Pamela and the enchanted room (Mark Debrest)

     My grandmother used to tell me that in the late seventies lived, in a beautiful house on the outskirts of London, the Henderson couple with their two daughters: Corinne and Amy.

     Mr. Henderson, because of his work as a trader, spent long periods of time away from home therefore it was almost always only his wife and daughters in the house.

     The two Henderson sisters were nothing alike. Corinne, tall, beautiful, slim, blonde- haired, a little bossy with her sister contrasted with this one, seven years younger, well, she was short, plump and very funny. Being fourteen years old corinne didn't find sharing her room to-be much fun, althought it was a huge and very pretty one. The walls, painted in soft yellow, gave a pleasant feeling of brightness and joy; the roof and the skirting boards were white There were two big walnut wardrobes which were parallel arranged with the two beds and in front desks and some shelves. Not one single doll would fit on Amy's shelves (she also had them on top of the wardrobe) and on Corinne's shelves were study books. Between the two beds there was an Indian rug gift from her father, and a bedside table with a lamp. The two windows were large, white and covered by curtains of the same color.

     What happened at the end of March of that year was something very strange and fantastic and for the very sensitive minds extremely childish.

     That Friday evening, it was raining in London and both of the Henderson sisters were in their room. Corinne was studying for the next week's exam, Amy, on the other hand, was playing with her dolls.

-Would you shut up already, Amy!

-I am talking to my doll.

-Again?

-Yes -the smart and talkative girl answered seriously. -Like usual, Pamela didn't make her bed today, and I was telling her off, isn't that what you always do to me when  I'm not making mine?

     Corinne, who didn't share the same preference as her sister for the dolls, didn't understand how Amy was having such a good time with them. Sometimes she would think about the complex and strange children's world, where dreams and fantasies could become reality.

-She's my most troublesome doll - said Amy seriously.

- How silly! -she said to herself. -Look, don't distract me as these math exercises are very difficult. This chapter of geometric progressions is giving me a realll hard time.

-And what are the geometric progressions? - asked Amy.

      For a moment her sister looked at her in surprise."And why would this girl want to know about the meaning of geometrical progressions!" But she wanted to explain it as best she could.

- I don't know how to explain it to you, Amy. Sometimes definitions can be more difficult than the exercises. Let's see, let me think -Corinne recalled for a moment - Let's see, let's see...yes, I know, look: given a sequence of numbers, we must discover what relationship exists between them. For example, if we have the numbers 1,2,4,8 and 16, the progression is double.

-Double? -she cried out in surprise.

-Yes, double.

-The strange things you study. The truth is that it seems quite difficult.

- Tell me about it.

-Study Corinne, study -she encouraged her- I will talk more quietly to them.

-Thank you! What a great afternoon awaits me - she sighed anxiously.

     The rest of the day passed normally. when bedtime came, both sisters said goodnight; but Amy also greeted her dolls with these words.

-Sleep well! See you tomorrow!


                                                                   *      *      *

     The next day, the rain wouldn't cease. Both sisters remained at home and in the evening returned to their room. They did the same thing they did the day before.

-Corinne, get some rest, dear, -said Mrs. Henderson, of enormous physical resemblance to her eldest daughter.

- I can't mother. This exam is nightmarish and it's giving me a hard time. Just look at the exercises! And you know that next week I am busy with the preparation of the theater play that we're doing at school.

-You're right; but if you would change the activity and distract yourself a little, it would be easier for you to resume your studies.


- Would you like to play w'ith me, Corinne? -Amy asked hopefully.

-No, you annoying girl -she shouted.

-But it's so much fun. Today we will prepare a great snack. Pamela already has permission to come. Look at the plates and mugs mum brought for me the other day Aren't they pretty? You would have so much fun...

-I don't want to play with the dolls. With my intelligence that's the last thing I want do.

     And immediately she got up from her armchair and left the room for a moment.

-Honestly, mother, I do not understand why she doesn't want to play.

-You must understand, Amy, that not everyone has the same preferences. Don't bother
your sister anymore and help her with whatever you can. Alright?

-Alrighiiiiit -she answered sighing.

     And like this they spent another afternoon.Lafer they had dinner and after staying for a little while in the living room they headed to their room. Poor Corinne was exhausted.

-How are you? -said Amy a little worried.

-Tired, very tired -she replied, I think I'll sleep immediately. It feels so good to be in bed.

-See you tomorrow, Corinne. May you have sweet dreamsl

-See you tomorrow, little sister!


     A radiant day sunrised. It was about timel When Corinne woke up, she didn't want to get out of bed. It felt so good being in it, without doing anything, loafing: but she had to get up because she knew what was waiting for her: to study for the math exam.

-I am still so sleepy! -exclaimed Corinne while she lazily lifted her hands.

     Leaning her head to her left, she took notice of Amy who was also in bed with a somewhat puzzled expression. She had her eyes wide open and her hands behind her head. She never saw her like that.

- Have you woke up already?

     But her sister did not answer her.

-I am talking to you, Amy -she said again raising the tone of her voice.

     Amy was quiet, baffled and shocked by what she was seeing.

- Can you know what are you looking at? -she shouted at her to see if she responded.

-At Pamela- she finally answered without showing any reaction.

-Who?

-Pamela, my doll. She's on your top shelf.

     Corinne could not believe what her eyes were seeing. All her books were on the floor perfectly ordered in four columns and on the top shelf, in the centre, a doll.

- But can you tell me what have you done, Amy? -she said angrily This is not funny. I'll tell mum.

     The young lady got out wearing a nightgown and headed to her mother's bedroom. Few moments later the two of them came.

-Amy, why have you done this for?

-Do what, mother?

-You know what. All these books are on the floor and that doll up there. Don't you know you could have fallen from the ladder and hurt yourself.

-But I haven't done anything. I was sleeping and when I woke up it was already up there.

-You're a liar, Amy

-No, mummy.

-Well, -said Mrs. Henderson, -what we could do now is calm down a bit and forget about this matter, alright? With such a beautiful day it would be a pity not to go fo a walk. The truth is I don't know what could have happened -continued Mrs. Henderson looking at her youngest daughter somewhat archly.

     When they returned from their walk, around one o'clock, before eating, Amy went back to her room, well, she was quite intrigued by what she had seen. She looked again at Corinne's shelf and made a strange, doubtful face ... but finally she thought she guessed. It didn't take long for her sister to come.

-What are you doing, Amy?

     This one, who continued looking at Corinne's shelf, remained silent. Her sister, thinking her sister was feeling sorry, told her somehow patiently.

-Looking at Pamela again? The things one has to suffer for a sister. It's fine! I forgiiiiive you. Come on, let's take her out of there and place the books.

     But Amy didn't move. Her face shorled no emotion and a phrase that her sister wanted to hear came out.

-Look Corinne, there are two more dolls.

     The young lady moved her head slowly towards the shelf. No, what was happening couldn't be true. There were two more dolls, each one next to the first one.

-Once again I am going to tell mother about this - said Corinne furiously This is going too far.

     And grabbing the ladder from the room she went to the kitchen where her mother was preparing lunch.

- Mother, Amy placed two more dolls in my room. Could you tell me what's the matter with her? What game is she playing?

-I don't know -she answered while taking offthe apron.

-Don't you find her behavior a little... strange lately.

-I don't see something in particular going on with her.

-Well, if it wasn't Amy who put them, you tell me who did.

-I will talk to her right now, Corinne.

     Both of them went up to the girl's room. Mrs. Henderson was already slightly surprised.

-Amy -her mother told her off, -what you're doing to your sister is not nice.

-But I haven't done anything to her, mother- she answered sadly.

-But I haven't done anything to her, but I haven't done anything to her -Corrine said angrily - this is all you can say. So tell me, who was it? Just wait until father comes back from his trip.

-The best thing we could do now is to pick up the dolls and put them back in place. And the books too. Where is the ladder?

-In the kitchen, mother. I took it down so Amy couldn't climb it.

-Good, well, bring it back again.I am going to my room for a second. Amy, come with me.

     Corinne went to the kitchen and when she came back with the ladder, her mother and sister were already in the room.

-I'm bringing the ladder. So, shall we start?

     This time, neither Mrs. Henderson nor her little daughter said a word. Both of them looked towards the shelf in astonishment.

-What's happening now?

-Look for yourself - answered her mother, who suddenly sat on one of the beds, very scared and nervous.

     On the shelf there were nine dolls of the same style.

-Mom, I think I'm going to faint, - Corinne said very upset.

-Me too.

-I don't understand why do you have to faint? -Amy asked not understand anything.

-Don't you realize that there are more dolls now than before and none of us put them there. How could they got up? -said her mother.

-Well they did -she replied with conviction.

-But that can't be possible, sweetie. Don't you see they're only dolls and they can't move like us.

-That's what you always say to me; but I know they can do it. If not, who?

     Mrs. Henderson went for a moment down in the study to make a phone call. Within five minutes she ordered her daughters to come down to the living room and when they arrived they sat on the couch.

-Who are we waiting for? -Corinne asked.

-One of your grandmother's acquaintances. Ms. Prudence - her mother answered.

-The medium?

-And how do you know that? -she responded in surprise. We never talked about her in front of you.

-I once heard you talking with grandma about this lady. I don't like having a psychic, witch or whatever she is in my room.

-You'll change your mind when you'll meet her. She's a serious lady and very well- mannered.

     After a few minutes the doorbell rang.

- I am sure it's her, weagreed on two o'clock.

     Mrs. Henderson went to the door and opened it. She could see a tall, thin, very thin woman, with gray hair tied in a bun behind her head. Prudence, which was not her real name, belonged to one of the most distinguished families in London. Her great sensitivity was discovered by another medium and she turned out to be much better than her discoveter, at least people thought so.

     She was dressed in a gray robe too large for her. She looked very refined and her voice turned out to be as childish as nice.

-Mrs. Henderson?

-Yes, that's me. You must be Ms. Prudence, am I right?

-Indeed.

-And these two lovely girls are your daughters if I'm not mistaken.

-Yes, they are.

     The girls were already up from the sofa. Corinne was observing curiously the newcomer. She could not restrain herself from asking:

-Are you a witch?

-Corinne, your manners! -her mother got upset.

-Oh, Mrs. Henderson, don't you worry, I am used to it. No, I am not a witch, child. I just dedicate myself to spiritualism.

-How scary!

-You don't have to be afraid of the dead but of the living, dear.

     Amy remained silently. She didn't understand a thing they were talking about.

-A bit of coffee, Prudence?- Mrs. Henderson said.

-No, thank you -she kindly replied -Please, I would like you to explain to me what exactly happened in this room.

     The explanation of the events lasted approximately ten minutes. Prudence summarized them aloud:

-So, they always appear on Corinne's shelf when no one is in the room. The time of the doll's appearance ofthe doll is not precise a day, an hour...

     The woman then turned to Amy:

- How many dolls do you have altogether in the room?

-Eighty-three, Mrs.

     Prudence exclaimed enthusiastically:

-Brilliant; brilliant, the event might be repeating.

     It was a little curious that Amy had so many dolls, but not all of them were hers. Some were from family members, who when they got older didn,t know what to do with them and gave them to her. Others were presents from her friends and acquaintances who knew about her great love for them, others, simply, were bought by her mother or father.

     They were of different styles and eras, and from almost all parts of the world. Big and small; antique and modern. Pamela was her latest acquisition. There was no doubt that Amy was a doll's fan. The truth was that the room impressed greatly with so many dolls all together.

-So at first just one appeared - the woman continued more calmly -then two more which makes three, and now, nine.

     And suddenly Corinne shouted anxiously.

-Mother, mother, for sure...for sure now there will be twenty-seven dolls! Triple!

- Twenty-seven? -replied her mother in surprise.

-The progressions! -Amy exclaimed happily.

-Which progressions? -asked prudence.

-The ones I was studying in the room when all this began, I told you, the progressions chapter, the geometric progressions.

- I see.

-I gave an example to my sister which came of double and now -she started weeping,-I am sure it will become...triple.

     Corinne started crying.

-Calm down, calm down, child, everything will sort out. Prudence is here to help us.

-Of course, everything has an explanation -this one cheered her up.

-I suppose -she answered still weeping.

-Well - Prudence said with determination -it's time to see this famous room, isn't it?

-Yes -said Mrs. Henderson resigned -Come on, girls, give me your hand and let's walk Prudence. It's over here. Follow me, please.

     The four of them slowly climbed the stairs that leaded to the first floor. Mrs. Henderson said with certain fear:

-It's the back room, on the right.

-Would you like to go with me? -asked Prudence casually.

-Yes, I will -Amy said without having any doubts.

-Well, well, it looks like the small one is not scared.

-Neither am I -replied Corinne already calmer.

-Well then! Let's all go inside and come what may- Mrs. Henderson said.

-Ready? -Prudence asked in a very soft voice.

     And she opened the door... Indeed, there were more dolls.

-Let's count them -said Mrs. Henderson

-There's no need, mother, I am sure there will be twenty-seven. They already have taken another shelf.

-Yes, there are twenty-seven -replied Prudence who quickly counted them. Corinne exploded hysterically. The impact was tremendous for her.

- I'm changing the room right now! It's haunted! Possessed!

-Calm down, my child!

-To calm down? -she shouted. As soon as we get distracted eighty one dolls will come into sight, three times twenty-seven.

     Prudence, who remained silent, asked Mrs. Henderson with certain sadness:

-Could the girls leave the room for a moment, please? There's no need for them to go down, they can stay here in the hallway. It's that I don't want them to hear what I am about to tell you.

-Come, girls, it will only be a minute-she said as she looked a bit puzzled at Prudence.

     This closed the door softly and asked in a melancholic tone of voice:

- Has there been a murder in this house before you lived in it?

     Mrs. Henderson remaind petrified at this question; but got relieved by her answer.

- No. We were the first to live here.

     Prudence began to move slowly around the room while she inspected. She placed her hand on a beautiful chiffonier..

-Perhaps the presence of a creature who would like to talk to your daughters.

-I don't believe to Corinne -Mrs. Henderson said seriously .Unlike Amy, my daughter does not like playing with dolls.

-But they showed up on Corinne's shelves - she immediately answered while staring at her face. Could you be kind and leave me alone for a few minutes, Mrs.? And don't get scared, please. I am going to see what is happening ... in this room.

     When Prudence was alone, she closed her eyes, took very deep breaths and said loudly, in a tone between theatrical and transcendent:

- "Show yourself, show yourself creature! - Prudence understands you and begs you to manifest!"

She raised her arms and her body looked like butterfly wings that would shake at any moment.

-Your games must stop! Do you want something? Are you in danger? Tell me! Answer! Show yourself, I am telling you, manifest at once ...!

     Outside, in the hallway, the three looked at each other quite astonished. At the end Corinne tolerate it anymore and asked her mother:

-She's not crazy, isn't she?

-No, honey; although, when she works, she might seem crazy.

-I'm getting tired -Amy said -There is no spirit in our room.

     And in a clear voice, slowly, leaning on each syllable, she added:

-There were my dolls.

- If you repeat that Amy, I will not speak to you in a week, do you understand!? Corinne replied angrily.

- Could both of you shut up and wait for Mrs. Prudence to come out -their mother said
angrily while she was trying to hear what Prudence was saying.

-Sorry, mummyl

-I'm sorry too, mother. I'm so nervous that I don't know what I'm saying or doing anymore.

     Leaving the room, Prudence, a little tired, told them her impressions:

-Sorry to say, Mrs. Henderson; but I don't find any presence in this room. There is no spirit, no higher energy.

- Are you sure? asked Mrs Henderson with resignation..

-Completely. This room is free of benign and malignant spirits. I'm so sorry. I do not
know what may have happened -she sadly sentenced.

- Do you think it's a... dangerous room?

-I don't think so... no, I don't think it's dangerous.

     But from the tone of her words one could sense insecurity. Or ignorance. Then Amy wanted to talk; buts he was silent.Why, if no one would believe it!

     Mrs.Henderson walked Prudence to the hall door and said goodbye, but one could see something was on her mind. The woman was totally baflled by all of it. Then she went with her daughters to the salon and they sat down without saying anything for a few seconds. I did not know what to do.

-When your father comes will talk very seriously, girls.

-In the meantime can I sleep in other room, mother?- Corinne said.

-Certainly, my dear.


- Not me, mother -Amy said, I want to sleep in my bed. All this matter is starting to get me tired and bored. Can I go up in my room for a moment, mother?

-l don't know. Amy.

-Pleeeease- she begged her.

-Fine, but come back immediately, do you understand? -she said to her seriously.

-Yes, thank you mummy.

     Amy ran up to her room; the truth was she got tired by this matter. She closed the door wiih energy and then headed to her sister's shelves while she defiantly was saying to her dolls:

-Your game which I thought to be funny at first it's not funny anymore. My sister is very nervous because of everything that's happening and my mother is very preoccupied. If you continue with this joke I will see myself force to take drastic measures. I will give you away. And you wouldn't be together. No more games without my permission. No more surprises and behave once in for all. We are going for a walk now. I am giving you ten minutes to fix everything, if not, you know what is waiting for you.

     And that being said she once again headed to the living room. Her expression changed in that moment and she happily said to her mother.

-I already talked with them.

     Corinne made an angry face and wanted to tell her off but her mother steped in front on purpose:

-Let me see them for a moment.

     In the room the twenty-seven dolls were still there. Mrs. Henderson sadly thought
that changing the address would be the most logical thing to do. And with such a
beautiful house!

-Why don't we go for a walk, mother? Amy said cheerfully.

-Good idea. I think it will do good to us all. Are you coming along, Corinne ?

-Of course -she answered,-I am not thinking of staying here by myself.

-You will see how everything will work out, don't you worry- the little one simply insisted.

-Come, let's go already, girls. I am so nervous! This is worse than a nightmare.

     The three of them left the house and took a long walk to calm down. The fear took control of Mrs. Henderson and her eldest daughter. A fear that w-as grow-ing. She did not understand how Amy was so cheerful, so happy, perhaps because she was not aware, like she was, of what was really happening.


                                                                            *     *      *

     Upon returning home, in the hall, Amy told them with firm voice:

- For sure the room is now perfectly tidy. Would you like come with me? Please, Mother.

-Amy, dear. I don't think anything changed.

-Why don't you never listen to me? I am telling you everything will be in its place. I
talked to them and they promised me they will tidy it up.

-Amy!

-Corinne, shut up- her mother told her off -don't make me more nervous. Well, let's go
up, honey. I don't know what to think anymore.

     Mrs. Henderson expected to once again see all the twenty-seven dolls sitting on the two shelves or worse yet, to stare at the eighty one dolls, that she no longer knew where they could fit.

-I am going to open -said Amy when they were in front of the door. And, as if it were a
game, she started to say. ready, set, gol

     And she opened the door.

     Everything, absolutely everything was in its place. Mrs. Henderson and Corinne uttered a dry and loud cry, and Amy, while shaking her head gently, said slowly and with satisfaction:

-I knew it was "they".

     And sighing she simply said to her mother:

-I am hungry.

-Hungry? -her mother answered still puzzled and scared by everything she had seen. As you wish, sweetie, but you will eat alone, in the kitchen. Your sister and I are not hungry, right Corinne?

-Yes, mother -she responded nervously. -All this was incredible. What could have happened? -And why in my room?



     When the night came and everything was peaceful, Mrs. Henderson knocked on her daughter's door and entered. She saw Corinne sleeping peacefully, so then she said goodbye, in a low voice, to Amy, who was still awake.

-Is everlthing all right, child?

-Yes, mother, everything is fine. Have a good night. See you tomorrow.

-See you tomorrow, darling.

     Mrs. Henderson headed slowly to her bedroom. She didn't understand anlthing of what had happened, anything. And sometimes it's better to forget... She ordered her daughters not to talk about this matter with nobody not even with their father, well it was a case hard to believe and comprehend.

Amy, in bed, was looking at Corinne's shelves. "The days we spent!"-she said to herself. But as she turned towards the window ... she found Pamela, who was sitting on the side of her big pillow.

-But Pamela, what are you doing here? -she said in a low voice ...-What do you want!... To forgive you?...But of course, however, you have to be a less troublesome doll. The things you and your friends made! I forbid you to do it again. I don't know from where your leadership skills came from. If I'm selling you, you say? Well, of course not silly, not you or the other dolls. How will I entertain myself then? I was forced to say that to see if you reacted once in for all. My mother and my sister were so worried. As if I didn't tell them clearly. There were my dolls.........But nothing. It's sad that sometimes grownups don't take us seriously. It is a terrible injustice.

-Who are you talking to, Amy? -said Corinne, who was half awake.

-Oh, nobody. I was talking by myself -she responded while winking her left eye at her most naughty doll.


                                                                     THE END

MERRY CHRISTMAS (MARK DEBREST)

                                                           MERRY CHRISTMAS

The death of Mrs Parminter (Mark Debrest)

The letter that was addressed to inspector Carmichael was received one cold morning in the month of March. Anita, the young maid who worked for inspector Carmichael, received the letter from Ben, the postman. She immediately delivered it to the inspector who was in his office revising some papers he had to put in order.  The letter that was addressed to inspector Carmichael was received one cold morning in the month of March. Anita, the young maid who worked for inspector Carmichael, received the letter from Ben, the postman. She immediately delivered it to the inspector who was in his office revising some papers he had to put in order.
“Letter for you, sir,” Anita saidin an almost muted tone.
“Thank you, Anita,” he replied, taking it.
The truth is he did not know who it was from as it did not have a sender address. He opened it right away. He could have never imagined what was written inside it.

“March, 1961:

            Dear inspector Carmichael…that is how letters start, is it not? You do not know me, but I know you. I know you are a good detective, one of the best. An acquaintance of mine is a police officer and so he told me.

My name is Scott Gale and I suppose that my name will not tell you anything, but before you tear up this letter, I must tell you not to do so, for in it lies the solution to the death of my first wife, more than twenty years ago. It was thought to be suicide, but I was the one who killed her… Only now that I am terminally ill do I need this confession. I suppose the good Lord will forgive me, as he forgives everyone who repents with profound sincerity, does he not? And I regret what I did every day of my life.

Do not try to check my whereabouts because it will be futile. In fact, by the time my letter reaches you I will already be dead. Strange, right? You can see my obituary in The Times if you do not believe me, a well-written obituary at that, I wrote it myself.

I ordered my wife to post my letter once I died. You must forgive me, inspector, but I did some research and quickly found out your address. The motive of my letter is to prove that I caused the death of my wife, though at times I am not sure about it. Murder?Perhaps. I still do not know. I never was totally sure. It is strange, is it not? One is either sure about a murder or not. But in my case it is neither.

My story starts a little before the Second World War. I was the eldest of five brothers from a very humble family. My parents had to work very hard to give the family a chance. And as if our misfortunes were not great enough, one of my brothers caught polio and became paralysed. Given that my mother could not leave her job, my grandmother came to live with us to care for him. I am sure that you can imagine for yourself, eight people living in a modest home with two insufficient salaries…

Things went from bad to worse. My father was taken ill and passed away very suddenly. That was terrible, inspector, terrible. It destroyed us. My life changed then, given that, as the eldest son I had to abandon my studies and begin working immediately.

The only consolation I had was my girlfriend. She was the prettiest, sweetest girl one could imagine. We lived in the same neighbourhood and fell in love the first time we saw each other. I knew her parents and her family and they were all very pleasant. The only problem we had in our relationship was our poverty, with an uncertain future that seemed very bleak every time we thought about getting married. Because of our situation it was inconceivable and unfortunately improbable. We were both just twenty years old.

Thanks to a recommendation from some friends of my mother’s, I went to work as a bellboy in a big textiles company, at the offices. For me, obtaining that job was very important for I found myself extremely at ease there, the people were very agreeable and I earned my wage, whichincreased steadily with the passing of the years, and shortly after I moved to the service of one of the deputy managers.

It happened a year later, I still remember it perfectly. I took the elevator in the offices and I was going up to the second floor when a very beautiful young woman entered, slightly plump with bronzed skin and black hair. She smiled amicably at me. From her attire and the way she was done up I deduced that she was rich. In fact, many people of high social standing used to go there. When the two of us were alone in the elevator it suddenly broke down and we became stuck between the second and third floor. I maintained my composure but she got nervous, slightly hysterical. I calmed her down, telling her that it would be fixed right away. Without realising, I wrapped my arms around her and she felt more relaxed. We started to talk. She was the daughter of an important businessman, a young woman a little older than I, three years, but back then she did not seem it, rather quite the opposite; a scared and teary young girl who only wished to exit the elevator as soon as she could. Obviously, in the end we managed to get out of there. She was so warm towards me that she told me, imploringly, to go to her home the next day. I did not want to but her insistence was such that I accepted. She told me she was called Eve Parminter and she gave me the calling card of her building.

I had always believed in social equality. I did not imagine that there could be people so poor and people so rich. The house, in which the young woman lived, in the elegant neighbourhood of Mayfair, seemed like something out of a daydream. Although I had worn my best suit (in reality it was the only one I had for such an occasion) and I seemed like one of them, I felt uncomfortable in front of such a luxurious house. After a few seconds I approached the front door and pressed the bell. Almost instantaneously a tall and portly butler appeared. I asked for her and the man led me to an extensive terrace where the young woman was with her mother.

She was not as beautiful as her daughter and came across somewhat distant. She was dressed elegantly and wore a lot of jewellery. I found it strange that my presence would have obliged her to dress in such a way, but I was mistaken as she was expecting her sister. The three of us spoke for a few moments. Eve explained that I had been very brave and caring towards her. The woman was not in the least bit fazed. It was clear that she either already knew or did not care. But what the woman did say to me, which was actually almost the only thing she said as she was sparing with words, was that her husband needed a trustworthy man in his office. I did not know how to respond. Only Eve’s words encouraged me. I would receive twice the salary as in my office. I thought about it long and hard. In the end I accepted.

Eve’s father was very rich and owned a business in the wood industry. I was in the office in charge of all the orders, but I also had to arrange files, check the accounts, and do other jobs. I was happy, as was Eve’s father. I earned a good salary, part of which I sent home to my family. I almost could not believe it. How well everything was going for me! That year ended in a pleasing way.

Not entirely, though, Mr Carmichael. The relationship with my girlfriend changed. I loved her, but I also loved wealth. You may think that I could have married her but you are mistaken. What you are unaware of is that Eve had fallen in love with me and I did not find her displeasing, though I was not in love with her (a grave error). I found those luxurious surroundings so magnificent, that enormous house with the swimming pool, tennis court, butler, maids, the luxury car, trips, and so on. My mind was too absorbed in that world of wealth. I hated poverty every time I saw my girlfriend and went to her house. The ghosts of hunger came back to mind and it was unbearable for me. Furthermore, my salary was stillnot high enough to form a family. I did not know if I would be promoted to a higher position and earn more money. Whatever it was, the relationship with my girlfriend changed, and although I desired her, I did not want to see her. I would go increasingly more often to Eve’s house. She would invite me to parties and to swim in the pool. She was very friendly towards me, affectionate. She told me that she found me very agreeable, fun and handsome. I practically said the same to her. After six months we got engaged and, after the winter, we were married. Now, with hindsight, I see my grave error. I married too young and I scarcely knew her.

I must confess- it seems that I am already doing so, does it not? I was very happy in my marriage during the first year, but everything changed once we realised we could not have children. For my wife it was traumatic and even more so once the doctors informed us that it was she who could not bear children. She felt so wretched that she started to get annoyed with me for no reason. She would make a fuss if I came home late and the worst thing was that she started to believe that I did not desire her anymoreand would leave her. Because of that false assumption she became sick with jealousy. She started to drink and eat in excess until she put on weight. Her figure no longer resembled the one of that attractive young woman.

I became seriously worried. My in-laws helped very little and the few pieces of advice they gave turned out disastrously in the long term. They told me that Eve had always loved parties, why not hold one every week? Who knows, I thought. Perhaps she would change and everything would go back to how it was before. But no. She abused alcohol and would get drunk on many occasions. She began to insult me and say that I was having relationships with other women, that I was an adulterer, in front of our friends (or rather, her friends). Somebody suggested that we all took a trip, but I was not prepared to do so given the circumstances. Then Eve would tell them that I actually did not want to because I did not love her anymore. I felt so low and alone, inspector! My family were the ones who always supported me throughout. They told me to hold on. Why not adopt a child, one of my sisters once suggested. I told her that I had already talked about it with my wife but that she did not want to. She wanted a child of her own; our own. I also became disillusioned as I thought I would never become a father, something which I yearnedforgreatly.

Our conversation was almost non-existent. If I spoke to her, she would either ignore me or reply rudely, swearing or cursing at me. I began to get sick from nerves. We started sleeping in separate rooms. Just a “good morning” from me or a “see you later”, that was all we said to one another. It was unbearable. It could not last much longer. As you might expect, I would increasingly do my own things and Eve hers. One afternoon, I said that if she did not love me anymore the best thing to do would be to separate. She would not hear of it, she said she loved me. “Well show it then and behave that way”, I would say. It was futile. She would harangue me saying that she had raised me up from nothing (which was not true) and that it was I who needed to behave myself. That she was not going to separate, or divorce me, ever. That she would not give me the satisfaction of abandoning her for another woman. She was paranoid. Later on I discovered that it was she who had suffered from nerves, ever since she was a child. A nervous, angry, possessive child. She must have made an effort once she became a teenager. She broke up with two boys to whom she nearly got engaged. I did not know that until much later. Her parents must have been desperate thinking that she would never marry. Until she met me. Then her character changed for the better, though only for a short time.

Are you losing interest, inspector? That is not my intention. I will explain now how and where my wife died.

I had already resolved to leave her, I could not bear any more and I was concerned very little with the consequences. I spoke to the manager at the textiles factory where I had first worked and I offered my services as an administrator. Thank God that they accepted because they had a vacancy, though they must have found it strange. It was obvious what I had to do, do you not agree? After leaving Eve I could never have worked at the same company.

But the unexpected happened. My wife and I went to spend the weekend at our house near the Cornish coast. I still wonder how we decided to go, but that day she had been particularly happy and pleasant. Furthermore, she insisted so much on going and I stupidly tried to please her. We went just the two of us and, upon arriving, as was customary, the middle aged couple who looked after the house were waiting for us.

During the journey I had started to feel unwell and once we arrived I felt worse. I was shivering all over and I checked my temperature to find it was because I had a fever, only slight at that time. I immediately got into bed. My wife did not accompany me and she went to the village. I think she gave some excuse, for Eve could not bear the sight of sick people, especially not me.

On Saturday afternoon she told me she was heading towards the cliff top, around seven o’clock, after going to visit some acquaintances. She took the car. There was a splendid view which spanned the whole coast. My wife had always loved that place. From where we lived, it took about ten minutes to get there on foot. I was getting very bored in bed and, thinking that I felt better, I decided to go and meet her. She did not seem happy to see me, rather quite the opposite. She told me that she felt so desperate that the best thing she could do would be to throw herself over the edge and for me to witness it. I did not pay attention to her ludicrous contestation, but, to my astonishment she jumped over the fence which was there to mark the precipice. I told her to get out of there quickly but she did not pay any attention. She started to laugh. I was sick of it all so I approached her, also jumping over the safety fence. We argued. I grabbed her arm but she resisted. She started to pummel my arms and legs. Unintentionally, we got closer to the edge, closer and closer. Then, when she was about to strike me again, she fell to the floor, slipped, and to my horror, I saw how her body swung, dangling over the precipicelike a heavy pendulum. Her hands clung strongly and desperately to the ground. Down below one could make out a rocky cove against which the water crashed violently. I reacted quickly. I grabbed my wife by the arms, first one, then the other, but she was flailing so violently that my hands slipped down her arms, shockingly, until they reached her hands. I held on as hard as I could, but my wife had put on weight and I believed I could not hold on to her for much longer.

I will never forget her terrorised face as she realised it was the end. That horrible moment came. My hands could no longer hold on and they separated from hers. She fell with a spine-chilling cry. I felt paralysed. Her body had crashed against the rocks and remained there, motionless, one hundred metres up. She was dead. My only consolation was thinking that her death had been instantaneous. It was impossible, impossible, it could not be. But it had happened.

I left the place as best I could, in a terrible state of shock. And what do I do now? Tell the police, go to the village? What would I say? That we had gone there together to see the panoramic views and that she had fallen? Nobody would have believed it. I would be blamed for her death, I would have pushed her; without doubt, I would have murdered her. And that terrified me more than her death. I decided that the most sensible thing to do would be to go back to the house and get into bed straight away, as if I had never left it. There was nobody at the cliff top and I was convinced that we had not been seen (as was the case.)

The wind was blowing strongly at the time. The ten minute distance which separated me from my house seemed eternal; I had to get there quicker, but how? Then I remembered that my wife kept our bicycles in the boot of the car because we would sometimes ride them through the woods. I opened it. There was only one, my one; even better. So I took it. I shut the boot and I headed speedily for the house down a tarmacked road. Do you know what? Along the way, I started to laugh. You might think it was a result of the shock and the nerves- that is true. But it was also because the wind was pushing me so powerfully and, as the path was downhill, it only took me five minutes to get there.

I left the bicycle in the garage right away. The couple who were in the house (she was the cook and he was the butler and driver) were listening to a radio programme in the kitchen, as they usually did almost every afternoon at that time. When I reached my room, I undressed hurriedly and got into the bed. I felt worse. I started to shake uncontrollably. My head hurt. My whole body hurt. I checked my temperature again. The thermometer read thirty eight and a half degrees.

Around eight o’clock, the cook came to see me again and, upon seeing me in such a bad way, she called the doctor who recommended best rest for a few days and said I had flu. At ten o’clock, it was the butler who came in, puzzled, to inform me that my wife still had not returned. I could not sleep. The combination of my physical state and the anguish of what had happened left me a ruin of a man. I was sweating and, at one point, I think I even lost consciousness.

The next morning the police appeared at my house. They informed me that the body of a woman named Eve Parminter had been found in a cove (my wife always carried her ID on her person). They were questioning all of the neighbours closest to the scene. I said that she was my wife. I started to cry, inspector, to cry like a child. My anguish flowed out of my sick body. They questioned me and asked me what I had been doing on the afternoon of the previous day. I told them that I was unwell, that I had gotten into bed when we arrived and that I had not gotten up again, I had the flu. The butler and the cook also assured them of this, as did the doctor. Given my state, it was inconceivable that I had gone out. They believed them.

Later I thought about my bicycle. Maybe it had remains of mud or earth on it, but I was mistaken, for as I mentioned before, the road was tarmacked. Nobody doubted me. When they asked how my wife had been when we arrived, I told them that she had been very nervous, strange. The butler and the cook also confirmed that she often argued with me, that she suffered from nerves and that she had fits of rage. When they questioned her parents, who came immediately, they said almost the same thing.

In the end, the verdict over the death of my wife was accidental death. But, in reality, what was it? My head would not stop thinking and thinking. What if my hands had held on more tightly?

And what if I had not thought so much about my future in those terrible moments? Would I have saved her? I do not know. Perhaps. Now I think that, as her husband, she would have ruined my life. Maybe my hands relaxed a touch more than they should have thinking of such an uncertain future. Yes, there are moments when I think that that is what happened. But on the other hand, I was ill, perhaps I did not have strength enough.

What do you think, inspector Carmichael? I know I will never be able to hear your reply, though I am very intrigued to know what you think.

After the Second World War I married my first girlfriend. Can you believe it? She had not married. It seemed incredible; though I think that deep down she had never forgiven me for leaving her for another woman. We had a beautiful baby girl. I had prospered financially after many years of work. I bought a beautiful, simple house fairly close to my mother’s. And I was happy, inspector, very happy. Until one year ago.

I was diagnosed with some incurable illness and I saw everything from a different point of view. I am not a believer, you know, but suddenly I had the urge to tell someone about it. And why not to the police? Are they not always boasting about having solved dark murders and found the culprits? Well this time it was going to be the other way around, but with no pride on my part, rather sadness. That is why I have written to you. Did I by any chance commit the perfect crime? Sometimes I think so. And it was neither planned nor calculated nor anything of the sort, rather quite the contrary.

Burn this letter once you have read it. Will you do that? I would not like somebody to unknowingly find it and start reading it. It would probably upset my family, who do not know anything about what happened. This would destroy them. It must not happen, do you understand? I beg you. It is a secret I have kept alone, without telling it to anybody.

They say that after life there is a heaven for those who have been good. And I have been a good person, Mr Carmichael, I always have. I have been good to everybody. What happened was so fleeting and complicated that I sometimes wonder how it could have happened. There are so many questions I still ask myself. What would have happened if I had never gone to look for my wife at the cliff top? What would have happened if I had not crossed the fence? I do not know. I will never know. Sometimes I think the best thing is not to analyse things so much and leave them be.

I conclude my letter, Mr Carmichael. Please, forgive the nuisance I have caused you, it was not my intention, but for me it was necessary to make this tardy confession.

Bidding you farewell,

Scott Gale.

Inspector Carmichael was deeply affected after reading the letter and he meditated it for around half an hour. His face became serious, very serious. Then he rose from his armchair and headed to the crackling fireplace to burn the letter as per the last wish of the deceased. “Was it a perfect crime?” he asked himself aloud. “Perhaps it was. But he did not intend to kill her, but to save her, that is why he crossed the fence. Perhaps for a few moments he thought about…” The inspector did not continue with his line of thought. He stopped talking and his blue eyes enlarged in a tragic way. But then his countenance started to relax until it regained its normal appearance.

THE END

“Letter for you, sir,” Anita saidin an almost muted tone.
“Thank you, Anita,” he replied, taking it.
The truth is he did not know who it was from as it did not have a sender address. He opened it right away. He could have never imagined what was written inside it.

“March, 1961:

            Dear inspector Carmichael…that is how letters start, is it not? You do not know me, but I know you. I know you are a good detective, one of the best. An acquaintance of mine is a police officer and so he told me.

My name is Scott Gale and I suppose that my name will not tell you anything, but before you tear up this letter, I must tell you not to do so, for in it lies the solution to the death of my first wife, more than twenty years ago. It was thought to be suicide, but I was the one who killed her… Only now that I am terminally ill do I need this confession. I suppose the good Lord will forgive me, as he forgives everyone who repents with profound sincerity, does he not? And I regret what I did every day of my life.

Do not try to check my whereabouts because it will be futile. In fact, by the time my letter reaches you I will already be dead. Strange, right? You can see my obituary in The Times if you do not believe me, a well-written obituary at that, I wrote it myself.

I ordered my wife to post my letter once I died. You must forgive me, inspector, but I did some research and quickly found out your address. The motive of my letter is to prove that I caused the death of my wife, though at times I am not sure about it. Murder?Perhaps. I still do not know. I never was totally sure. It is strange, is it not? One is either sure about a murder or not. But in my case it is neither.

My story starts a little before the Second World War. I was the eldest of five brothers from a very humble family. My parents had to work very hard to give the family a chance. And as if our misfortunes were not great enough, one of my brothers caught polio and became paralysed. Given that my mother could not leave her job, my grandmother came to live with us to care for him. I am sure that you can imagine for yourself, eight people living in a modest home with two insufficient salaries…

Things went from bad to worse. My father was taken ill and passed away very suddenly. That was terrible, inspector, terrible. It destroyed us. My life changed then, given that, as the eldest son I had to abandon my studies and begin working immediately.

The only consolation I had was my girlfriend. She was the prettiest, sweetest girl one could imagine. We lived in the same neighbourhood and fell in love the first time we saw each other. I knew her parents and her family and they were all very pleasant. The only problem we had in our relationship was our poverty, with an uncertain future that seemed very bleak every time we thought about getting married. Because of our situation it was inconceivable and unfortunately improbable. We were both just twenty years old.

Thanks to a recommendation from some friends of my mother’s, I went to work as a bellboy in a big textiles company, at the offices. For me, obtaining that job was very important for I found myself extremely at ease there, the people were very agreeable and I earned my wage, whichincreased steadily with the passing of the years, and shortly after I moved to the service of one of the deputy managers.

It happened a year later, I still remember it perfectly. I took the elevator in the offices and I was going up to the second floor when a very beautiful young woman entered, slightly plump with bronzed skin and black hair. She smiled amicably at me. From her attire and the way she was done up I deduced that she was rich. In fact, many people of high social standing used to go there. When the two of us were alone in the elevator it suddenly broke down and we became stuck between the second and third floor. I maintained my composure but she got nervous, slightly hysterical. I calmed her down, telling her that it would be fixed right away. Without realising, I wrapped my arms around her and she felt more relaxed. We started to talk. She was the daughter of an important businessman, a young woman a little older than I, three years, but back then she did not seem it, rather quite the opposite; a scared and teary young girl who only wished to exit the elevator as soon as she could. Obviously, in the end we managed to get out of there. She was so warm towards me that she told me, imploringly, to go to her home the next day. I did not want to but her insistence was such that I accepted. She told me she was called Eve Parminter and she gave me the calling card of her building.

I had always believed in social equality. I did not imagine that there could be people so poor and people so rich. The house, in which the young woman lived, in the elegant neighbourhood of Mayfair, seemed like something out of a daydream. Although I had worn my best suit (in reality it was the only one I had for such an occasion) and I seemed like one of them, I felt uncomfortable in front of such a luxurious house. After a few seconds I approached the front door and pressed the bell. Almost instantaneously a tall and portly butler appeared. I asked for her and the man led me to an extensive terrace where the young woman was with her mother.

She was not as beautiful as her daughter and came across somewhat distant. She was dressed elegantly and wore a lot of jewellery. I found it strange that my presence would have obliged her to dress in such a way, but I was mistaken as she was expecting her sister. The three of us spoke for a few moments. Eve explained that I had been very brave and caring towards her. The woman was not in the least bit fazed. It was clear that she either already knew or did not care. But what the woman did say to me, which was actually almost the only thing she said as she was sparing with words, was that her husband needed a trustworthy man in his office. I did not know how to respond. Only Eve’s words encouraged me. I would receive twice the salary as in my office. I thought about it long and hard. In the end I accepted.

Eve’s father was very rich and owned a business in the wood industry. I was in the office in charge of all the orders, but I also had to arrange files, check the accounts, and do other jobs. I was happy, as was Eve’s father. I earned a good salary, part of which I sent home to my family. I almost could not believe it. How well everything was going for me! That year ended in a pleasing way.

Not entirely, though, Mr Carmichael. The relationship with my girlfriend changed. I loved her, but I also loved wealth. You may think that I could have married her but you are mistaken. What you are unaware of is that Eve had fallen in love with me and I did not find her displeasing, though I was not in love with her (a grave error). I found those luxurious surroundings so magnificent, that enormous house with the swimming pool, tennis court, butler, maids, the luxury car, trips, and so on. My mind was too absorbed in that world of wealth. I hated poverty every time I saw my girlfriend and went to her house. The ghosts of hunger came back to mind and it was unbearable for me. Furthermore, my salary was stillnot high enough to form a family. I did not know if I would be promoted to a higher position and earn more money. Whatever it was, the relationship with my girlfriend changed, and although I desired her, I did not want to see her. I would go increasingly more often to Eve’s house. She would invite me to parties and to swim in the pool. She was very friendly towards me, affectionate. She told me that she found me very agreeable, fun and handsome. I practically said the same to her. After six months we got engaged and, after the winter, we were married. Now, with hindsight, I see my grave error. I married too young and I scarcely knew her.

I must confess- it seems that I am already doing so, does it not? I was very happy in my marriage during the first year, but everything changed once we realised we could not have children. For my wife it was traumatic and even more so once the doctors informed us that it was she who could not bear children. She felt so wretched that she started to get annoyed with me for no reason. She would make a fuss if I came home late and the worst thing was that she started to believe that I did not desire her anymoreand would leave her. Because of that false assumption she became sick with jealousy. She started to drink and eat in excess until she put on weight. Her figure no longer resembled the one of that attractive young woman.

I became seriously worried. My in-laws helped very little and the few pieces of advice they gave turned out disastrously in the long term. They told me that Eve had always loved parties, why not hold one every week? Who knows, I thought. Perhaps she would change and everything would go back to how it was before. But no. She abused alcohol and would get drunk on many occasions. She began to insult me and say that I was having relationships with other women, that I was an adulterer, in front of our friends (or rather, her friends). Somebody suggested that we all took a trip, but I was not prepared to do so given the circumstances. Then Eve would tell them that I actually did not want to because I did not love her anymore. I felt so low and alone, inspector! My family were the ones who always supported me throughout. They told me to hold on. Why not adopt a child, one of my sisters once suggested. I told her that I had already talked about it with my wife but that she did not want to. She wanted a child of her own; our own. I also became disillusioned as I thought I would never become a father, something which I yearnedforgreatly.

Our conversation was almost non-existent. If I spoke to her, she would either ignore me or reply rudely, swearing or cursing at me. I began to get sick from nerves. We started sleeping in separate rooms. Just a “good morning” from me or a “see you later”, that was all we said to one another. It was unbearable. It could not last much longer. As you might expect, I would increasingly do my own things and Eve hers. One afternoon, I said that if she did not love me anymore the best thing to do would be to separate. She would not hear of it, she said she loved me. “Well show it then and behave that way”, I would say. It was futile. She would harangue me saying that she had raised me up from nothing (which was not true) and that it was I who needed to behave myself. That she was not going to separate, or divorce me, ever. That she would not give me the satisfaction of abandoning her for another woman. She was paranoid. Later on I discovered that it was she who had suffered from nerves, ever since she was a child. A nervous, angry, possessive child. She must have made an effort once she became a teenager. She broke up with two boys to whom she nearly got engaged. I did not know that until much later. Her parents must have been desperate thinking that she would never marry. Until she met me. Then her character changed for the better, though only for a short time.

Are you losing interest, inspector? That is not my intention. I will explain now how and where my wife died.

I had already resolved to leave her, I could not bear any more and I was concerned very little with the consequences. I spoke to the manager at the textiles factory where I had first worked and I offered my services as an administrator. Thank God that they accepted because they had a vacancy, though they must have found it strange. It was obvious what I had to do, do you not agree? After leaving Eve I could never have worked at the same company.

But the unexpected happened. My wife and I went to spend the weekend at our house near the Cornish coast. I still wonder how we decided to go, but that day she had been particularly happy and pleasant. Furthermore, she insisted so much on going and I stupidly tried to please her. We went just the two of us and, upon arriving, as was customary, the middle aged couple who looked after the house were waiting for us.

During the journey I had started to feel unwell and once we arrived I felt worse. I was shivering all over and I checked my temperature to find it was because I had a fever, only slight at that time. I immediately got into bed. My wife did not accompany me and she went to the village. I think she gave some excuse, for Eve could not bear the sight of sick people, especially not me.

On Saturday afternoon she told me she was heading towards the cliff top, around seven o’clock, after going to visit some acquaintances. She took the car. There was a splendid view which spanned the whole coast. My wife had always loved that place. From where we lived, it took about ten minutes to get there on foot. I was getting very bored in bed and, thinking that I felt better, I decided to go and meet her. She did not seem happy to see me, rather quite the opposite. She told me that she felt so desperate that the best thing she could do would be to throw herself over the edge and for me to witness it. I did not pay attention to her ludicrous contestation, but, to my astonishment she jumped over the fence which was there to mark the precipice. I told her to get out of there quickly but she did not pay any attention. She started to laugh. I was sick of it all so I approached her, also jumping over the safety fence. We argued. I grabbed her arm but she resisted. She started to pummel my arms and legs. Unintentionally, we got closer to the edge, closer and closer. Then, when she was about to strike me again, she fell to the floor, slipped, and to my horror, I saw how her body swung, dangling over the precipicelike a heavy pendulum. Her hands clung strongly and desperately to the ground. Down below one could make out a rocky cove against which the water crashed violently. I reacted quickly. I grabbed my wife by the arms, first one, then the other, but she was flailing so violently that my hands slipped down her arms, shockingly, until they reached her hands. I held on as hard as I could, but my wife had put on weight and I believed I could not hold on to her for much longer.

I will never forget her terrorised face as she realised it was the end. That horrible moment came. My hands could no longer hold on and they separated from hers. She fell with a spine-chilling cry. I felt paralysed. Her body had crashed against the rocks and remained there, motionless, one hundred metres up. She was dead. My only consolation was thinking that her death had been instantaneous. It was impossible, impossible, it could not be. But it had happened.

I left the place as best I could, in a terrible state of shock. And what do I do now? Tell the police, go to the village? What would I say? That we had gone there together to see the panoramic views and that she had fallen? Nobody would have believed it. I would be blamed for her death, I would have pushed her; without doubt, I would have murdered her. And that terrified me more than her death. I decided that the most sensible thing to do would be to go back to the house and get into bed straight away, as if I had never left it. There was nobody at the cliff top and I was convinced that we had not been seen (as was the case.)

The wind was blowing strongly at the time. The ten minute distance which separated me from my house seemed eternal; I had to get there quicker, but how? Then I remembered that my wife kept our bicycles in the boot of the car because we would sometimes ride them through the woods. I opened it. There was only one, my one; even better. So I took it. I shut the boot and I headed speedily for the house down a tarmacked road. Do you know what? Along the way, I started to laugh. You might think it was a result of the shock and the nerves- that is true. But it was also because the wind was pushing me so powerfully and, as the path was downhill, it only took me five minutes to get there.

I left the bicycle in the garage right away. The couple who were in the house (she was the cook and he was the butler and driver) were listening to a radio programme in the kitchen, as they usually did almost every afternoon at that time. When I reached my room, I undressed hurriedly and got into the bed. I felt worse. I started to shake uncontrollably. My head hurt. My whole body hurt. I checked my temperature again. The thermometer read thirty eight and a half degrees.

Around eight o’clock, the cook came to see me again and, upon seeing me in such a bad way, she called the doctor who recommended best rest for a few days and said I had flu. At ten o’clock, it was the butler who came in, puzzled, to inform me that my wife still had not returned. I could not sleep. The combination of my physical state and the anguish of what had happened left me a ruin of a man. I was sweating and, at one point, I think I even lost consciousness.

The next morning the police appeared at my house. They informed me that the body of a woman named Eve Parminter had been found in a cove (my wife always carried her ID on her person). They were questioning all of the neighbours closest to the scene. I said that she was my wife. I started to cry, inspector, to cry like a child. My anguish flowed out of my sick body. They questioned me and asked me what I had been doing on the afternoon of the previous day. I told them that I was unwell, that I had gotten into bed when we arrived and that I had not gotten up again, I had the flu. The butler and the cook also assured them of this, as did the doctor. Given my state, it was inconceivable that I had gone out. They believed them.

Later I thought about my bicycle. Maybe it had remains of mud or earth on it, but I was mistaken, for as I mentioned before, the road was tarmacked. Nobody doubted me. When they asked how my wife had been when we arrived, I told them that she had been very nervous, strange. The butler and the cook also confirmed that she often argued with me, that she suffered from nerves and that she had fits of rage. When they questioned her parents, who came immediately, they said almost the same thing.

In the end, the verdict over the death of my wife was accidental death. But, in reality, what was it? My head would not stop thinking and thinking. What if my hands had held on more tightly?

And what if I had not thought so much about my future in those terrible moments? Would I have saved her? I do not know. Perhaps. Now I think that, as her husband, she would have ruined my life. Maybe my hands relaxed a touch more than they should have thinking of such an uncertain future. Yes, there are moments when I think that that is what happened. But on the other hand, I was ill, perhaps I did not have strength enough.

What do you think, inspector Carmichael? I know I will never be able to hear your reply, though I am very intrigued to know what you think.

After the Second World War I married my first girlfriend. Can you believe it? She had not married. It seemed incredible; though I think that deep down she had never forgiven me for leaving her for another woman. We had a beautiful baby girl. I had prospered financially after many years of work. I bought a beautiful, simple house fairly close to my mother’s. And I was happy, inspector, very happy. Until one year ago.

I was diagnosed with some incurable illness and I saw everything from a different point of view. I am not a believer, you know, but suddenly I had the urge to tell someone about it. And why not to the police? Are they not always boasting about having solved dark murders and found the culprits? Well this time it was going to be the other way around, but with no pride on my part, rather sadness. That is why I have written to you. Did I by any chance commit the perfect crime? Sometimes I think so. And it was neither planned nor calculated nor anything of the sort, rather quite the contrary.

Burn this letter once you have read it. Will you do that? I would not like somebody to unknowingly find it and start reading it. It would probably upset my family, who do not know anything about what happened. This would destroy them. It must not happen, do you understand? I beg you. It is a secret I have kept alone, without telling it to anybody.

They say that after life there is a heaven for those who have been good. And I have been a good person, Mr Carmichael, I always have. I have been good to everybody. What happened was so fleeting and complicated that I sometimes wonder how it could have happened. There are so many questions I still ask myself. What would have happened if I had never gone to look for my wife at the cliff top? What would have happened if I had not crossed the fence? I do not know. I will never know. Sometimes I think the best thing is not to analyse things so much and leave them be.

I conclude my letter, Mr Carmichael. Please, forgive the nuisance I have caused you, it was not my intention, but for me it was necessary to make this tardy confession.

Bidding you farewell,

Scott Gale.

Inspector Carmichael was deeply affected after reading the letter and he meditated it for around half an hour. His face became serious, very serious. Then he rose from his armchair and headed to the crackling fireplace to burn the letter as per the last wish of the deceased. “Was it a perfect crime?” he asked himself aloud. “Perhaps it was. But he did not intend to kill her, but to save her, that is why he crossed the fence. Perhaps for a few moments he thought about…” The inspector did not continue with his line of thought. He stopped talking and his blue eyes enlarged in a tragic way. But then his countenance started to relax until it regained its normal appearance.

THE END