic messages. Have you solved it yet? Miss
Speaker 1: Marple smiled indulgently. Not quite, dear boy, but patterns emerge
Speaker 1: like in your stories. Tell me, have you seen one
Speaker 1: of these calenders? Raymond shook his head. No. Oh, but
Speaker 1: Joan has she's friendly with. Miss Hartnell says the second
Speaker 1: door is to be open today. Everyone's on edge quite so.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple agreed, perhaps we should pay a visit to
Speaker 1: the Clements. Mister Clement mentioned he'd open his in private,
Speaker 1: but observation is key. They set off together, the snow
Speaker 1: crunching underfoot. At the Clements's modern bungalow, missus Clement welcomed
Speaker 1: them with forced cheer, her eyes darting to the calendar
Speaker 1: on the sideboard. Mister Clement, a thin man with wire
Speaker 1: rimmed glasses, looked harassed. Miss Marple, Mister West, come in,
Speaker 1: come in. Dreadful about Giles, isn't it? And now this thing?
Speaker 1: The calender's second door was still closed. It's gold numeral gleaming.
Speaker 1: Shall we Raymond suggested, His curiosity pequed. Mister Clement hesitated,
Speaker 1: then nodded with trembling finger. He pried open the door.
Speaker 1: Inside was another slip. The healer shall mend no more.
Speaker 1: Choked by the fruit of his labors, a chill ran
Speaker 1: through the room. The healer missus Clement whispered, that sounds
Speaker 1: like doctor Haydock. Raymond's eyes widened. Good Lord, we must
Speaker 1: warn him. But even as they hurried to the doctor's surgery,
Speaker 1: a sense of foreboding settled. Upon arrival, they found chaos,
Speaker 1: the waiting room empty, Nurse Fletcher in hysterics. It's the doctor,
Speaker 1: she cried. He was eating his lunch, an apple from
Speaker 1: his own orchard, and suddenly he clutched, his throat turned blue.
Speaker 1: He's gone. Miss Marple's face remained composed, but her mind raced.
Speaker 1: Doctor Haydock lay in his office and half eaten apple
Speaker 1: beside him, his features contorted. Constable Pulk was already there,
Speaker 1: sealing the room. Another one, he muttered, looks like choking.
Speaker 1: But that apple smells off cyanide again. I'll bet precisely,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple said, quietly, noting the calendar on the doctor's desk.
Speaker 1: Its second door opened to the same ominous message. The
Speaker 1: fruit of his labors, his orchard apple. Some one knew
Speaker 1: his habits. Raymond pasd this is madness. Two deaths in
Speaker 1: two days, each foretold. Who's next? Mister Clement, who had
Speaker 1: followed paled We all have these calenders. It could be
Speaker 1: any of us. As the group dispersed, Miss Marple lingered,
Speaker 1: examining the apple. A small puncture mark suggested injection, clever premeditated.
Speaker 1: She recalled doctor Haydock's role in a past scandal, a
Speaker 1: hushed up medical error years ago involving mister Giles and
Speaker 1: a patient's death. Could that be the link justice? She
Speaker 1: whispered for old wrongs. Back home over Coco with Raymond,
Speaker 1: she shared her thoughts. The killer is punishing perceived sins,
Speaker 1: using the calenders to taunt. But why announce it? Pride
Speaker 1: perhaps or a deeper game. Raymond leaned forward, like a
Speaker 1: cat playing with mice. Aunt Jane, you're brilliant but dangerous.
Speaker 1: Whoever's doing this won't stop no. Miss Marple agreed, her
Speaker 1: eyes thoughtful, and to Morrow's door may reveal the next victim.
Speaker 1: We must watch closely, dear boy. In Saint Mary mead,
Speaker 1: the past is never truly buried, especially under snow. As
Speaker 1: night fell, the village hunkered down doors, locked against the
Speaker 1: cold and the unseen threat. But Miss Marple knew the
Speaker 1: real danger le within in the hearts and histories of
Speaker 1: her neighbours. Chapter five, tea and suspicions. With two deaths
Speaker 1: hanging over Saint mary Meade like a storm cloud, Miss
Speaker 1: Marple decided it was time to take a more active role.
Speaker 1: The snow had ceased, leaving the village paths slushy and treacherous,
Speaker 1: but her resolve was firm. She sent Florence with invitations
Speaker 1: for an impromptu tea at her cottage that afternoon. Nothing formal,
Speaker 1: just a gathering of concerned friends to discuss the troubling events.
Speaker 1: The recipients the bantries mister and missus Clement, Miss Hartnell,
Speaker 1: Missus Price, and the vicar, Reverend Harmon. By three o'clock,
Speaker 1: her parlor was filled with the aroma of fresh scones
Speaker 1: and earl gray, the fire crackling merrily to ward off
Speaker 1: the chill. Miss Marple, in her favorite armchair, greeted each
Speaker 1: guest with her customary warmth, her eyes missing nothing, the
Speaker 1: nervous twitch of mister Clement's hands, Miss Hartnell's tight lipped smile,
Speaker 1: Reverend Harmon's haunted expression, thank you all for coming. She
Speaker 1: began pouring tea with steady hands. These are trying times
Speaker 1: for our little village. Poor mister Giles and doctor Haydock,
Speaker 1: such losses. I thought we might share our thoughts, perhaps
Speaker 1: pool our observations. Colonel Bantry her rumped, accepting a scone
Speaker 1: damned right slacks on the case. Now, Inspector from much
Speaker 1: Benham says its murder plain as day cyanide in both
Speaker 1: cases confirmed by autopsy. Dolly Bantry leaned forward. But the
Speaker 1: calenders they predicted it all ours for the third door, well,
Speaker 1: we haven't opened it yet. Two frightened Miss Hartnell nodded vigorously.
Speaker 1: Mine says the same for the second. But after the
Speaker 1: doctor's the healer shall mend no more. It's as if
Speaker 1: the send anew. Reverend Harmon, pale and subdued, stirred his
Speaker 1: tea absently. I poured mister Giles's cup myself. If it
Speaker 1: was poisoned, then, but how the pot was shared? Perhaps
Speaker 1: the cup was tampered with earlier. Miss Marple suggested mildly,
Speaker 1: her knitting needles clicking softly. Or the sugar? Did he
Speaker 1: take sugar? Two lumps? Missus Price chimed in her postmistress's memory,
Speaker 1: sharp from the bowl on the table, But we all
Speaker 1: used it. Mister Clement adjusted his glasses. This is preposterous.
Speaker 1: We're all suspects now, I've handled wills for half the village,
Speaker 1: Giles included, but poison. I'm a solicitor, not a chemist.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple's eyes twined behind her spectacles. Ah, but motives,
Speaker 1: mister Clement. Doctor Haydock once mentioned a disputed will involving
Speaker 1: mister Giles's family, something about a cousin cut out, and
Speaker 1: the doctor certified the death as natural. I recall the
Speaker 1: room tensed. Mister Clement flushed. That was years ago, a
Speaker 1: private matter resolved amicably. Quite Miss Marple agreed, changing tack,
Speaker 1: Miss Hartnell, you were close to doctor Haydock's patients. Any irregularities,
Speaker 1: Miss Hartnell bristled. Irregularities. The doctor was exemplary, though there
Speaker 1: was that business with old missus Symington over prescribed laudanum,
Speaker 1: some said, but Giles defended him at the inquest. Reverend
Speaker 1: Harmon set down his cup with a clatter. Enough, these
Speaker 1: insinuations were friends, neighbors. This killer is twisting our pasts
Speaker 1: against us. Dolly shivered, But why us? What connects us all?
Speaker 1: Missus Price piped up. The calenders were delivered to those
Speaker 1: with influence. Church law medicine post. We know everyone's secrets,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple nodded thoughtfully. Secrets, yes, Like threads in a tapestry,
Speaker 1: Pull one and the picture changes. As the tea progressed,
Speaker 1: she steered the conversation deftly, noting alliances and evasions. Colonel
Speaker 1: Bantry blustered about wartime poisons. Missus Clement spoke little, her
Speaker 1: eyes darting to her husband. By the end, no confessions,
Speaker 1: but seeds of doubts sown. After the guests departed, Raymond,
Speaker 1: who had observed, quietly, turned to her Aunt Jane. You
Speaker 1: were masterful, like a spider spinning a web, she smiled.
Speaker 1: People reveal much when they think they're defending themselves. Now
Speaker 1: the third door approaches, we must be vigilant. Outside. The
Speaker 1: sun dipped low, casting long shadows, Miss Marple watched from
Speaker 1: her window as the group dispersed, wondering who among them
Speaker 1: might next fall victim or turn perpetrator. The advent Calender's
Speaker 1: game was far from over. Chapter six, Shadows of the Past.
Speaker 1: The third day of advent arrived with a biting wind
Speaker 1: that swept through Saint mary Mead, rattling windows and stirring unease.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple sat by her parlor fire, her knitting idle
Speaker 1: as she sifted through the threads of conversation from yesterday's tea.
Speaker 1: The calenders, the deaths, the cryptic messages all pointed to
Speaker 1: a vendetta rooted in the village's past. She knew that
Speaker 1: in small communities, old wounds festered quietly, and the key
Speaker 1: to this mystery lay in un earthing them. At noon,
Speaker 1: she received a visit from Inspector Slack, a brisk man
Speaker 1: with a penchant for overlooking subtleties. He stood in her doorway,
Speaker 1: notebook in hand, his mustache twitching with impatience. Miss Marple,
Speaker 1: I understand you've been inquiring any insights. This calendar business
Speaker 1: has the whole county in a tizzy. Miss Marple offered
Speaker 1: him tea, which he declined. Only observations, Inspector, she said mildly.
Speaker 1: The victims, mister Giles and doctor Haydock were linked to
Speaker 1: an old inquest, Were they not missus Symington's death some
Speaker 1: ten years ago? Slack's eyes narrowed, you're well informed. Yes,
Speaker 1: Laudanum overdose ruled accidental. Giles was on the church committee
Speaker 1: that hushed it up and Haydock signed the certificate. But
Speaker 1: that's ancient history. His has a way of lingering, Miss
Speaker 1: Marple replied, her voice soft. Might there have been family, say,
Speaker 1: a son or daughter who felt justice was denied? Slack grunted.
Speaker 1: Missus Symington's only son, Richard, left for London after the inquest.
Speaker 1: Haven't heard of him since you think he's back sending
Speaker 1: these calendars. It's a possibility, miss Marple said, though her
Speaker 1: tone suggested she was considering others. The delivery boy from
Speaker 1: Daymouth any trace hired by a stranger, as Missus Bantry said.
Speaker 1: We're checking station records, but it's a needle in a haystack.
Speaker 1: After he left, Miss Marple donned her coat and headed
Speaker 1: to the village library, a small room above the post
Speaker 1: office where Missus Price kept old records. There, among dusty ledgers,
Speaker 1: she found the inquest report. Missus Symington, a widow, had
Speaker 1: died of laudanum poisoning prescribed by doctor Haydock. Mister Giles
Speaker 1: had vouched for the doctor's character, and mister Clement, then
Speaker 1: a young solicitor, had handled her estate. A son, Richard,
Speaker 1: aged twenty at the time, had contested the will claiming
Speaker 1: his mother's death was no accident. The matter was dismissed,
Speaker 1: and Richard vanished interesting. Miss Marple murmured, closing the ledger.
Speaker 1: Richard Symington a name to remember, She recalled a bitter
Speaker 1: young man at the inquest, his eyes burning with grief.
Speaker 1: Could he have returned nursing a decade long grudge? Her
Speaker 1: thoughts were interrupted by a commotion outside. Hurrying to the window,
Speaker 1: she saw a crowd near the village green. Missus Price
Speaker 1: was waving frantically, her face pale. It's Miss Hartnell, she shouted.
Speaker 1: She opened her third door and collapsed in her garden.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple hastened to the scene, where Miss Hartnell lay
Speaker 1: on her snowy lawn, clutching a piece of paper from
Speaker 1: her calendar. The message read, the third shall be silenced,
Speaker 1: her tongue stilled by truth. A vial of smelling salts
Speaker 1: knocked from her hand, lay shattered nearby, reeking faintly of almonds.
Speaker 1: Cyanide again. Doctor Haydock's assistant, young Doctor Merton, was already there,
Speaker 1: shaking his head. She's alive, barely must have inhaled just
Speaker 1: a trace. I've sent for the ambulance. Miss Marple knelt
Speaker 1: beside the vial, careful not to touch it. Her smelling salts.
Speaker 1: Someone tampered with them. She always carried them, didn't she.
Speaker 1: Missus Price nodded, tearful, always said they steadied her nerves.
Speaker 1: As Miss Hartnell was carried away, Miss Marple studied the crowd.
Speaker 1: Mister Clement stood apart, his face unreadable. Reverend Harmon prayed softly,
Speaker 1: while Colonel Bantry barked orders to clear the area. Dolly
Speaker 1: caught her eye, whispering. Jane our third door, said the same,
Speaker 1: Who's next. Miss Marple's mind raced. Miss Hardnell, known for
Speaker 1: her sharp tongue, had been at the inquest, too, gossiping
Speaker 1: about Missus Symington's habits. The pattern was clear. The victims
Speaker 1: were tied to that old tragedy, but the killer's method
Speaker 1: announcing each act was bold, almost theatrical. A mind that
Speaker 1: craves attention, she mused, or one that seeks to write
Speaker 1: a wrong Returning home, she jotted down names Giles, Haydok Hartnell,
Speaker 1: all linked to the Symington case. The remaining calendar recipients Bantry, Clement, Price,
Speaker 1: Harmon might hold further clues. As dusk fell, she resolved
Speaker 1: to visit Miss Hartnell in hospital tomorrow, hoping her survival
Speaker 1: might yield answers. But the shadow of the past loomed larger,
Speaker 1: and the next door's message waited like a predator in
Speaker 1: the snow. Chapter seven, The Midnight Visitor, The fourth night
Speaker 1: of Advent cloaked Saint Mary Mead in an uneasy silence,
Speaker 1: broken only by the occasional creak of settling snow. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple sat late by her parlor fire, her knitting untouched,
Speaker 1: her mind weaving through the threads of the mystery. The
Speaker 1: attack on Miss Hartnell, though non fatal, had confirmed the
Speaker 1: killer's pattern. Each victim was tied to the Symington inquest
Speaker 1: of a decade ago, and the advent calenders were a
Speaker 1: chilling timetable for vengeance. But why advertise the crimes? Pride, fear,
Speaker 1: or a deeper motive. As the clock struck eleven, a
Speaker 1: soft knock startled her. She rose cautious and peered through
Speaker 1: the lace curtains. A figure stood in the shadows, muffled
Speaker 1: in a scarf and coat. Opening the door a crack,
Speaker 1: she recognized the pale face of missus Clement, Her eyes
Speaker 1: wide with fear. Miss Marple. I'm sorry to come so late,
Speaker 1: she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. I couldn't speak at tea,
Speaker 1: too many ears, but I must tell someone come in,
Speaker 1: my dear, miss Marple said, ushering her to the fire.
Speaker 1: She poured a small sherry, noting missus Clement's trembling hands.
Speaker 1: What troubles you? Missus Clement clutched the glass. It's Robert,
Speaker 1: my husband. He's been destranged since the Calender's arrived. He
Speaker 1: locks himself in his study, burning papers, and to night
Speaker 1: I saw him leeve heading toward the old Symington cottage.
Speaker 1: Miss Marple's eyes sharpened. The cottage it's been empty since
Speaker 1: Missus Symington's death, exactly, missus Clement said, her voice barely audible.
Speaker 1: I followed him once before, last week, before the calenders.
Speaker 1: He met someone there, a man in a dark coat.
Speaker 1: They argued something about debts repaid. I didn't catch more.
Speaker 1: But now with these deaths, Miss Marple nodded her mind
Speaker 1: racing mister Clement. The solicitor had handled Missus Symington's estate,
Speaker 1: and rumors had swirled of discrepancies in the will. Could
Speaker 1: he be the killer or the next target? Did you
Speaker 1: see this man's face, She asked, no, it was too dark,
Speaker 1: but he was tall with a sharp voice. Robert came back, shaken,
Speaker 1: muttering about no way out. Thank you, missus Clement. Miss
Speaker 1: Marle said gently, you've done right to tell me go home,
Speaker 1: say nothing and lock your doors. After missus Clements slipped away,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple donned her coat and scarf. The Symington Cottage,
Speaker 1: a crumbling relic at the village's edge, was a place
Speaker 1: of ghosts and gossip. She had no intention of confronting
Speaker 1: anyone alone, but observation might yield clues. Armed with a
Speaker 1: torch and her stout umbrella, she ventured into the night.
Speaker 1: The cottage loomed dark against the snow, its windows boarded.
Speaker 1: As she approached, a flicker of light caught her eye,
Speaker 1: a candle in an upstairs room. Creeping closer, she heard voices,
Speaker 1: low and urgent. One was mister Clement's strained you've gone
Speaker 1: too far, Giles Haydock, Now, Heartnell. It was meant to
Speaker 1: be a warning not to this. The other voice, unfamiliar
Speaker 1: and cold, replied, Justice Clement, you profited from her death
Speaker 1: like the others. The Calenders insure they all pay. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple's heart quickened. She edged nearer, Crouching behind a snow
Speaker 1: laden bush. The voices faded, then a door creaked and
Speaker 1: footsteps crunched away. She glimpsed two figures, mister Clement hurrying
Speaker 1: toward the village, and another taller vanishing into the woods.
Speaker 1: She waited, then circled the cottage her torch, revealing fresh
Speaker 1: footprints leading to a back gate. Nearby, a scrap of
Speaker 1: paper caught in the brambles bore the same gold embossed
Speaker 1: design as the calenders. It read the fourth shall Falter,
Speaker 1: bound by Law's betrayal. A shiver ran through her, not
Speaker 1: from the cold, but from the realization that the next
Speaker 1: target was likely mister Clement himself. Returning home, she locked
Speaker 1: her door and sat by the fire, Piecing together the
Speaker 1: Knight's revelations, the stranger's voice, the burned papers, the Symington
Speaker 1: connection all pointed to a calculated revenge. Richard Symington, the
Speaker 1: grieving sun seemed the likely orchestrator, but the calender's craftsmanship
Speaker 1: suggested resources beyond a vengeful youth, and mister Clement's role
Speaker 1: accomplice or victim. As midnight chimed, Miss Marple resolved to
Speaker 1: visit Miss Hartll in hospital at dawn, hoping her recovery
Speaker 1: might shed light on the stranger. The fourth door loomed,
Speaker 1: and with it another step toward the killer's endgame. In
Speaker 1: Saint mary Mead, the Knight held secrets, but Miss Marple
Speaker 1: was determined to bring them to light. Chapter eight, Festive Deceptions.
Speaker 1: The fifth day of Advent dawned with Saint mary Mead
Speaker 1: in a state of forced merriment as the annual Christmas
Speaker 1: Fair transformed the village Green into a bustling tableau of stalls,
Speaker 1: fairy lights, and carolus. The scent of mulled wine and
Speaker 1: roasted chestnuts mingled with the crisp air, but the jollity
Speaker 1: was brittle, overshadowed by the specter of three attacks, two fatal,
Speaker 1: one narrowly escaped. Miss Marple, wrapped in her woolen coat,
Speaker 1: navigated the crowd with a keen eye, knowing the killer
Speaker 1: might use the fair's chaos to strike again. She had
Speaker 1: visited Miss Hartnell at the hospital that morning, finding her
Speaker 1: weak but lucid. The smelling salts Miss Hartnall had whispered hoarsely,
Speaker 1: I always kept them in my reticule. Some one must
Speaker 1: have switched them. She recalled no strangers near her home,
Speaker 1: but mentioned mister Clement passing by her garden the day
Speaker 1: before her collapse. Looking dreadfully nervous, Miss Marple filed this away,
Speaker 1: her suspicions of the solicitor deepening. After missus Clement's midnight revelations.
Speaker 1: At the fair, Miss Marple joined Dolly Bantry at a
Speaker 1: stall selling home made jambs. Dolly, ever the social hub,
Speaker 1: was chatting with Missus Price, who clutched her advent calender
Speaker 1: like a talisman. We opened the fourth door this morning,
Speaker 1: Dolly confided, her voice low, it said, the fourth shall falter,
Speaker 1: bound by Law's betrayal. Arthur thinks it's nonsense, but I'm
Speaker 1: terrified for mister Clement. Missus Price nodded mine said the same.
Speaker 1: I've locked mine away. Don't trust it. Miss Marple's eyes
Speaker 1: scanned the crowd. Mister Clement was absent, but a Reverend
Speaker 1: Harmon manned a charity booth, his smile strained. Colonel Bantry
Speaker 1: judged a mince pie contest, barking orders with military gusto.
Speaker 1: She noted a stranger near the mulled wine stall, a
Speaker 1: tall man in a dark coat, his face obscured by
Speaker 1: a scarf. Could he be the one from the Symington Cottage?
Speaker 1: As the carrollers launched into Oh Come, all your faithful,
Speaker 1: a scream pierced the air. The crowd parted, revealing mister
Speaker 1: Clement staggering near the maypole. His face flushed. Clutching a
Speaker 1: glass of mulled wine poison. He gasped, collapsing into the snow.
Speaker 1: Doctor Merton rushed forward, but it was too late. Mister
Speaker 1: Clement's eyes rolled back, and he lay still, the glass
Speaker 1: spilling a crimson stain across the white ground. Constable Polk
Speaker 1: pushed through, shouting for order. Miss Marple knelt beside the body,
Speaker 1: her gloved hand hovering a the glass. The faint armond
Speaker 1: scent of cyanide was unmistakable. Nearby, a crumpled calendar page fluttered,
Speaker 1: its message identical to the others. The fourth shall falter.
Speaker 1: Bound by Lawd's betrayal, Dolly clutched Miss Marple's arm. Jane,
Speaker 1: it's happening again, right under our noses. Indeed, Miss Marple murmured,
Speaker 1: her gaze, following the stranger who had vanished into the throng.
Speaker 1: She noted the weinstall's vendor, young Tom Baker, looking shaken.
Speaker 1: Tom who served mister Clement his wine? She asked gently,
Speaker 1: I did, Miss Tom stammered, But it came from the
Speaker 1: same batch as everyone else's. I swear it, of course,
Speaker 1: she soothed, though her mind cataloged the possibility of a
Speaker 1: single tainted glass. Mister Clement's role in the Symington will,
Speaker 1: his clandestine me eating his burned papers all suggested he
Speaker 1: was no innocent bystander. But was he victim or accomplice? Undone?
Speaker 1: As the crowd dispersed, Inspector Slack arrived, his face grim
Speaker 1: another one. This is a bloody epidemic, Miss Marple, you
Speaker 1: were at the tea. Any ideas only that the killer
Speaker 1: is meticulous, she replied. The wine was targeted, not random.
Speaker 1: Someone knew mister Clement would be here. Slack grunted, ordering
Speaker 1: the glass and calendar page collected for evidence. Miss Marple lingered,
Speaker 1: watching Reverend Harmon comfort missus Clement, who sobbed uncontrollably. The
Speaker 1: Vicar's face was pale, his hands trembling. The shepherd. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple whispered, recalling the first message. Was he merely a
Speaker 1: witness or something more. As she walked home with Dolly,
Speaker 1: the fare's lights fading behind them, Miss Mars Pupple felt
Speaker 1: the weight of the mystery. Four of the calendar recipients
Speaker 1: had been struck, three dead, one recovering. The remaining targets,
Speaker 1: Colonel Bantry, Missus Price, Reverend Harmon, and perhaps Dolly herself
Speaker 1: were in peril. The killer was weaving a web of
Speaker 1: festive deception, and the next door's message would tighten the noose.
Speaker 1: Chapter nine, Unraveling Threats. The sixth morning of Advent broke
Speaker 1: with a pale sun struggling through heavy clouds, mirroring the
Speaker 1: gloom that gripped Saint Mary Mead. The Christmas Fair's tragedy
Speaker 1: had deepened the village's fear, and the once joyful preparations
Speaker 1: now felt like a masquerade for dread. Miss Marple, sipping
Speaker 1: her morning tea, reviewed her notes by the parlor window.
Speaker 1: The deaths of mister Giles, Doctor Haydock, and mister Clement,
Speaker 1: and the attack on Miss Hartnell all tied to the
Speaker 1: Symington Inquest of nineteen twenty two. The Advent Calenders, with
Speaker 1: their chilling prophecies, were a taunt from a mind bent
Speaker 1: on retribution, but whose she recalled. The stranger at the fair,
Speaker 1: the tall man in the dark coat, and missus Clement's
Speaker 1: tale of her husband's clandestine meeting Richard Symington, the son
Speaker 1: who had vanished after his mother's death, loomed large in
Speaker 1: her thoughts. Yet the calender's craftsmanship suggested wealth or connections
Speaker 1: beyond a grieving son. Miss Marple knew she needed more
Speaker 1: than intuition. She needed evidence. Her first stop was the
Speaker 1: hospital to check on Miss Hartnell, who was recovering steadily.
Speaker 1: The spinster, propped up in bed, was indignant but sharp.
Speaker 1: That vile was mine for years, she told Miss Marple.
Speaker 1: Someone sware, but it I'm sure. And I saw mister
Speaker 1: Clement near my gate that morning, muttering to himself suspicious.
Speaker 1: If you ask me, did he seem frightened? Miss Marple asked,
Speaker 1: her tone gentle terrified. Miss Hartnell replied, kept looking over
Speaker 1: his shoulder, like he expected some one thanking her. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple next visited the post office, where Missus Price was
Speaker 1: sorting letters with nervous energy. Miss Marple, I'm at my
Speaker 1: wits end, she confessed. The fifth door's message came this morning.
Speaker 1: The fifth shall scatter her secret spilled. I handle every
Speaker 1: one's mail. I know too much, am I? Next? Miss
Speaker 1: Marple patted her hand. Keep your doors locked and your
Speaker 1: wits about you. Have you recalled anything more about the
Speaker 1: calender's paper, missus Price frowned. I've been thinking it's like
Speaker 1: stock from a London stationer Harold's. Maybe I saw one
Speaker 1: there once years ago when I visited my sister. This
Speaker 1: was a thread worth pulling. Miss Marple made a mental
Speaker 1: note to ask Raymond, who often frequented London, to inquire
Speaker 1: about such stationers. Returning home, she found her nephew waiting,
Speaker 1: his face alight with news. Aunt Jane I telephoned a
Speaker 1: friend at Scotland Yard. They traced a Richard Symington to
Speaker 1: a London address a bookbinder of all things. He's been
Speaker 1: in the city since twenty three, but no record of
Speaker 1: him here recently, a bookbinder. Miss Marple mused. That explains
Speaker 1: the calender's quality. But why now after a decade? Raymond shrugged.
Speaker 1: Revenge festers. Maybe he waited for the right moment, advent
Speaker 1: with its down, perhaps, she said, though her mind turned
Speaker 1: to the stranger's voice at the Symington cottage, Raymond, could
Speaker 1: you visit the Bantries see if their fifth door matches
Speaker 1: Missus Price's message. As Raymond left, Miss Marple pieced together
Speaker 1: the connections the inquest had implicated Giles, church authority, Haydock
Speaker 1: medical error, Clement legal disputes, and Hartnell gossip. Missus Price,
Speaker 1: with her access to village correspondents, might have uncovered financial
Speaker 1: irregularities tied to the Symington estate. Reverend Harmon, the Shepherd
Speaker 1: had presided over the community's moral compass, perhaps silencing questions,
Speaker 1: and the banteres. Colonel Bantry had been a magistrate, then
Speaker 1: dismissing Richard's claims. The threads were forming a pattern, but
Speaker 1: gaps remained, why the public spect of the calenders and
Speaker 1: who was the stranger working with Clement. As evening fell,
Speaker 1: Miss Marple prepared for church, where Reverend Harmon was holding
Speaker 1: a vigil for the fallen. She suspected the fifth door's
Speaker 1: warning might strike there. Under the guise of sanctity. With
Speaker 1: her umbrella and a small note book tucked into her reticule,
Speaker 1: she stepped into the twilight, ready to unravel another thread
Speaker 1: in The Killer's Deadly Tapestry, Chapter ten, The Fualse Trail,
Speaker 1: the evening of December fifth saw Saint mary Meade's Church
Speaker 1: a glow with candle light, its pews filled for Reverend
Speaker 1: Harmon's vigil to honor the fallen. The air was thick
Speaker 1: with the scent of wax and evergreen, but the mourner's
Speaker 1: faces were taught with fear. Miss Marple slipped into a
Speaker 1: back pew, her eyes scanning the congregation. The advent calender's
Speaker 1: fifth message, the fifth shall scatter. Her secret spilled hung
Speaker 1: over the village like a guillotine, and Missus Price, with
Speaker 1: her knowledge of everyone's letters, seemed the likely target. Reverend
Speaker 1: Harmon stood at the pulpit, his voice trembling as he
Speaker 1: spoke of peace and forgiveness. We must trust in divine justice,
Speaker 1: he urged, though his eyes darted to the front pew,
Speaker 1: where Missus Price sat clutching a handkerchief. Colonel and Missus
Speaker 1: Bantry were nearby, their Advent calender tucked under Dolly's arm,
Speaker 1: its fifth door unopened, but ominous. Missus Clement, still grieving
Speaker 1: her husband, sat alone, her face pale. Miss Marple's attention
Speaker 1: was drawn to a late comer, a man in a
Speaker 1: dark coat slipping into a shadowed corner. His height and
Speaker 1: posture matched the stranger she glimpsed at the fair and
Speaker 1: the Symington cottage. She noted his gloved hands, one fidgeting
Speaker 1: with a small parcel, a new calendar perhaps, or something
Speaker 1: more sinister. As the vigil ended, the congregation spilled into
Speaker 1: the churchyard, where a brazier burned to ward off the cold.
Speaker 1: Missus Price lingered near the vicar, her voice low, Reverend,
Speaker 1: I must confess. I found letters years ago hidden in
Speaker 1: the post office about Missus Symington's estate. They hinted at irregularities.
Speaker 1: I kept them, thinking to protect mister Clement. Miss Marple,
Speaker 1: standing just out of sight, caught every word. Before she
Speaker 1: could approach, a commotion erupted. Colonel Bantry, red faced, was
Speaker 1: shouting at a young man, Tom Baker, the wine stall
Speaker 1: vendor from the fair. You served Clement that wine, Bantry roared,
Speaker 1: and now you're skulking here. Explain yourself. Tom stammered, I swear, sir,
Speaker 1: I didn't poison any one. The wine was clean. Everyone
Speaker 1: drank from the same barrel. The crowd murmured suspicion, turning
Speaker 1: on Tom. Inspector Slack, present for the vigil, seized the
Speaker 1: moment right, lad, you're coming with me for questioning too
Speaker 1: many coincidences, Miss Marple frowned. Tom's fear seemed genuine, and
Speaker 1: his role as a vender made him an unlikely master mind.
Speaker 1: She suspected a distraction, a false trail to divert attention
Speaker 1: from the real killer. As slack led Tom away, she
Speaker 1: approached Missus Price, who was trembling. My dear, those letters
Speaker 1: you mentioned, where are they now? Locked in my safe
Speaker 1: at the post office? Missus Price whispered, But I'm afraid
Speaker 1: to go back alone. I'll accompany you, Miss Marple offered,
Speaker 1: signaling to Raymond, who had joined the vigil. Together they
Speaker 1: escorted Missus Price to the post office, where she retrieved
Speaker 1: a bundle of yellowed letters. They detailed payments from Missus
Speaker 1: Symington's estate, funneled through mister Clement to an unknown party,
Speaker 1: with Giles and Haydocks signing as witnesses. They were hiding something.
Speaker 1: Missus Price said, I should have spoken up years ago.
Speaker 1: Before Miss Marple could reply, a crash came from the
Speaker 1: back room. Raymond rushed to investigate, finding a broken window
Speaker 1: and a brick wrapped in a note. Secret spill and
Speaker 1: so shall you. The fifth door's prophecy had struck, but
Speaker 1: not with poison yet. Miss Marple's mind raced. The stranger
Speaker 1: had been at the church close enough to overhear Missus
Speaker 1: Price's confession. But why a warning instead of a killing.
Speaker 1: Was the killer toying with them or was Missus Price's
Speaker 1: role not yet complete? She glanced at the letters, noting
Speaker 1: a name in the margins, R. Symington Richard. The bookbinder
Speaker 1: was circling closer. As they secured the post office and
Speaker 1: escorted Missus Price home. Miss Marple whispered to Raymond, the
Speaker 1: killer wants us chasing shadows, tom perhaps others, but the
Speaker 1: real thread is in those letters. We must protect Missus
Speaker 1: Price and watch the banteries closely. The sixth door looms tomorrow.
Speaker 1: The night closed in the church, bells tolling mournfully. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple knew the false trail had brought the killer time,
Speaker 1: but she was determined to cut through the deception before
Speaker 1: another prophecy came true. Chapter eleven, Confrontation at the Manor
Speaker 1: the sixth day of Advent brought a restless energy to
Speaker 1: Saint Mary's need, as if the village itself since the
Speaker 1: tightening grip of the killer's game. Miss Marple, fortified by
Speaker 1: a strong pot of tea, sat in her parlor reviewing
Speaker 1: the Symington letters Missus Price had entrusted to her. The
Speaker 1: documents hinted at a conspiracy funds siphoned from Missus Symington's estate,
Speaker 1: with mister Giles, Doctor Haydock, and mister Clement as beneficiaries
Speaker 1: and Colonel Bantry as magistrate. Dismissing Richard Symington's objections. Reverend
Speaker 1: Harmond's signature appeared on a related church fund, and Miss
Speaker 1: Hartnell's gossip had helped bury the scandal. Missus Price, though
Speaker 1: not directly involved, had kept the letters a dangerous choice.
Speaker 1: The fifth door's warning had spared Missus Price, but the
Speaker 1: sixth door's message loomed. Miss Marple suspected the Bannteres were next.
Speaker 1: Given the Colonel's role in the inquest, She telephoned Dolly,
Speaker 1: arranging to visit Gossington Hall that evening bring Raymond. Dolly
Speaker 1: urged Arthur's in a state. He opened the sixth door
Speaker 1: this morning. It said the sixth shall crumble his command undone.
Speaker 1: He's barricaded himself in his study. At dusk, Miss Marple
Speaker 1: and Raymond arrived at the manor, where the Christmas decorations
Speaker 1: seemed a mockery of the tension within. Colonel Bantry greeted them,
Speaker 1: his bluster subdued. Damned nonsense, these calendars, he growled, though
Speaker 1: his hand shook as he poured sherry. But after Clement,
Speaker 1: I'm not taking chances, Dolly pale, but composed, showed them
Speaker 1: the calendar. Its sixth door open. It's like a guillotine,
Speaker 1: Jane each day another threat. As they sat in the
Speaker 1: drawing room, a loud thud echoed from upstairs. Colonel Bantry
Speaker 1: leapt up, grabbing a poker. That's from my study, he barked,
Speaker 1: leading the way. Miss Marple followed, her umbrella clutched like
Speaker 1: a weapon, while Raymond brought up the rear. In the study,
Speaker 1: they found chaos, papers strewn, a window shattered, and a
Speaker 1: faint armored scent in the air. On the desk lay
Speaker 1: a cigar half smoked, its wrapper torn to reveal a
Speaker 1: tiny syringe cyanide. Undoubtedly, Colonel Bantry stared, horrified. I was
Speaker 1: about to light that if I hadn't stepped out. Miss
Speaker 1: Marple examined the syringe, her mind racing the killer was
Speaker 1: here tonight. They knew your habits, Colonel, your evening cigar.
Speaker 1: She glanced at the window, noting fresh footprints in the
Speaker 1: snow outside, leading toward the woods. Raymond, peering out, spotted
Speaker 1: a figure retreating, a tall in a dark coat. That's him,
Speaker 1: he hissed. The stranger from the fair. Colonel Bantry roared
Speaker 1: after him. He and Raymond dashed outside, but Miss Marple
Speaker 1: stayed studying the room. A scrap of paper caught under
Speaker 1: the desk bore the same gold embossed script, command undone
Speaker 1: by your own hand. The killer had planned for Bountry
Speaker 1: to poison himself, a cruel twist. Minutes later, the men returned, breathless,
Speaker 1: lost him in the woods. Raymond panted, but I saw
Speaker 1: his face, sharp features, bearded, not a local. Miss Marple
Speaker 1: nodded her suspicions, crystallizing Richard Symington, perhaps or an agent
Speaker 1: acting for him. The calenders are his signature, but this
Speaker 1: boldness suggests desperation or a trap. Dolly clutched her arm. Jane,
Speaker 1: what do we do? We're all targets confrontation, Miss Marple
Speaker 1: said firmly. The killer expects us to cower, but we
Speaker 1: must draw them out Tomorrow. I'll speak to Reverend Harmon.
Speaker 1: His role in this is unclear, and the seventh Door
Speaker 1: may target him. As they left the manor, the snow
Speaker 1: fell heavily, erasing the footprints. Miss Marple felt the weight
Speaker 1: of the mystery pressing closer. The killer had struck at
Speaker 1: the heart of Gottington Hall and failed, but their audacity
Speaker 1: was growing. The confrontation had begun, and she knew the
Speaker 1: next move would be hers or the killers. Chapter twelve,
Speaker 1: The Final Door. The seventh day of Advent dawned with
Speaker 1: Saint Mary Mead locked in a tense hush, the village's
Speaker 1: festive spirit all but extinguished. The near miss at Gossington
Speaker 1: Hall had shaken Colonel Bantry, and whispers of the Advent
Speaker 1: Calendar Assassin now dominated every conversation. Miss Marple, fortified by
Speaker 1: a sleepless night of reflection, sat at her parlor table,
Speaker 1: the Symington letters spread before her. The pattern was clear,
Speaker 1: each victim or target. Giles Haydock, Hartnell, Clement Bantry had
Speaker 1: played a role in the nineteen twenty two inquest that
Speaker 1: buried Missus Symington's suspicious death. Reverend Harmon the last calendar
Speaker 1: recipient was the final piece, and the seventh door's message
Speaker 1: would likely seal his fate or unmask the killer. She
Speaker 1: telephoned the vicarage, arranging to meet Reverend Harmon before the
Speaker 1: evening service. Bring your calendar, Reverend, she urged, and open
Speaker 1: the seventh door in my presence. His voice strained and hesitant, agreed.
Speaker 1: At the vicarage, Miss Marple found Harmon pale and disheveled,
Speaker 1: the calendar on his desk like a coiled snake. Missus
Speaker 1: Harmon hovered near by, her eyes red from crying. Miss Marple,
Speaker 1: I fear we're cursed, she whispered. After mister Giles died here,
Speaker 1: I can't bear to touch it. Reverend Harmon, his hands trembling,
Speaker 1: opened the seventh door. The slip inside read the shepherd
Speaker 1: shall face his flock judged by the sins he hid.
Speaker 1: He gasped, sinking into a chair. This is about me.
Speaker 1: I knew it would come. Miss Marple's eyes softened, but
Speaker 1: her voice was firm. Reverend, you signed the church fund
Speaker 1: that benefited from Missus Symington's estate. Did you know of
Speaker 1: its irregularities? He buried his face in his hands. I
Speaker 1: suspected Giles, and Clement assured me it was lawful a
Speaker 1: donation for the church. But Richard Symington came to me furious,
Speaker 1: claiming his mother was murdered, her wealth stolen. I urged
Speaker 1: him to forgive, to let it go. I was wrong.
Speaker 1: Before Miss Marple could press further, a shadow moved at
Speaker 1: the window. She spun, catching a glimpse of a tall
Speaker 1: figure in a dark coat. Quickly she called to Raymond,
Speaker 1: who had accompanied her. He dashed outside, but the figure
Speaker 1: vanished into the snowy dusk. Returning, Raymond shook his head.
Speaker 1: Gone again, But I found this by the gate. He
Speaker 1: held up a gold embossed card identical to the calender's slips,
Speaker 1: with a new message. To night, all truths converge at
Speaker 1: the manor. Miss Marple's heart quickened. The killer is calling
Speaker 1: us out Gossington Hall to night. It's a trap, but
Speaker 1: also our chance. She rallied the remaining players, Colonel and
Speaker 1: Missus Bantry, Missus Price, and a recovering Miss Hartnell, now
Speaker 1: discharged from hospital. At the manner, the group gathered in
Speaker 1: the drawing room. The air thick with dread Inspector Slack,
Speaker 1: alerted by Miss Marple, stood by with two constables, his
Speaker 1: skepticism tempered by the mounting body count. As the clock
Speaker 1: struck eight, the lights flickered, and a figure stepped from
Speaker 1: the shadows of the hall, A tall man bearded with
Speaker 1: piercing eyes. He held a final advent calender, its last
Speaker 1: door open. Richard Symington, Miss Marple said, calmly, recognizing the
Speaker 1: face from an old photograph in the library records. You've
Speaker 1: meddled enough, old woman. He sneered, his voice the same
Speaker 1: cold tone from the Symington cottage. My mother was killed,
Speaker 1: poisoned by Haydock's laudanum, her wealth stolen by Giles, Clement
Speaker 1: and Bantry, with Harmon's blessing and Hartnell's gossip to cover it.
Speaker 1: I crafted these calenders to expose them, to make them fear.
Speaker 1: Colonel Bantry bristled, you're mad. I dismissed your claims fairly, lies.
Speaker 1: Richard spat you all profited. I hired a man to
Speaker 1: deliver my warnings, to poison their tools, tea apples, salts, cigars. Justice.
Speaker 1: At last, Miss Marple stepped forward, her voice steady. But
Speaker 1: you miscalculated, mister Symington. Miss Hartnall survived, and missus Price
Speaker 1: was spared. Your justice became murder, and your accomplice, the
Speaker 1: man in the dark coat, betrayed you. He's been watching,
Speaker 1: ensuring you take the fall. Richard's eyes widened, confusion flickering.
Speaker 1: At that moment, a side door burst open, and the
Speaker 1: stranger appeared, unmasked a local chemist, mister Lyle, who had
Speaker 1: supplied the cyanide you promised me a cut, Lyle shouted,
Speaker 1: lunging at Richard. The constables tackled him, and in the chaos,
Speaker 1: Richard drew a vial from his pocket, raising it to
Speaker 1: his lips. No, Miss Marple cried, knocking it away with
Speaker 1: her umbrella. The vile shattered, its contents, harmless, mere water,
Speaker 1: a bluff, she said, to force a confession. Richard collapsed,
Speaker 1: defeated as Slack cuffed him. The room exhaled, the terror
Speaker 1: lifting like a fog. Miss Marple explained mister Lyle was
Speaker 1: the true poisoner, hired by Richard but greedy for more.
Speaker 1: The calenders were Richard's design, but Lyle's access to cyanide
Speaker 1: made the killings possible. The final note was Lyle's attempt
Speaker 1: to frame Richard alone. As the culprits were led away,
Speaker 1: Dolly hugged her. Jane, you're a marvel, But how did
Speaker 1: you know patterns? My dear, Miss Marple said, smiling, And
Speaker 1: a village's secrets laid bare by a clever calendar. Chapter
Speaker 1: thirteen Yule Tie Justice. The eighth day of Advent dawned
Speaker 1: with Saint Mary Mead bathed in a soft, forgiving light,
Speaker 1: as if the village itself sighed in relief. The arrest
Speaker 1: of Richard Symington and his accomplice mister Lyle, had lifted
Speaker 1: the shadow of the Advent calender's deadly countdown, though the
Speaker 1: scars of fear lingered. Miss Marple, sipping her morning tea
Speaker 1: by the parlor window, reflected on the intricate web of
Speaker 1: vengeance that had nearly unraveled her beloved village. The fire crackled,
Speaker 1: and her knitting resumed its steady rhythm, a counterpoint to
Speaker 1: the chaos now resolved. By midday, the village buzzed with
Speaker 1: the news. Inspector Slack, though loathe to admit it, had
Speaker 1: praised Miss Marple's in sight at the manner where her
Speaker 1: quick thinking had foiled Richard's final act. She had invited
Speaker 1: the remaining calendar recipients Colonel and Missus Bantry, Missus Price,
Speaker 1: Miss Hartnell, and Reverend and Missus Harmon to her cottage
Speaker 1: for a quiet Christmas Eve, gathering a chance to mend
Speaker 1: the frayed bonds of their community. In her cozy parlor,
Speaker 1: decorated with holly and a small Christmas tree, the group
Speaker 1: settled around a table laden with mince pies and mulled wine,
Speaker 1: carefully checked by Miss Marple herself. Dolly Bantry, her vivacity restored,
Speaker 1: raised a glass to Jane, who saved us from that
Speaker 1: wretched calender. Miss Marple smiled modestly to truth, my dear Dolly,
Speaker 1: it always surfaces like a bobbin in a sewing box.
Speaker 1: Colonel Bantry, still shaken, cleared his throat, care to explain
Speaker 1: how you pieced it together. Miss Marple, I'm still reeling.
Speaker 1: She set down her cup, her eyes twinkling. It began
Speaker 1: with the Symington inquest ten years ago. Missus Symington's death
Speaker 1: Laudanum ruled accidental, left her son Richard convinced of foul play.
Speaker 1: He believed you all conspired mister Giles for church funds,
Speaker 1: doctor Haydock for prescribing the fatal dose. Mister Clement for
Speaker 1: mishandling the estate, Colonel Bantry for dismissing his claims, Miss
Speaker 1: Hartnell for spreading rumors to discredit his mother, and missus
Speaker 1: Price for hiding letters that proved it. Reverend Harmon, by
Speaker 1: blessing the affair, completed the circle. Reverend Harmon bowed his head.
Speaker 1: I failed Richard. I thought forgiveness would heal him, but
Speaker 1: it drove him to hate. Miss Marple nodded. Richard, a
Speaker 1: skilled bookbinder in London, crafted the calenders exquisite to insure
Speaker 1: they'd be kept. He hired mister Lyle, a chemist with
Speaker 1: a greedy streak, to deliver them and supply cyanide. The
Speaker 1: messages were Richard's taunts, meant to instill fear, but Lyle
Speaker 1: turned them deadly, hoping to extort more by framing Richard.
Speaker 1: Missus Price shivered those letters. I should have burned them,
Speaker 1: but I thought they'd protect me. They nearly cost you
Speaker 1: your life, Miss Marple said gently. Lyle's warning at the
Speaker 1: post office was to scare you, to keep you silent
Speaker 1: until he could eliminate Richard. Miss Hartnell, her voice stronger now,
Speaker 1: snorted that Lyle always skulking about the chemist's I should
Speaker 1: have known he was no good. Raymond, who had joined
Speaker 1: the gathering, grinned. Aunt Jane, you saw through Lyle's false trail,
Speaker 1: poor Tom Baker blamed for nothing, a distraction, She agreed.
Speaker 1: Lyle planted suspicion on Tom to divert Slack. But the
Speaker 1: Calender's precision, the Symington connection, and Lyle's access to poison
Speaker 1: pointed to the truth. People to habits, tea, apples, salts,
Speaker 1: cigars betrayed them, just as their pasts did. As the
Speaker 1: evening deepened, carollers sang outside, their voices carrying silent night
Speaker 1: through the frosty air. The group shared stories, laughter, returning
Speaker 1: like a long lost friend. Reverend Harmon offered a prayer
Speaker 1: for the fallen, and even Colonel Bantry softened, vowing to
Speaker 1: fund a memorial for Giles, Haydock and Clement. Miss Marple
Speaker 1: watched her neighbors, her heart, warmed by their resilience. The
Speaker 1: advent calender meant to destroy had instead brought them closer,
Speaker 1: exposing old wrongs and forging new bonds. As the clock
Speaker 1: struck midnight, ushering in Christmas Eve, she raised her glass
Speaker 1: to Saint mary Meade, she said, where even the darkest
Speaker 1: secrets find light. The village slept soundly that night, its
Speaker 1: Yule Tide spirit restored, and Miss Marple, by her fire,
Speaker 1: resumed her knitting, content that justice, quiet, unassuming and true
Speaker 1: had prevailed