A Caribbean Mystery by Agatha Christie Page A

them.”
    “No, you did not mislay them. They were taken from your bungalow and put in Major Palgrave's bungalow.”
    “How do you know?” He spoke roughly.
    “I know I saw.” She smiled at him in a sudden flash of white teeth. “Someone put them in the dead gentleman's room. Now I give them back to you.”
    “Here-wait. What do you mean? What-who did you see?”
    She hurried away, back into the darkness of the bushes. Greg made as to move after her and then stopped. He stood stroking his chin.
    “What's the matter, Greg? Seen a ghost?” asked Mrs. Dyson, as she came along the path from their bungalow. “Thought I had for a minute or two.”
    “Who was that you were talking to?”
    “The coloured girl who does our place. Victoria, her name is, isn't it?”
    “What did she want? Making a pass at you?”
    “Don't be stupid. Lucky. That girl's got some idiotic idea into her head.”
    “Idea about what?”
    “You remember I couldn't find my Serenite the other day?”
    “You said you couldn't.”
    “What do you mean 'I said I couldn't'?”
    “Oh, for heck's sake, have you got to take me up on everything?”
    “I'm sorry,” said Greg. “Everybody goes about being so damn mysterious.”
    He held out his hand with the bottle in it.
    “That girl brought them back to me.”
    “Had she pinched them?”
    “No. She-found them somewhere I think.”
    “Well, what of it? What's the mystery about?”
    “Oh nothing,” said Greg. “She just riled me, that's all.”
    “Look here, Greg, what is this stuff all about? Come along and have a drink before dinner.”

A Caribbean Mystery
    II
    Molly had gone down to the beach. She pulled out one of the old basket chairs, one of the more rickety ones that were seldom used. She sat in it for a while looking at the sea, then suddenly she dropped her head in her hands and burst into tears. She sat there sobbing unrestrainedly for some time. Then she heard a rustle by her and glanced up sharply to see Mrs. Hillingdon looking down at her.
    “Hallo, Evelyn, I didn't hear you. I-I'm sorry.”
    “What's the matter, child?” said Evelyn. “Something gone wrong?” She pulled another chair forward and sat down. “Tell me.”
    “There's nothing wrong,” said Molly. “Nothing at all.”
    “Of course there is. You wouldn't sit and cry here for nothing. Can't you tell me? Is it-some trouble between you and Tim?”
    “Oh no!”
    “I'm glad of that. You always look so happy together.”
    “Not more than you do,” said Molly. “Tim and I always think how wonderful it would be for the children you know,” she said. “Children whom we're both very fond of. They're at school in England. We didn't want to break up the home. And then of course, Lucky didn't want a divorce either. Greg's a very rich man. His first wife left a lot of money. So we agreed to live and let live. Edward and Lucky in happy immorality, Greg in blissful ignorance, and Edward and I just good friends.” She spoke with scalding bitterness.
    “How-how can you bear it?”
    “One gets used to anything. But sometimes-”
    “Yes?” said Molly.
    “Sometimes I'd like to kill that woman.”
    The passion behind her voice startled Molly.
    “Don't let's talk any more about me,” said Evelyn. “Let's talk about you. I want to know what's the matter.”
    Molly was silent for some moments and than she said, “It's only-it's only that I think there's something wrong about me.”
    “Wrong? What do you mean?”
    Molly shook her head unhappily. “I'm frightened,” she said. “I'm terribly frightened.”
    “Frightened of what?”
    “Everything,” said Molly. “It's-growing on me. Voices in the bushes, footsteps-or things that people say. As though someone were watching me all the time, spying on me. Somebody hates me. That's what I keep feeling. Somebody hates me.”
    “My dear child,” Evelyn was shocked and startled. “How long has this been going on?”
    “I don't know. It came-it started by degrees. And