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lying where it was found on the floor. There must be some place in the room where it could be hidden. I deduced a curtain and a recess behind it. Davidson dragged the body there, and later, after drawing attention to himself in the box, he dragged it out again before finally leaving the Hall. It was one of his best moves. He is a clever fellow!”
    But in Poirot’s green eyes I read unmistakably the unspoken remark: “But not quite so clever as Hercule Poirot!”

The Miss Marple Mysteries
    The Murder at the Vicarage
    The Body in the Library
    The Moving Finger
    A Murder Is Announced
    They Do It with Mirrors
    A Pocket Full of Rye
    4:50 from Paddington
    The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side
    A Caribbean Mystery
    At Bertram’s Hotel
    Nemesis
    Sleeping Murder
    Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories
“If I was born again, I would like to be a woman—always!”
–A GATHA C HRISTIE

Greenshaw’s Folly
    From Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories
    T he two men rounded the corner of the shrubbery.
    “Well, there you are,” said Raymond West. “That’s it.”
    Horace Bindler took a deep, appreciative breath.
    “But my dear,” he cried, “how wonderful.” His voice rose in a high screech of ’sthetic delight, then deepened in reverent awe. “It’s unbelievable. Out of this world! A period piece of the best.”
    “I thought you’d like it,” said Raymond West, complacently.
    “Like it? My dear—” Words failed Horace. He unbuckled the strap of his camera and got busy. “This will be one of the gems of my collection,” he said happily. “I do think, don’t you, that it’s rather amusing to have a collection of monstrosities? The idea came to me one night seven years ago in my bath. My last real gem was in the Campo Santo at Genoa, but I really think this beats it. What’s it called?”
    “I haven’t the least idea,” said Raymond.
    “I suppose it’s got a name?”
    “It must have. But the fact is that it’s never referred to round here as anything but Greenshaw’s Folly.”
    “Greenshaw being the man who built it?”
    “Yes. In eighteen-sixty or seventy or thereabouts. The local success story of the time. Barefoot boy who had risen to immense prosperity. Local opinion is divided as to why he built this house, whether it was sheer exuberance of wealth or whether it was done to impress his creditors. If the latter, it didn’t impress them. He either went bankrupt or the next thing to it. Hence the name, Greenshaw’s Folly.”
    Horace’s camera clicked. “There,” he said in a satisfied voice. “Remind me to show you No. 310 in my collection. A really incredible marble mantelpiece in the Italian manner.” He added, looking at the house, “I can’t conceive of how Mr. Greenshaw thought of it all.”
    “Rather obvious in some ways,” said Raymond. “He had visited the châteaux of the Loire, don’t you think? Those turrets. And then, rather unfortunately, he seems to have travelled in the Orient. The influence of the Taj Mahal is unmistakable. I rather like the Moorish wing,” he added, “and the traces of a Venetian palace.”
    “One wonders how he ever got hold of an architect to carry out these ideas.”
    Raymond shrugged his shoulders.
    “No difficulty about that, I expect,” he said. “Probably the architect retired with a good income for life while poor old Greenshaw went bankrupt.”
    “Could we look at it from the other side?” asked Horace, “or are we trespassing!”
    “We’re trespassing all right,” said Raymond, “but I don’t think it will matter.”
    He turned towards the corner of the house and Horace skipped after him.
    “But who lives here, my dear? Orphans or holiday visitors? It can’t be a school. No playing-fields or brisk efficiency.”
    “Oh, a Greenshaw lives here still,” said Raymond over his shoulder.
    “The house itself didn’t go in the crash. Old Greenshaw’s son inherited it. He was a bit of a miser and lived here in a corner of it.