‘Gwenda,’ said Giles. ‘Do be careful.’
‘Making a will,’ said Gwenda, ‘is a most natural thing to do. And the line of approach I’ve thought up is quite good. Anyway, I want to see him. I want to see what he’s like, and if I think that possibly-’
She left the sentence unfinished.
‘What surprises me,’ said Giles, ‘is that no one else answered that advertisement of ours-this Edith Pagett, for example-’
Miss Marple shook her head.
‘People take a long time to make up their minds about a thing like that in these country districts,’ she said. ‘They’re suspicious. They like to think things over.’
Chapter 12. Lily Kimble
Lily Kimble spread a couple of old newspapers on the kitchen table in readiness for draining the chipped potatoes which were hissing in the pan. Humming tunelessly a popular melody of the day she leaned forward aimlessly studying the newsprint spread out before her.
Then suddenly she stopped humming and called: ‘Jim-Jim. Listen here, will you?’
Jim Kimble, an elderly man of few words, was washing at the scullery sink. To answer his wife, he used his favourite monosyllable.
‘Ar?’ said Jim Kimble.
Mr Kimble came in from the scullery and ignoring all matters of lesser moment demanded if his supper was ready.
‘I’ll just drain the chips…Wait, I’ll get another paper. Better keep this one. ’Twouldn’t be likely to be police-not after all this time. Maybe it’s lawyers-and money in it. It doesn’tsay something to your advantage…but it might be all the same…Wish I knew who I could ask about it. It says write to some address in London-but I’m not sure I’d like to do a thing like that…not to a lot of people in London…What do you say, Jim?’
‘Ar,’ said Mr Kimble, hungrily eyeing the fish and chips.
The discussion was postponed.