Miss Marple – Miss Marple and Mystery: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

others obeyed him. Lavington’s voice spoke again out of the darkness.

      ‘Think of nothing – or of everything. Do not force the mind. It is possible that one of us has mediumistic powers. If so, that person will go into a trance. Remember, there is nothing to fear. Cast out fear from your hearts, and drift – drift –’

      His voice died away and there was silence. Minute by minute, the silence seemed to grow more pregnant with possibilities. It was all very well for Lavington to say ‘Cast out fear.’ It was not fear that Jack felt – it was panic. And he was almost certain that Felise felt the same way. Suddenly he heard her voice, low and terrified.

      ‘Something terrible is going to happen. I feel it.’

      ‘Cast out fear,’ said Lavington. ‘Do not fight against the influence.’

      The darkness seemed to get darker and the silence more acute. And nearer and nearer came that indefinable sense of menace.

      Jack felt himself choking – stifling – the evil thing was very near …

      And then the moment of conflict passed. He was drifting, drifting down stream – his lids closed – peace – darkness …

      Jack stirred slightly. His head was heavy – heavy as lead. Where was he?

      Sunshine … birds … He lay staring up at the sky.

      Then it all came back to him. The sitting. The little room. Felise and the doctor. What had happened?

      He sat up, his head throbbing unpleasantly, and looked round him. He was lying in a little copse not far from the cottage. No one else was near him. He took out his watch. To his amazement it registered half past twelve.

      Jack struggled to his feet, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the cottage. They must have been alarmed by his failure to come out of the trance, and carried him out into the open air.

      Arrived at the cottage, he knocked loudly on the door. But there was no answer, and no signs of life about it. They must have gone off to get help. Or else – Jack felt an indefinable fear invade him. What had happened last night?

      He made his way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. He was about to make some inquiries at the office, when he was diverted by a colossal punch in the ribs which nearly knocked him off his feet. Turning in some indignation, he beheld a white-haired old gentleman wheezing with mirth.

      ‘Didn’t expect me, my boy. Didn’t expect me, hey?’ said this individual.

      ‘Why, Uncle George, I thought you were miles away – in Italy somewhere.’

      ‘Ah! but I wasn’t. Landed at Dover last night. Thought I’d motor up to town and stop here to see you on the way. And what did I find. Out all night, hey? Nice goings on –’

      ‘Uncle George,’ Jack checked him firmly. ‘I’ve got the most extraordinary story to tell you. I dare say you won’t believe it.’

      ‘I dare say I shan’t,’ laughed the old man. ‘But do your best, my boy.’

      ‘But I must have something to eat,’ continued Jack. ‘I’m famished.’

      He led the way to the dining-room, and over a substantial repast, he narrated the whole story.

      ‘And God knows what’s become of them,’ he ended.

      His uncle seemed on the verge of apoplexy.

      ‘The jar,’ he managed to ejaculate at last. ‘THE BLUE JAR! What’s become of that?’

      Jack stared at him in non-comprehension, but submerged in the torrent of words that followed he began to understand.

      It came with a rush: ‘Ming – unique – gem of my collection – worth ten thousand pounds at least – offer from Hoggenheimer, the American millionaire – only one of its kind in the world – Confound it, sir, what have you done with my BLUE JAR?’

      Jack rushed from the room. He must find Lavington. The young lady at the office eyed him coldly.

      ‘Dr Lavington left late last night – by motor. He left a note for you.’ Jack tore it open. It was short and to the point.

      MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,

      Is the day of the supernatural over? Not quite – especially when tricked out in new scientific language. Kindest regards from Felise, invalid father, and myself. We have twelve hours start, which ought to be ample. Yours ever,

      AMBROSE LAVINGTON, Doctor of the Soul.

       6 Jane in Search of a Job

      ‘Jane in Search of a Job’ was first published in Grand Magazine, August 1924.

      Jane Cleveland rustled the pages of the Daily Leader and sighed. A deep sigh that came from the innermost recesses of her being. She looked with distaste at the marble-topped table, the poached egg on toast which reposed on it, and the small pot of tea. Not because she was not hungry. That was far from being the case. Jane was extremely hungry. At that moment she felt like consuming a pound and a half of well-cooked beefsteak, with chip potatoes, and possibly French beans. The whole washed down with some more exciting vintage than tea.

      But young women whose exchequers are in a parlous condition cannot be choosers. Jane was lucky to be able to order a poached egg and a pot of tea. It seemed unlikely that she would be able to do so tomorrow. That is unless –

      She turned once more to the advertisement columns of the Daily Leader. To put it plainly, Jane was out of a job, and the position was becoming acute. Already the genteel lady who presided over the shabby boarding-house was looking askance at this particular young woman.

      ‘And yet,’ said Jane to herself, throwing up her chin indignantly, which was a habit of hers, ‘and yet I’m intelligent and good-looking and well educated. What more does anyone want?’

      According to the Daily Leader, they seemed to want shorthand typists of vast experience, managers for business houses with a little capital to invest, ladies to share in the profits of poultry farming (here again a little capital was required), and innumerable cooks, housemaids and parlourmaids – particularly parlourmaids.

      ‘I wouldn’t mind being a parlourmaid,’ said Jane to herself. ‘But there again, no one would take me without experience. I could go somewhere, I dare say, as a Willing Young Girl – but they don’t pay willing young girls anything to speak of.’

      She sighed again, propped the paper up in front of her, and attacked the poached egg with all the vigour of healthy youth.

      When the last mouthful had been despatched, she turned the paper, and studied the Agony and Personal column whilst she drank her tea. The Agony column was always the last hope.

      Had she but possessed a couple of thousand pounds, the thing would have been easy enough. There were at least seven unique opportunities – all yielding not less than three thousand a year. Jane’s lip curled a little.

      ‘If I had two thousand pounds,’ she murmured, ‘it wouldn’t be easy to separate me from it.’

      She cast her eyes rapidly down to the bottom of the column and ascended with the ease born of long practice.

      There was the lady who gave such wonderful prices for cast-off clothing. ‘Ladies’ wardrobes inspected at their own dwellings.’ There were gentlemen who bought anything – but principally teeth. There were ladies of title going abroad who would dispose of their furs at a ridiculous figure. There was the distressed clergyman and the hard-working widow, and the disabled officer, all needing sums varying from fifty pounds to two thousand. And then suddenly Jane came to an abrupt halt. She put down her teacup and read the advertisement through again.

      ‘There’s a catch in it, of course,’ she murmured.