Archives for November 2020

Chapter-ette Six: An Unlikely Friendship

We drove the rest of the way back from the OK Corral & Dude Ranch in silence.

Our first stop was Cadwell’s hotel. Miss Marple and I supervised him packing. We took him directly to the train station, bought his ticket, and escorted him onto his cross-country carriage back to Siobhan in New York City. Only when the train pulled away did Miss Marple speak again.

“I’d feel better chaperoning my cousin’s wayward finance back to New York,” she said.

“And I’ll feel better knowing he isn’t traveling with you and all that cash,” I said. “Let’s get you back to your hotel so you can get a good night’s rest before you head back yourself in the morning.”

I parked out front and walked Miss Marple into the lobby that was deserted at that time of night.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Miss Marple asked and leaned in. “I was trying to shoot the gun out of Betty’s hand.”

It took me a heartbeat to realise what she was saying before I let out a howl of laughter. Marple blushed and looked around the empty lobby before laughing herself.

“Maybe I should take your gun, too,” I said. “I’ve got a detective friend who’d pay me a pretty penny for such a unique firearm.”

Without hesitation, she took the Webley-Fosbery out and presented it to me with both hands. “Your bonus, Mr. Spade.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And please, call me Sam.”

I stuffed the large pistol in my jacket pocket and took out Cadwell’s little piece.

“Here, Miss Marple. I can hardly leave you defenceless.”

“Thank you, Sam. And please, call me Jane.”

She put the small gun in her purse and I shuffled my feet awkwardly.

“I can come by in the morning, with a box of ammo for that, and drive you to the train station.”

“I’d appreciate that. But before you leave,” Jane said, “would you care to join me here in the hotel for dinner?”

I looked down at my muddy boots, my dirty jeans, and jacket smelling of gunpowder.

“I’m hardly dressed for the formal dining room of a nice hotel,” I said.

Jane stepped closer, looked up at me, and said, “I was thinking of . . . room service.”

Chapter-ette Five: An Unlikely Shootout

We took the cab back to my apartment, with the excuse that I’d drive all three of us out to the OK Corral & Dude Ranch outside the city limits in my own car. It was a lie by omission. I wanted to change out of my grease stained suit, thanks to my run-in with the ex-wrestler turned mentalist Dr. Cadwell in the alleyway. But I also wanted to pick up a little insurance. I didn’t completely trust his change of heart, despite the trust my client Miss Marple’s had in him.

After changing into boots and dungarees, I came out of my bedroom to find Cadwell and Marple sitting in awkward silence. I felt that I had interrupted a conversation where I missed some piece of important information. But they missed a secret of my own, hidden in my Harrington jacket.

“Oh,” Cadwell said, “Can we stop at my apartment. I have a lovely Donegal tweed suit that would be perfect for the countryside?”

I gave Cadwell the hard stare and he fell silent. But then it was Marple’s turn.

“That’s a good point, Steven. Mr. Spade, will these shoes be appropriate for . . .”

“We’re not going for a hike or a fox hunt,” I said.

“Well, it’s kind of a fox hunt . . .” Cadwell began.

“Let’s go,” I opened the door and waved them through before the last of my patience evaporated completely.

When we picked up my car from the garage around the corner, I insisted on Cadwell sitting up front with me. Miss Marple seemed to enjoy being chauffeured in the backseat all by herself. I kept one eye on the road and one eye on Cadwell. As soon as we left the city limits I decided to break the silence.

“How do you know for sure your old wrestling buddy, The Apache, has Siobhan’s dowry? I don’t want to drive all the way out there for nothing.”

“He was the only person I told about the money. And he was staying with me for a few days before he and the money went missing.”

“But how did you know he came out west with the cash?” I continued, knowing he was holding something back, that I hadn’t asked the right question yet.

“I figured he’d head home to the Bay Area,” Cadwell said. “He’s taken one too many blows to the head to be clever. I know he makes his living pretending to be an Indian, so when I saw the ad for a dude ranch looking for circus performers, I went down and interviewed the interviewers.”

“And they just gave up your friend?” I asked, watching him squirm in the passenger seat.

“I’m not really a mentalist, Mr. Spade. But I can be very persuasive.”

“If you say so, Doctor Cadwell,” I snapped, emphasising the ‘doctor’ to good effect.

“My point,” Cadwell shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “is that I have a knack for getting people to tell me things they don’t even know they’re telling me.”

He also had a knack for only telling people what he had to. I knew I was being played. But Miss Marple was paying me and this was her game to play.

“I hope you didn’t bewitch my cousin,” Miss Marple said from the backseat, “with your powers of persuasion.”

“No, Jane,” Cadwell turned and pleaded. “She’s the one who bewitched me. I have to win her back. That’s why I have to get this money and prove that I’m worthy of her love.”

“Save it for Siobhan,” I said. “We’re almost there.”

As I pulled up the long driveway of the ranch, I could see an odd cluster of people behind the main house by a corral. There was someone dressed in khaki fatigues talking to a Keystone cop and a miner in a hard hat. Nearby a tall cowboy was lighting the cigarette of a shorter person dressed in motorcycle leather.

“That’s him,” Cadwell said, pointing at a man with a large feathered headdress a bit farther way from the collection of movie set extras.

“Right,” I said, turning off the engine. “Cadwell, you use your powers of mental persuasion to get your pal away from those others. I’ll let you do the talking. But if you’re not as good as you say you are, I’ll step in.”

“Should I stay in the car?” Miss Marple asked.

“No. I want you to stick close to me . . . on the opposite side from that group of Hollywood extra rejects.”

About halfway to the Apache, as we passed a barn, Cadwell stopped in his tracks and I nearly bumped into him. That’s when I noticed the short person in black leather was a woman. She flung her cigarette back at the cowboy and yelled, “Stefano?”

Cadwell cursed under his breath, but grinned broadly and shouted, “Betty!”

“Who is this Betty woman?” Marple asked.

“I knew you’d come crawling back to me?” Betty smiled menacingly.

“Yeah, who’s Betty?” I asked.

“But are you here for me,” the woman in black asked, “or for the money I had Patel steal from you?”

“And who is Patel?” I asked, feeling more confused by the moment.

“Patel is ‘the Apache,’” Cadwell informed without explaining.

“Patel,” Marple said, “why that’s the completely wrong type of Indian all together.”

“And who is Betty,” I insisted, “to you?”

“That’s Blind Betty the Bullseye Babe. We met in the carnival and talked about starting our own show one day,” Steven said throwing up his hands in defence, “a long, LONG time ago. That was way before I moved to New York and met Siobhan.”

“So it wasn’t a romantic relationship?” Marple asked.

“Not on my part,” Cadwell said softly. Marple and I both stared at him until he continued. “Betty may, or may not, be under the impression that I owe her start up money for a show . . . and possibly a wedding.”

“We’ll talk later, Steven,” Marple said to Cadwell and then turned to Betty. “That doesn’t make my cousin’s dowry yours to steal.”

“Stay out of this queenie,” Betty said dismissively. “Do you got anything to say for yourself, Stefano, before I sick my boys on you . . . and your little friends, too?”

“Please don’t hurt us, Betty,” Steven pleaded. “We loved each other once. Let’s not ruin the memories we have together.”

“You miserable slug!” Betty yelled. “You think you can talk your way out of this? You betrayed me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steven said as he slowly backed towards the barn behind us and motioned for Miss Marple and I to follow. “Honest. I ran out of gas. I . . . I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tuxedo didn’t come back from the cleaners.”

“Is this your idea of being a master persuader?” I asked as I kept myself between Miss Marple and Betty’s boys who were beginning to walk towards us.

“An old friend came in from out of town,” Steven continued, pointing at me.

“Don’t throw me under the bus.”

“Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake,” Cadwell was on a roll now. “A terrible flood. Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!”

Betty turned to the cowboy, took the six-shooter out of his holster. The tall man in the Stetson protested, but backed off when Betty poked him in the chest with the business end of his own gun. She then turned and pointed the revolver at us.

“Run!” I shouted and shielded Marple as best I could. As soon as all three of us were in the barn and shut the door behind us, a loud boom rang out and was accompanied by splinters of wood flying over our heads.

“Cadwell,” I said, reaching into his coat and pulling out my pistol, “if Betty doesn’t shoot us all, I just might shoot you myself.”

“Oh, a Colt Pocket Hammerless, in .380 I presume,” Cadwell said with an odd hint of delight in his voice as he pulled out his own smaller pistol that seemed to disappear in his large hand. “Look, I’ve got the FN Model 1910. It’s like your pistol’s little brother.”

“Not really relevant,” Mr. Spade said through clenched teeth as two more booms rang out and we heard several pairs of feet running towards us in the barn.

“Well,” Miss Marple said, reaching into my bag, “father will be pleased that this will come in handy.” And she pulled a large service revolver from her bag.

“OH!” Steven’s voice went up an octave. “Is that a Webley-Fosbery Self-Cocking Automatic Revolver?”

“Not the time!” I said, looking around the barn and assessing our predicament.

“Let me see,” Cadwell said as he tossed his smaller pistol to me and took Marple’s revolver from her. “Is it even loaded?” he asked as he unlocked the top break and opened the cylinder, to have eight rounds ejected into in his face.

“Now you pick those up,” Marple insisted, pointing at the bullets strewn on the dirt and hay of the barn.

“Oh for the love of . . .” I adjusted my grip on both pistols and headed towards the barn door. “Load that revolver, in case this doesn’t work.”

“Careful now, man,” Cadwell said. “You’re no Sergeant York.”

“Was always kinda partial to Tom Mix actually. I really like his tall white hat,” I said with a wink towards Miss Marple who clapped her hands together as she was apt to do.

With a pistol in each hand I kicked the barn door open and ran out screaming. I immediately saw that the cowboy was holding a Bowie knife, the miner had a pickaxe, the soldier and cop each had sticks, and Patel was fumbling with a Henry rifle.

I aimed wide on either side of the group and let loose a couple of rounds.

Bang-bang!

Bang-bang!

As dirt flew up on either side of the me, they all stopped in their tracks and dropped whatever implement of destruction they happened to have been holding.

Bang-bang!

Bang-bang!

Four more shots, two on either side of the group sent them running towards the corral. The long-legged cowboy got to the gate first, but when it didn’t open they all climbed over and fell on top of each other.

Bang-bang!

Bang-bang!

Bang-bang!

As I emptied the pistols into the fencing and sent the group of men hightailing it into the sunset, I saw Betty out of the corner of my eye run onto the back porch of the house. I ducked behind a hay bale as she fired the pistol behind her blindly, exploding a plotted plant on the railing.

I waited a moment to make sure Betty wasn’t going to pop back out and start shooting again. This gave me a moment to pocket Cadwell’s little gun and reload my own. Relatively sure that Betty wasn’t coming back out with gun in hand, I ran to the house and entered slowly. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard footsteps upstairs. I took the stair two at a time and got to the first floor landing just as one of the front facing bedroom door’s slammed shut. I made my way cautiously down the hallway, but a squeaky floorboard gave me away. I sprawled on the floor just as another boom and a bullet smashed through the door into a framed photograph on the far wall of the hallway.

The blast forced the bedroom door open. I crawled to the door and risked peeking my head around just in time to see Betty climb out the window onto the roof of the front porch. She threw a bag and the cowboy’s gun onto the ground, and jumped after them. When I poked my head out the window to see if I could get a clean shot, I saw a brightly coloured figure come running around outside of the house.

“Please stop, ma’am!” Miss Marple shouted, holding the large revolver in front of her with both hands.

I saw Betty look up at Miss Marple and then at a motorcycle several yards away. I could almost hear Betty make the decision instead to reach for the revolver at her feet.

Bam! Bam! BOOM!

Miss Marple fired off two quick shots into the motorcycle and the fuel tank burst into flames. Betty was knocked backwards off her feet. Cadwell finally came into view and picked up Betty’s gun and bag.

When I got out front, I found Cadwell searching through Betty’s bag. Marple held her gun on Betty while she talked through the case.

“So you sent Patel to New York City to spy on Steven. When he telegrammed you about Siobhan’s dowry, you instructed the Apache to steal it and bring it to you . . . hoping that the man you know as Stefano would follow and you could have your revenge.”

For her part, Betty nodded her head and checked her partially singed eyebrows in a compact.

“Found it!” Cadwell exclaimed and held up a wad of cash. Marple took the money, counted out Siobhan’s dowry and put it in her purse. She counted off my fee and handed that to me. Then she tossed the rest of the cash in Betty’s lap and walked towards my car.

Cadwell and I caught up to her at the car and we all got in. I took the cowboy’s gun from Cadwell, unloaded it, and tossed it out the driver’s side window.

“Can I at least have my pistol back?” he moaned.

“No,” I said and drove away.

Chapter-ette Four: An Unlikely Alliance

I came to propped up against the alley wall between two garbage cans, moonlighting as smelling salt. I must not have been out for long, because I didn’t remember dreaming. As my vision cleared the first thing I saw was a giant of a man sulking over me, arms crossed over his chest.

Shouting over his shoulder, Cadwell said, “He’s awake!”

“Oh, good,” Miss Marple came into blurry view. She looked up at Cadwell and prodded him in the ribs.

“I’m sorry for putting you in a chokehold,” Cadwell said with an eyeroll.

“Before he became a mentalist, Steven here was a professional wrestler, if you can believe it,” Miss Marple said.

“Yes,” I moaned, “I can believe it.”

“He was what they call a ‘heel’ in the wrestling game,” Miss Marple said with more than a hint of awe in her voice.

“I wrestled under the name ‘Evil Steve Cadwell.’ My fans called me ‘Stevil.’”

“Isn’t that simply marvelous, Mr. Spade? I can’t wait to tell the Women’s Institute back in St. Mary Mead. They are going to be so jealous of my American adventure.”

“Before we jump back across the pond,” I said, “can we back track to this San Francisco alley and explain how we all seem to have become chums while I was unconscious?”

“Oh, quite right,” Marple said. “Steven, would you please help Mr. Spade to his feet.”

I put out a hand and Cadwell swung me onto my feet with no effort. He may not have liked that matronly Miss Marple forced him to apologise to me, but he was nice enough to hold onto my hand until I was steady on my feet and my vision cleared.

“By the time I got into the alley here, Steven had you in the chokehold . . .”

“So, you missed the body slam?” I asked sarcastically.

“Oh, no! That was the best part.”

“It was my finishing move. The fans loved it,” Cadwell beamed.

“I’m glad someone enjoyed it,” I muttered under my breath, but more loudly said, “And then what happened?”

“Oh, yes,” Marple stared off into space, as if replaying the events in her mind, “I called for Steven to unhand you and I explained the situation to him. So he stopped. Now we’re going to help him get the dowry back and return to New York to marry Siobhan.”

“What did you explain to him that made him change his mind?”

“I’m afraid that is a family matter and not within the purview of the job I hired you . . .”

“Siobhan’s pregnant and Steven has decided to do the honourable thing,” I guessed.

“I was already doing the honourable thing,” Cadwell snapped. “An old . . . business associate . . . stole the dowry from me and I followed him to San Francisco to get it back. I couldn’t marry Siobhan if I couldn’t provide for her.”

“A more detailed letter,” Miss Marple chastised the man twice her size, “explaining all that would have been helpful, Steven.”

“Yes, Jane,” Cadwell said looking down at his pin-striped spats. “I didn’t want to tell her that I lost the money before I got it back. But I’ll apologize to Siobhan as soon as we get back to New York with the money.”

“So,” I said. “Is that it? Is the case closed? The job done?”

Miss Marple suddenly joined Cadwell in inspecting the alley pavement.

“We could use your help with actually getting the money back,” Cadwell said. “I know who has it and where he is. But . . .”

“But what?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“The treasure is at a dude-ranch, Mr. Spade,” Miss Marple said, clapping her hands together in glee. “Isn’t it exciting?”

“Not really, no,” I said. “Now what aren’t you telling me?”

“My . . . former associate . . . isn’t likely to just give me my . . .”

“Siobhan’s,” Marple interjected.

“ . . . Siobhan’s money back,” Cadwell finished meekly.

“So where do we find him and what kind of resistance are we expecting?”

“’We,’” Miss Marple clapped her hands again.

“He’s an old wrestling friend of mine who goes by ‘The Apache’ and he’s currently working at the OK Corral & Dude Ranch as one of the Indians in their stagecoach robbery act.”

“Don’t tell me,” I muttered, “the fans love it.”

“He’s quite convincing in the feathered headdress,” Cadwell offered.

“Apaches don’t wear feathered headdresses,” Miss Marple informed.

I put a hand on her shoulder to head this conversation off at the pass.

“What makes you think your old pal,” I asked turning to face Cadwell, “the one who robbed you in the first place, still has the money and will hand it over when we see him?”

“Jane,” Cadwell said, looking between the two of us, “can be very convincing. And with your help as . . .”

“Muscle?” I accused.

“. . . back-up, I’m sure he’ll relent and give back whatever he has left of the dowry.”

“Just a moment, big fella,” I said, patting him on the chest to indicate that he should stay put for a moment. I took Miss Marple gently by the elbow and led her down the alley, just out of the giant’s ear shot. “This feels like a set up.”

“If Steven wanted to do us harm,” Marple explained, “he had the chance while you were unconscious and I was essentially alone with him in a dark alley . . . on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“You’ve been waiting to use that phrase since we got here, haven’t you?” Marple didn’t say anything in response to my question, but the twinkle in her eye was confirmation enough.

“Fine,” I relented, “but I’d like a little insurance, in case Cadwell is planning to double cross us.”

“Then we’re in agreement, Mr. Spade. Shall we?” Miss Marple clapped her hands and walked back to Cadwell, leaving me to follow her into the lion’s den.

“First,” I said, “we’re taking that taxi that’s been waiting for us . . . at Miss Marple’s expense . . . back to my apartment, so we can get my car and all drive out to the dude ranch together.”

Chapter-ette Three: An Unlikely Surprise

I took a moment to take in the carnival poster rolled out on my desk. It was from show a month ago on Staten Island that featured ‘Dr Stefano von Cadwell – Mentalist & Spiritual Philosopher.’

“It’s just a drawing,” Miss Marple said, “but I can attest that it captures his likeness very well.”

“So you want me to find the missing magician?” I asked with a playful smirk that went unnoticed.

“He’s not a magician, just someone who makes his living performing different acts at carnivals and traveling shows.”

“How’d your cousin meet this . . . person?”

“Ironically enough, she was an assistant to a magician who introduced them.”

“A tale as old as time,” I sighed and rolled up the poster as best I could. I didn’t relish the idea of showing that around town, looking for leads. But a case is a case, as long as it pays.

“Thank you, Miss Marple. If you let me know where you’re staying in town, I can call in on your when I have anything to report.”

“Oh, you misunderstand, Mr. Spade,” she said standing up. “I’m coming with you.”

“That’s not how I . . .”

“I’ll pay you 125% your going rate, as marked in your advertisements,” she said pulling a newspaper clipping out of her seemingly bottomless, but surprisingly well-organised, bag.

“I50%, plus expenses,” I countered and held out my hand.

“I assumed expenses were extra,” she said and shook my hand, “and I would’ve gone as high as 175%.”

I could’ve driven us to the train station, but I hailed a taxi. This gave me a chance to talk to a member of one of the chattiest professions in the city. If you want someone to listen to your problems, talk to a bartender. If you want someone to talk your ear off with all the problems of the world, take a cab across town during rush hour. This ride didn’t take that long, but it did allow me time to ascertain which cabbies were likely to have been working the day Dr. Cadwell allegedly arrived in San Francisco.

By the time we got to the train station, we’d narrowed our potential interviews to less than a dozen. Miss Marple held the poster and I did the talking. It was an arrangement that got results quickly. We eventually found the cabbie who picked Cadwell up. I paid him to take us to the flophouse he dropped off the missing Lothario at. Miss Marple saved me bribing the world-weary woman behind the front desk by telling her about her jilted cousin. The old broad let us into Cadwell’s room. It looked like he’d unpacked in a hurry. Colourful clothes were covering every service and most of the floor, but we found a newspaper opened to the want ads. The only listing circled was for a circus.

“Seems just his sort of thing,” I said, surprisingly mad that this case looked like it would be over before the sun went down. Miss Marple just smiled and clapped her lace-gloved hands, causing her large purse to make an odd clanking sound.

The address on the circus listing took us to the offices of a third-rate talent agency in a rough part of town. This delighted Miss Marple to no end. Her smile was almost contagious.

Almost.

I was just telling the cabbie to wait, as I didn’t think we’d be very long, when a brightly dressed large man with an impressive beard stepped out of the agency across the street.

Before I could stop her, Miss Marple waved and shouted, “Dr. Cadwell!”

It took him a moment to focus on who was calling him. But I saw the recognition dawn on his face. He turned and made a break for it down his side of the street.

“Wait here,” I told Miss Marple, not expecting her to follow my instructions, and gave chase. I was hampered getting off the block by traffic, but once I was safely on the sidewalk I started catching up to Dr. Cadwell. He had the stride of an athlete, but the limp of an old athlete. When he turned down an alley, I was caught up with him easily enough.

But catching him was my first mistake. My second was tackling him to the ground. When I tried to pull his arm behind his back, he twisted onto his back and then rolled on top of me. I tried to wiggle free and, for a fleeting second, thought that I had succeeded. But that was just Cadwell lifting me off the ground.

Before I could come to terms with my predicament, the good doctor spun me ass over tea kettle. From there, he didn’t so much throw me to the ground, as hit me with the planet. I didn’t have a chance to catch the wind that’d been knocked out of me when he wrapped a massive arm under my chin with one of my own arms pinned to my ear. I’d been to a professional wrestling match before. I just never figured I’d see one again, at least not from inside the ring.

My vision began to go brown around the edges that quickly narrowed to an ever smaller tunnel. The last thing I heard before passing out was Miss Marple’s voice, “Steven, stop! Think of Siobhan and your . . .”

Chapter-ette Two: An Unlikely Case

The lady was a real English rose. She wore a floral print dress, white lace gloves, and a straw hat with a satin ribbon. In short, she wasn’t the typical woman who visited a San Francisco detective agency.

“You sound like you’re far from home, Miss Marple,” I said as I pulled out a chair for her. “How can I be of services?”

“Thank you, Mr. Spade” she said as she glided into the chair and held her large purse on her lap with both hands. “As I already stated, I need assistance in finding Dr. Steven Cadwell.”

“And who is he to you, may I ask?”

“He is . . . or rather was . . . the fiancé of my cousin. While I was visiting her in New York City last week, Dr. Cadwell disappeared . . . along with Siobhan’s dowry.”

“What makes you think this cad is in San Francisco?” I cringed at my own pun, as unintended as it was. Miss Marple wasn’t my type, but something about her had me flustered.

“He left a note for my cousin, saying that he had urgent business out west. I made inquirers at Grand Central Station and was able to ascertain that he had purchased a one-way ticket to San Francisco. A man fitting his description purchased the ticket under his name and was later seen boarding the train. I got on the next train the following day and arrived yesterday. But the trail has . . . grown cold, as they say.”

“How sure are you that he was on the train or that he took it all the way across country. He could have . . . ?”

“Dr. Cadwell is no wall flower, Mr. Spade. He’s a large man with an impressive beard,” she cut me off, holding one hand over her head to indicate his height and another one below her chin to indicate his beard length, “and a flamboyant style. Even if he hadn’t purchased the ticket under his own name, it was easy for the porters in both New York and San Francisco to identify him.”

“Tell me again, Miss Marple, are you here to hire my service or for a job interview?”

“You flatter me, Mr. Spade,” she blushed slightly and returned her hands to griping her bag. “But I am just a simple girl from a small village in England. I need a local guide to help me track down the man who stole my cousin’s heart, and her money, out here in the wild west.”

“I can get started right away, Miss Marple. I don’t suppose you have a photograph of Dr. Cadwell.”

“Not as such,” Miss Marple said, reaching into her large purse. She pulled out a carnival poster and unrolled it on my desk. Along with a drawing of a large man with an impressive beard dressed in top hat and tails, it read, “Dr. Stefano von Cadwell – Mentalist & Spiritual Philosopher!”

Chapter-ette One: An Unlikely Meeting

It was a weekday, that much I knew for sure by all the hustle and bustle of lunchtime in the city. I didn’t have a hangover, so it was at least Tuesday. And I hadn’t started drinking yet, so it probably wasn’t Friday. But I couldn’t be sure, because I hadn’t had a case in a while and all the days had started to blur together.

What I did know is that I would normally have been annoyed if some dame had barged into my office like she did. But like I said, I needed a paying job and I could tell she was no dame.

“Mr. Spade, my name is Miss Marple and I am here to hire your services to find Dr. Cadwell.”