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seaside air.”
    â€œThe air of St. Mary Mead is nice and fresh.”
    â€œBut often damp and rather muggy. Not, you know, exactly bracing. ”
    Dr. Haydock eyed her with a dawning of interest.
    â€œI’ll send you round a tonic,” he said obligingly.
    â€œThank you, Doctor. Easton’s syrup is always very helpful.”
    â€œThere’s no need for you to do my prescribing for me, woman.”
    â€œI wondered if, perhaps, a change of air—?”
    Miss Marple looked questioningly at him with guileless blue eyes.
    â€œYou’ve just been away for three weeks.”
    â€œI know. But to London which, as you say, is enervating. And then up North—a manufacturing district. Not like bracing sea air.”
    Dr. Haydock packed up his bag. Then he turned round, grinning.
    â€œLet’s hear why you sent for me,” he said. “Just tell me what it’s to be and I’ll repeat it after you. You want my professional opinion that what you need is sea air—”
    â€œI knew you’d understand,” said Miss Marple gratefully.
    â€œExcellent thing, sea air. You’d better go to Eastbourne right away, or your health may suffer seriously.”
    â€œEastbourne, I think, is rather cold. The downs, you know.”
    â€œBournemouth, then, or the Isle of Wight.”
    Miss Marple twinkled at him.
    â€œI always think a small place is much pleasanter.”
    Dr. Haydock sat down again.
    â€œMy curiosity is roused. What small seaside town are you suggesting?”
    â€œWell, I had thought of Dillmouth.”
    â€œPretty little place. Rather dull. Why Dillmouth?”
    For a moment or two Miss Marple was silent. The worried look had returned to her eyes. She said: “Supposing that one day, by accident, you turned up a fact that seemed to indicate that many years ago—nineteen or twenty—a murder had occurred. That fact was known to you alone, nothing of the kind had ever been suspected or reported. What would you do about it?”
    â€œMurder in retrospect in fact?”
    â€œJust exactly that.”
    Haydock reflected for a moment.
    â€œThere had been no miscarriage of justice? Nobody had suffered as a result of this crime?”
    â€œAs far as one can see, no.”
    â€œHm. Murder in retrospect. Sleeping murder. Well, I’ll tell you. I’d let sleeping murder lie—that’s what I’d do. Messing about with murder is dangerous. It could be very dangerous.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m afraid of.”
    â€œPeople say a murderer always repeats his crimes. That’s not true. There’s a type who commits a crime, manages to get away with it, and is darned careful never to stick his neck out again. I won’t say they live happily ever after—I don’t believe that’s true—there are many kinds of retribution. But outwardly at least all goes well. Perhaps that was so in the case of Madeleine Smith or again in the case of Lizzie Borden. It was not proven in the case of Madeleine Smith and Lizzie was acquitted—but many people believe both of those women were guilty. I could name you others. They never repeated their crimes—one crime gave them what they wanted and they were content. But suppose some danger had menaced them? I take it your killer, whoever he or she is, was one of that kind. He committed a crime and got away with it and nobody suspected. But supposing somebody goes poking about, digging into things, turning up stones and exploring avenues and finally, perhaps, hitting thetarget? What’s your killer going to do about it? Just stay there smiling while the hunt comes nearer and nearer? No, if there’s no principle involved, I’d say let it alone.” He repeated his former phrase: “Let sleeping murder lie.”
    He added firmly: “And those are my orders to you. Let the whole thing alone. ”
    â€œBut it’s not I who am involved. It’s two