The normally friendly village of Lymston is plagued by vile anonymous letters. When a mother of three takes her own life, following such a letter, Ms. Marple is not at all convinced things are as they seem.
A friend of Miss Marple's sees a woman being strangled in a passing train. When police cannot find a body and doubt the story, Miss Marple enlists professional housekeeper, Lucy Eyelesbarrow, to go undercover.
While on vacation at a resort hotel in the West Indies, Miss Marple correctly suspects that the apparently natural death of a retired British major is actually the work of a murderer planning yet another killing.
When a despised magistrate is found shot to death in the library of the local vicarage, his wife and her lover, a portrait painter living on the church grounds, both confess to the crime. Miss Marple's keen powers of observation clear both of them of the crime, but other suspects abound. Included are the murdered man's daughter, who posed for the artist, a neurotic cleric who's embezzled church funds, the local doctor, an ex-convict who poached on the magistrate's land, and a missionary's enigmatic widow who argued with him the day before he was killed. An exasperated Inspector Slack must reluctantly accept help from the analytical Miss Marple.Written by
Gabe Taverney (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Based on the book that marks the debut of Miss Marple. See more »
This seems to be set in the spring of 1955 or 1956. When the parishioners are coming to church late in the second part, they arrive to Albinoni's Adagio even though this wasn't published until 1958. See more »
Robert Lang (Colonel Lucius Protheroe) was omitted from the closing credits even though his name appeared in the opening titles and he played a significant role in the opening scenes before his character was murdered. See more »
Bad directing, acting, casting, editing, music. Colorless, ugly buildings and backdrops. The actors have even less life in them. Not to mention Joan Hickson's lisp. They can't finish a scene in this episode without jumping to 4 or 5 others first. David Horovitz's interpretation of Inspector Slack is one dimensional- he's just abominably rude to everyone with no zeal or enthusiasm for his work.
Utter tripe. Try Geraldine McEwan's version; at least it won't put you to sleep.
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