Agatha Christie

The Body in the Library

A Miss Marple Mystery

To My Friend Nan

Foreword

There are certain clichÃ©s belonging to certain types of fiction. The âbold bad baronetâ for melodrama, the âbody in the libraryâ for the detective story. For several years I treasured up the possibility of a suitable âVariation on a well-known Theme.â I laid down for myself certain conditions. The library in question must be a highly orthodox and conventional library. The body, on the other hand, must be a wildly improbable and highly sensational body. Such were the terms of the problem, but for some years they remained as such, represented only by a few lines of writing in an exercise book. Then, staying one summer for a few days at a fashionable hotel by the seaside I observed a family at one of the tables in the dining room; an elderly man, a cripple, in a wheeled chair, and with him was a family party of a younger generation. Fortunately they left the next day, so that my imagination could get to work unhampered by any kind of knowledge. When people ask âDo you put real people in your books?â the answer is that, for me, it is quite impossible to write about anyone I know, or have ever spoken to, or indeed have even heard about! For some reason, it kills them for me stone dead. But I can take a âlay figureâ and endow it with qualities and imaginings of my own.

So an elderly crippled man became the pivot of the story. Colonel and Mrs. Bantry, those old cronies of my Miss Marple, had just the right kind of library. In the manner of a cookery recipe add the following ingredients: a tennis pro, a young dancer, an artist, a girl guide, a dance hostess, etc., and serve up Ã  la Miss Marple!

One

I

Mrs. Bantry was dreaming. Her sweet peas had just taken a First at the flower show. The vicar, dressed in cassock and surplice, was giving out the prizes in church. His wife wandered past, dressed in a bathing suit, but as is the blessed habit of dreams this fact did not arouse the disapproval of the parish in the way it would assuredly have done in real lifeâ¦.

Mrs. Bantry was enjoying her dream a good deal. She usually did enjoy those early-morning dreams that were terminated by the arrival of early-morning tea. Somewhere in her inner consciousness was an awareness of the usual early-morning noises of the household. The rattle of the curtain rings on the stairs as the housemaid drew them, the noises of the second housemaidâs dustpan and brush in the passage outside. In the distance the heavy noise of the front-door bolt being drawn back.

Another day was beginning. In the meantime she must extract as much pleasure as possible from the flower showâfor already its dream-like quality was becoming apparentâ¦.

Below her was the noise of the big wooden shutters in the drawing room being opened. She heard it, yet did not hear it. For quite half an hour longer the usual household noises would go on, discreet, subdued, not disturbing because they were so familiar. They would culminate in a swift, controlled sound of footsteps along the passage, the rustle of a print dress, the subdued chink of tea things as the tray was deposited on the table outside, then the soft knock and the entry of Mary to draw the curtains.

In her sleep Mrs. Bantry frowned. Something disturbing was penetrating through to the dream state, something out of its time. Footsteps along the passage, footsteps that were too hurried and too soon. Her ears listened unconsciously for the chink of china, but there was no chink of china.

The knock came at the door. Automatically from the depths of her dreams Mrs. Bantry said: âCome in.â The door openedânow there would be the chink of curtain rings as the curtains were drawn back.

But there was no chink of curtain rings. Out of the dim green light Maryâs voice cameâbreathless, hysterical: âOh, maâam, oh, maâam, thereâs a body in the library.â

And then with a hysterical burst of sobs she rushed out of the room again.

II

Mrs. Bantry sat up in bed.

Either her dream had taken a very odd turn or elseâor else Mary had really rushed into the room and had said (incredible! fantastic!) that there was a body in the library.

âImpossible,â said Mrs. Bantry to herself. âI must have been dreaming.â

But even as she said it, she felt more and more certain that she had not been dreaming, that Mary, her superior self-controlled Mary, had actually uttered those fantastic words.

Mrs. Bantry reflected a minute and then applied an urgent conjugal elbow to her sleeping spouse.

âArthur, Arthur, wake up.â

Colonel Bantry grunted, muttered, and rolled over on his side.

âWake up, Arthur. Did you hear what she said?â

âVery likely,â said Colonel Bantry indistinctly. âI quite agree with you, Dolly,â and promptly went to sleep again.

Mrs. Bantry shook him.

âYouâve got to listen. Mary came in and said that there was a body in the library.â

âEh, what?â

âA body in the library.â

âWho said so?â

âMary.â

Colonel Bantry collected his scattered faculties and proceeded to deal with the situation. He said:

âNonsense, old girl; youâve been dreaming.â

âNo, I havenât. I thought so, too, at first. But I havenât. She really came in and said so.â

âMary came in and said there was a body in the library?â

âYes.â

âBut there couldnât be,â said Colonel Bantry.

âNo, no, I suppose not,â said Mrs. Bantry doubtfully.

Rallying, she went on:

âBut then why did Mary say there was?â

âShe canât have.â

âShe did.â

âYou must have imagined it.â

âI didnât imagine it.â

Colonel Bantry was by now thoroughly awake and prepared to deal with the situation on its merits. He said kindly:

âYouâve been dreaming, Dolly, thatâs what it is. Itâs that detective story you were readingâThe Clue of the Broken Match. You knowâLord Edgbaston finds a beautiful blonde dead on the library hearthrug. Bodies are always being found in libraries in books. Iâve never known a case in real life.â

âPerhaps you will now,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAnyway, Arthur, youâve got to get up and see.â

âBut really, Dolly, it must have been a dream. Dreams often do seem wonderfully vivid when you first wake up. You feel quite sure theyâre true.â

âI was having quite a different sort of dreamâabout a flower show and the vicarâs wife in a bathing dressâsomething like that.â

With a sudden burst of energy Mrs. Bantry jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains. The light of a fine autumn day flooded the room.

âI did not dream it,â said Mrs. Bantry firmly. âGet up at once, Arthur, and go downstairs and see about it.â

âYou want me to go downstairs and ask if thereâs a body in the library? I shall look a damned fool.â

âYou neednât ask anything,â said Mrs. Bantry. âIf there is a bodyâand of course itâs just possible that Maryâs gone mad and thinks she sees things that arenât thereâwell, somebody will tell you soon enough. You wonât have to say a word.â

Grumbling, Colonel Bantry wrapped himself in his dressing gown and left the room. He went along the passage and down the staircase. At the foot of it was a little knot of huddled servants; some of them were sobbing. The butler stepped forward impressively.

âIâm glad you have come, sir. I have directed that nothing should be done until you came. Will it be in order for me to ring up the police, sir?â

âRing âem up about what?â

The butler cast a reproachful glance over his shoulder at the tall young woman who was weeping hysterically on the cookâs shoulder.

âI understood, sir, that Mary had already informed you. She said she had done so.â

Mary gasped out:

âI was so upset I donât know what I said. It all came over me again and my legs gave way and my inside turned over. Finding it like thatâoh, oh, oh!â

She subsided again on to Mrs. Eccles, who said: âThere, there, my dear,â with some relish.

âMary is naturally somewhat upset, sir, having been the one to make the gruesome discovery,â explained the butler. âShe went into the library as usual, to draw the curtains, andâalmost stumbled over the body.â

âDo you mean to tell me,â demanded Colonel Bantry, âthat thereâs a dead body in my libraryâmy library?â

The butler coughed.

âPerhaps, sir, you would like to see for yourself.â

III

âHallo, âallo, âallo. Police station here. Yes, whoâs speaking?â

Police-Constable Palk was buttoning up his tunic with one hand while the other held the receiver.

âYes, yes, Gossington Hall. Yes? Oh, good morning, sir.â Police-Constable Palkâs tone underwent a slight modification. It became less impatiently official, recognizing the generous patron of the police sports and the principal magistrate of the district.

âYes, sir? What can I do for you?âIâm sorry, sir, I didnât quite catchâa body, did you say?âyes?âyes, if you please, sirâthatâs right, sirâyoung woman not known to you, you say?âquite, sir. Yes, you can leave it all to me.â

Police-Constable Palk replaced the receiver, uttered a longdrawn whistle and proceeded to dial his superior officerâs number.

Mrs. Palk looked in from the kitchen whence proceeded an appetizing smell of frying bacon.

âWhat is it?â

âRummest thing you ever heard of,â replied her husband. âBody of a young woman found up at the Hall. In the Colonelâs library.â

âMurdered?â

âStrangled, so he says.â

âWho was she?â

âThe Colonel says he doesnât know her from Adam.â

âThen what was she doing in âis library?â

Police-Constable Palk silenced her with a reproachful glance and spoke officially into the telephone.

âInspector Slack? Police-Constable Palk here. A report has just come in that the body of a young woman was discovered this morning at seven-fifteenââ

IV

Miss Marpleâs telephone rang when she was dressing. The sound of it flurried her a little. It was an unusual hour for her telephone to ring. So well ordered was her prim spinsterâs life that unforeseen telephone calls were a source of vivid conjecture.

âDear me,â said Miss Marple, surveying the ringing instrument with perplexity. âI wonder who that can be?â

Nine oâclock to nine-thirty was the recognized time for the village to make friendly calls to neighbours. Plans for the day, invitations and so on were always issued then. The butcher had been known to ring up just before nine if some crisis in the meat trade had occurred. At intervals during the day spasmodic calls might occur, though it was considered bad form to ring after nine-thirty at night. It was true that Miss Marpleâs nephew, a writer, and therefore erratic, had been known to ring up at the most peculiar times, once as late as ten minutes to midnight. But whatever Raymond Westâs eccentricities, early rising was not one of them. Neither he nor anyone of Miss Marpleâs acquaintance would be likely to ring up before eight in the morning. Actually a quarter to eight.

Too early even for a telegram, since the post office did not open until eight.

âIt must be,â Miss Marple decided, âa wrong number.â

Having decided this, she advanced to the impatient instrument and quelled its clamour by picking up the receiver. âYes?â she said.

âIs that you, Jane?â

Miss Marple was much surprised.

âYes, itâs Jane. Youâre up very early, Dolly.â

Mrs. Bantryâs voice came breathless and agitated over the wires.

âThe most awful thing has happened.â

âOh, my dear.â

âWeâve just found a body in the library.â

For a moment Miss Marple thought her friend had gone mad.

âYouâve found a what?â

âI know. One doesnât believe it, does one? I mean, I thought they only happened in books. I had to argue for hours with Arthur this morning before heâd even go down and see.â

Miss Marple tried to collect herself. She demanded breathlessly: âBut whose body is it?â

âItâs a blonde.â

âA what?â

âA blonde. A beautiful blondeâlike books again. None of us have ever seen her before. Sheâs just lying there in the library, dead. Thatâs why youâve got to come up at once.â

âYou want me to come up?â

âYes, Iâm sending the car down for you.â

Miss Marple said doubtfully:

âOf course, dear, if you think I can be of any comfort to youââ

âOh, I donât want comfort. But youâre so good at bodies.â

âOh no, indeed. My little successes have been mostly theoretical.â

âBut youâre very good at murders. Sheâs been murdered, you see, strangled. What I feel is that if one has got to have a murder actually happening in oneâs house, one might as well enjoy it, if you know what I mean. Thatâs why I want you to come and help me find out who did it and unravel the mystery and all that. It really is rather thrilling, isnât it?â

âWell, of course, my dear, if I can be of any help to you.â

âSplendid! Arthurâs being rather difficult. He seems to think I shouldnât enjoy myself about it at all. Of course, I do know itâs very sad and all that, but then I donât know the girlâand when youâve seen her youâll understand what I mean when I say she doesnât look real at all.â

V

A little breathless, Miss Marple alighted from the Bantryâs car, the door of which was held open for her by the chauffeur.

Colonel Bantry came out on the steps, and looked a little surprised.

âMiss Marple?âerâvery pleased to see you.â

âYour wife telephoned to me,â explained Miss Marple.

âCapital, capital. She ought to have someone with her. Sheâll crack up otherwise. Sheâs putting a good face on things at the moment, but you know what it isââ

At this moment Mrs. Bantry appeared, and exclaimed:

âDo go back into the dining room and eat your breakfast, Arthur. Your bacon will get cold.â

âI thought it might be the Inspector arriving,â explained Colonel Bantry.

âHeâll be here soon enough,â said Mrs. Bantry. âThatâs why itâs important to get your breakfast first. You need it.â

âSo do you. Much better come and eat something. Dollyââ

âIâll come in a minute,â said Mrs. Bantry. âGo on, Arthur.â

Colonel Bantry was shooed back into the dining room like a recalcitrant hen.

âNow!â said Mrs. Bantry with an intonation of triumph. âCome on.â

She led the way rapidly along the long corridor to the east of the house. Outside the library door Constable Palk stood on guard. He intercepted Mrs. Bantry with a show of authority.

âIâm afraid nobody is allowed in, madam. Inspectorâs orders.â

âNonsense, Palk,â said Mrs. Bantry. âYou know Miss Marple perfectly well.â

Constable Palk admitted to knowing Miss Marple.

âItâs very important that she should see the body,â said Mrs. Bantry. âDonât be stupid, Palk. After all, itâs my library, isnât it?â

Constable Palk gave way. His habit of giving in to the gentry was lifelong. The Inspector, he reflected, need never know about it.

âNothing must be touched or handled in any way,â he warned the ladies.

âOf course not,â said Mrs. Bantry impatiently. âWe know that. You can come in and watch, if you like.â

Constable Palk availed himself of this permission. It had been his intention, anyway.

Mrs. Bantry bore her friend triumphantly across the library to the big old-fashioned fireplace. She said, with a dramatic sense of climax: âThere!â

Miss Marple understood then just what her friend had meant when she said the dead girl wasnât real. The library was a room very typical of its owners. It was large and shabby and untidy. It had big sagging armchairs, and pipes and books and estate papers laid out on the big table. There were one or two good old family portraits on the walls, and some bad Victorian watercolours, and some would-be-funny hunting scenes. There was a big vase of Michaelmas daisies in the corner. The whole room was dim and mellow and casual. It spoke of long occupation and familiar use and of links with tradition.

And across the old bearskin hearthrug there was sprawled something new and crude and melodramatic.

The flamboyant figure of a girl. A girl with unnaturally fair hair dressed up off her face in elaborate curls and rings. Her thin body was dressed in a backless evening dress of white spangled satin. The face was heavily made-up, the powder standing out grotesquely on its blue swollen surface, the mascara of the lashes lying thickly on the distorted cheeks, the scarlet of the lips looking like a gash. The fingernails were enamelled in a deep blood-red and so were the toenails in their cheap silver sandal shoes. It was a cheap, tawdry, flamboyant figureâmost incongruous in the solid old-fashioned comfort of Colonel Bantryâs library.

Mrs. Bantry said in a low voice:

âYou see what I mean? It just isnât true!â

The old lady by her side nodded her head. She looked down long and thoughtfully at the huddled figure.

She said at last in a gentle voice:

âSheâs very young.â

âYesâyesâI suppose she is.â Mrs. Bantry seemed almost surprisedâlike one making a discovery.

Miss Marple bent down. She did not touch the girl. She looked at the fingers that clutched frantically at the front of the girlâs dress, as though she had clawed it in her last frantic struggle for breath.

There was the sound of a car scrunching on the gravel outside. Constable Palk said with urgency:

âThatâll be the Inspectorâ¦.â

True to his ingrained belief that the gentry didnât let you down, Mrs. Bantry immediately moved to the door. Miss Marple followed her. Mrs. Bantry said:

âThatâll be all right, Palk.â

Constable Palk was immensely relieved.

VI

Hastily downing the last fragments of toast and marmalade with a drink of coffee, Colonel Bantry hurried out into the hall and was relieved to see Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable of the county, descending from a car with Inspector Slack in attendance. Melchett was a friend of the Colonelâs. Slack he had never much taken toâan energetic man who belied his name and who accompanied his bustling manner with a good deal of disregard for the feelings of anyone he did not consider important.

âMorning, Bantry,â said the Chief Constable. âThought Iâd better come along myself. This seems an extraordinary business.â

âItâsâitâsââ Colonel Bantry struggled to express himself. âItâs incredibleâfantastic!â

âNo idea who the woman is?â

âNot the slightest. Never set eyes on her in my life.â

âButler know anything?â asked Inspector Slack.

âLorrimer is just as taken aback as I am.â

âAh,â said Inspector Slack. âI wonder.â

Colonel Bantry said:

âThereâs breakfast in the dining room, Melchett, if youâd like anything?â

âNo, noâbetter get on with the job. Haydock ought to be here any minute nowâah, here he is.â

Another car drew up and big, broad-shouldered Doctor Haydock, who was also the police surgeon, got out. A second police car had disgorged two plainclothes men, one with a camera.

âAll setâeh?â said the Chief Constable. âRight. Weâll go along. In the library, Slack tells me.â

Colonel Bantry groaned.

âItâs incredible! You know, when my wife insisted this morning that the housemaid had come in and said there was a body in the library, I just wouldnât believe her.â

âNo, no, I can quite understand that. Hope your missus isnât too badly upset by it all?â

âSheâs been wonderfulâreally wonderful. Sheâs got old Miss Marple up here with herâfrom the village, you know.â

âMiss Marple?â The Chief Constable stiffened. âWhy did she send for her?â

âOh, a woman wants another womanâdonât you think so?â

Colonel Melchett said with a slight chuckle:

âIf you ask me, your wifeâs going to try her hand at a little amateur detecting. Miss Marpleâs quite the local sleuth. Put it over us properly once, didnât she, Slack?â

Inspector Slack said: âThat was different.â

âDifferent from what?â

âThat was a local case, that was, sir. The old lady knows everything that goes on in the village, thatâs true enough. But sheâll be out of her depth here.â

Melchett said dryly: âYou donât know very much about it yourself yet, Slack.â

âAh, you wait, sir. It wonât take me long to get down to it.â

VII

In the dining room Mrs. Bantry and Miss Marple, in their turn, were partaking of breakfast.

After waiting on her guest, Mrs. Bantry said urgently:

âWell, Jane?â

Miss Marple looked up at her, slightly bewildered.

Mrs. Bantry said hopefully:

âDoesnât it remind you of anything?â

For Miss Marple had attained fame by her ability to link up trivial village happenings with graver problems in such a way as to throw light upon the latter.

âNo,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully, âI canât say that it doesânot at the moment. I was reminded a little of Mrs. Chettyâs youngestâEdie, you knowâbut I think that was just because this poor girl bit her nails and her front teeth stuck out a little. Nothing more than that. And, of course,â went on Miss Marple, pursuing the parallel further, âEdie was fond of what I call cheap finery, too.â

âYou mean her dress?â said Mrs. Bantry.

âYes, a very tawdry satinâpoor quality.â

Mrs. Bantry said:

âI know. One of those nasty little shops where everything is a guinea.â She went on hopefully:

âLet me see, what happened to Mrs. Chettyâs Edie?â

âSheâs just gone into her second placeâand doing very well, I believe.â

Mrs. Bantry felt slightly disappointed. The village parallel didnât seem to be exactly hopeful.

âWhat I canât make out,â said Mrs. Bantry, âis what she could possibly be doing in Arthurâs study. The window was forced, Palk tells me. She might have come down here with a burglar and then they quarrelledâbut that seems such nonsense, doesnât it?â

âShe was hardly dressed for burglary,â said Miss Marple thoughtfully.

âNo, she was dressed for dancingâor a party of some kind. But thereâs nothing of that kind down hereâor anywhere near.â

âN-n-o,â said Miss Marple doubtfully.

Mrs. Bantry pounced.

âSomethingâs in your mind, Jane.â

âWell, I was just wonderingââ

âYes?â

âBasil Blake.â

Mrs. Bantry cried impulsively: âOh, no!â and added as though in explanation, âI know his mother.â

The two women looked at each other.

Miss Marple sighed and shook her head.

âI quite understand how you feel about it.â

âSelina Blake is the nicest woman imaginable. Her herbaceous borders are simply marvellousâthey make me green with envy. And sheâs frightfully generous with cuttings.â

Miss Marple, passing over these claims to consideration on the part of Mrs. Blake, said:

âAll the same, you know, there has been a lot of talk.â

âOh, I knowâI know. And of course Arthur goes simply livid when he hears Basil Blake mentioned. He was really very rude to Arthur, and since then Arthur wonât hear a good word for him. Heâs got that silly slighting way of talking that these boys have nowadaysâsneering at people sticking up for their school or the Empire or that sort of thing. And then, of course, the clothes he wears!â

âPeople say,â continued Mrs. Bantry, âthat it doesnât matter what you wear in the country. I never heard such nonsense. Itâs just in the country that everyone notices.â She paused, and added wistfully: âHe was an adorable baby in his bath.â

âThere was a lovely picture of the Cheviot murderer as a baby in the paper last Sunday,â said Miss Marple.

âOh, but Jane, you donât think heââ

âNo, no, dear. I didnât mean that at all. That would indeed be jumping to conclusions. I was just trying to account for the young womanâs presence down here. St. Mary Mead is such an unlikely place. And then it seemed to me that the only possible explanation was Basil Blake. He does have parties. People came down from London and from the studiosâyou remember last July? Shouting and singingâthe most terrible noiseâeveryone very drunk, Iâm afraidâand the mess and the broken glass next morning simply unbelievableâso old Mrs. Berry told meâand a young woman asleep in the bath with practically nothing on!â

Mrs. Bantry said indulgently:

âI suppose they were film people.â

âVery likely. And thenâwhat I expect youâve heardâseveral weekends lately heâs brought down a young woman with himâa platinum blonde.â

Mrs. Bantry exclaimed:

âYou donât think itâs this one?â

âWellâI wondered. Of course, Iâve never seen her close toâonly just getting in and out of the carâand once in the cottage garden when she was sunbathing with just some shorts and a brassiÃ¨re. I never really saw her face. And all these girls with their makeup and their hair and their nails look so alike.â

âYes. Still, it might be. Itâs an idea, Jane.â

Two

I

It was an idea that was being at that moment discussed by Colonel Melchett and Colonel Bantry.

The Chief Constable, after viewing the body and seeing his subordinates set to work on their routine tasks, had adjourned with the master of the house to the study in the other wing of the house.

Colonel Melchett was an irascible-looking man with a habit of tugging at his short red moustache. He did so now, shooting a perplexed sideways glance at the other man. Finally, he rapped out:

âLook here, Bantry, got to get this off my chest. Is it a fact that you donât know from Adam who this girl is?â

The otherâs answer was explosive, but the Chief Constable interrupted him.

âYes, yes, old man, but look at it like this. Might be deuced awkward for you. Married manâfond of your missus and all that. But just between ourselvesâif you were tied up with this girl in any way, better say so now. Quite natural to want to suppress the factâshould feel the same myself. But it wonât do. Murder case. Facts bound to come out. Dash it all, Iâm not suggesting you strangled the girlânot the sort of thing youâd doâI know that. But, after all, she came hereâto this house. Put it she broke in and was waiting to see you, and some bloke or other followed her down and did her in. Possible, you know. See what I mean?â

âDamn it all, Melchett, I tell you Iâve never set eyes on that girl in my life! Iâm not that sort of man.â

âThatâs all right, then. Shouldnât blame you, you know. Man of the world. Still, if you say soâQuestion is, what was she doing down here? She doesnât come from these partsâthatâs quite certain.â

âThe whole thingâs a nightmare,â fumed the angry master of the house.

âThe point is, old man, what was she doing in your library?â

âHow should I know? I didnât ask her here.â

âNo, no. But she came here, all the same. Looks as though she wanted to see you. You havenât had any odd letters or anything?â

âNo, I havenât.â

Colonel Melchett inquired delicately:

âWhat were you doing yourself last night?â

âI went to the meeting of the Conservative Association. Nine oâclock, at Much Benham.â

âAnd you got home when?â

âI left Much Benham just after tenâhad a bit of trouble on the way home, had to change a wheel. I got back at a quarter to twelve.â

âYou didnât go into the library?â

âNo.â

âPity.â

âI was tired. I went straight up to bed.â

âAnyone waiting up for you?â

âNo. I always take the latchkey. Lorrimer goes to bed at eleven unless I give orders to the contrary.â

âWho shuts up the library?â

âLorrimer. Usually about seven-thirty this time of year.â

âWould he go in there again during the evening?â

âNot with my being out. He left the tray with whisky and glasses in the hall.â

âI see. What about your wife?â

âI donât know. She was in bed when I got home and fast asleep. She may have sat in the library yesterday evening or in the drawing room. I forgot to ask her.â

âOh well, we shall soon know all the details. Of course, itâs possible one of the servants may be concerned, eh?â

Colonel Bantry shook his head.

âI donât believe it. Theyâre all a most respectable lot. Weâve had âem for years.â

Melchett agreed.

âYes, it doesnât seem likely that theyâre mixed up in it. Looks more as though the girl came down from townâperhaps with some young fellow. Though why they wanted to break into this houseââ

Bantry interrupted.

âLondon. Thatâs more like it. We donât have goings on down hereâat leastââ

âWell, what is it?â

âUpon my word!â exploded Colonel Bantry. âBasil Blake!â

âWhoâs he?â

âYoung fellow connected with the film industry. Poisonous young brute. My wife sticks up for him because she was at school with his mother, but of all the decadent useless young jackanapes! Wants his behind kicked! Heâs taken that cottage on the Lansham Roadâyou knowâghastly modern bit of building. He has parties there, shrieking, noisy crowds, and he has girls down for the weekend.â

âGirls?â

âYes, there was one last weekâone of these platinum blondesââ

The Colonelâs jaw dropped.

âA platinum blonde, eh?â said Melchett reflectively.

âYes. I say, Melchett, you donât thinkââ

The Chief Constable said briskly:

âItâs a possibility. It accounts for a girl of this type being in St. Mary Mead. I think Iâll run along and have a word with this young fellowâBraidâBlakeâwhat did you say his name was?â

âBlake. Basil Blake.â

âWill he be at home, do you know?â

âLet me see. Whatâs todayâSaturday? Usually gets here sometime Saturday morning.â

Melchett said grimly:

âWeâll see if we can find him.â

II

Basil Blakeâs cottage, which consisted of all modern conveniences enclosed in a hideous shell of half timbering and sham Tudor, was known to the postal authorities, and to William Booker, builder, as âChatsworthâ; to Basil and his friends as âThe Period Piece,â and to the village of St. Mary Mead at large as âMr. Bookerâs new house.â

It was little more than a quarter of a mile from the village proper, being situated on a new building estate that had been bought by the enterprising Mr. Booker just beyond the Blue Boar, with frontage on what had been a particularly unspoilt country lane. Gossington Hall was about a mile farther on along the same road.

Lively interest had been aroused in St. Mary Mead when news went round that âMr. Bookerâs new houseâ had been bought by a film star. Eager watch was kept for the first appearance of the legendary creature in the village, and it may be said that as far as appearances went Basil Blake was all that could be asked for. Little by little, however, the real facts leaked out. Basil Blake was not a film starânot even a film actor. He was a very junior person, rejoicing in the title of about fifteenth in the list of those responsible for Set Decorations at Lemville Studios, headquarters of British New Era Films. The village maidens lost interest, and the ruling class of censorious spinsters took exception to Basil Blakeâs way of life. Only the landlord of the Blue Boar continued to be enthusiastic about Basil and Basilâs friends. The revenues of the Blue Boar had increased since the young manâs arrival in the place.

The police car stopped outside the distorted rustic gate of Mr. Bookerâs fancy, and Colonel Melchett, with a glance of distaste at the excessive half timbering of Chatsworth, strode up to the front door and attacked it briskly with the knocker.

It was opened much more promptly than he had expected. A young man with straight, somewhat long, black hair, wearing orange corduroy trousers and a royal-blue shirt, snapped out: âWell, what do you want?â

âAre you Mr. Basil Blake?â

âOf course I am.â

âI should be glad to have a few words with you, if I may, Mr. Blake?â

âWho are you?â

âI am Colonel Melchett, the Chief Constable of the County.â

Mr. Blake said insolently:

âYou donât say so; how amusing!â

And Colonel Melchett, following the other in, understood what Colonel Bantryâs reactions had been. The toe of his own boot itched.

Containing himself, however, he said with an attempt to speak pleasantly:

âYouâre an early riser, Mr. Blake.â

âNot at all. I havenât been to bed yet.â

âIndeed.â

âBut I donât suppose youâve come here to inquire into my hours of bedgoingâor if you have itâs rather a waste of the countyâs time and money. What is it you want to speak to me about?â

Colonel Melchett cleared his throat.

âI understand, Mr. Blake, that last weekend you had a visitorâaâerâfair-haired young lady.â

Basil Blake stared, threw back his head and roared with laughter.

âHave the old cats been on to you from the village? About my morals? Damn it all, morals arenât a police matter. You know that.â

âAs you say,â said Melchett dryly, âyour morals are no concern of mine. I have come to you because the body of a fair-haired young woman of slightlyâerâexotic appearance has been foundâmurdered.â

âStrewth!â Blake stared at him. âWhere?â

âIn the library at Gossington Hall.â

âAt Gossington? At old Bantryâs? I say, thatâs pretty rich. Old Bantry! The dirty old man!â

Colonel Melchett went very red in the face. He said sharply through the renewed mirth of the young man opposite him: âKindly control your tongue, sir. I came to ask you if you can throw any light on this business.â

âYouâve come round to ask me if Iâve missed a blonde? Is that it? Why shouldâhallo, âallo, âallo, whatâs this?â

A car had drawn up outside with a scream of brakes. Out of it tumbled a young woman dressed in flapping black-and-white pyjamas. She had scarlet lips, blackened eyelashes, and a platinum-blonde head. She strode up to the door, flung it open, and exclaimed angrily:

âWhy did you run out on me, you brute?â

Basil Blake had risen.

âSo there you are! Why shouldnât I leave you? I told you to clear out and you wouldnât.â

âWhy the hell should I because you told me to? I was enjoying myself.â

âYesâwith that filthy brute Rosenberg. You know what heâs like.â

âYou were jealous, thatâs all.â

âDonât flatter yourself. I hate to see a girl I like who canât hold her drink and lets a disgusting Central European paw her about.â

âThatâs a damned lie. You were drinking pretty hard yourselfâand going on with the black-haired Spanish bitch.â

âIf I take you to a party I expect you to be able to behave yourself.â

âAnd I refuse to be dictated to, and thatâs that. You said weâd go to the party and come on down here afterwards. Iâm not going to leave a party before Iâm ready to leave it.â

âNoâand thatâs why I left you flat. I was ready to come down here and I came. I donât hang round waiting for any fool of a woman.â

âSweet, polite person you are!â

âYou seem to have followed me down all right!â

âI wanted to tell you what I thought of you!â

âIf you think you can boss me, my girl, youâre wrong!â

âAnd if you think you can order me about, you can think again!â

They glared at each other.

It was at this moment that Colonel Melchett seized his opportunity, and cleared his throat loudly.

Basil Blake swung round on him.

âHallo, I forgot you were here. About time you took yourself off, isnât it? Let me introduce youâDinah LeeâColonel Blimp of the County Police. And now, Colonel, that youâve seen my blonde is alive and in good condition, perhaps youâll get on with the good work concerning old Bantryâs little bit of fluff. Good morning!â

Colonel Melchett said:

âI advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head, young man, or youâll let yourself in for trouble,â and stumped out, his face red and wrathful.

Three

I

In his office at Much Benham, Colonel Melchett received and scrutinized the reports of his subordinates:

ââ¦ so it all seems clear enough, sir,â Inspector Slack was concluding: âMrs. Bantry sat in the library after dinner and went to bed just before ten. She turned out the lights when she left the room and, presumably, no one entered the room afterwards. The servants went to bed at half-past ten and Lorrimer, after putting the drinks in the hall, went to bed at a quarter to eleven. Nobody heard anything out of the usual except the third housemaid, and she heard too much! Groans and a blood-curdling yell and sinister footsteps and I donât know what. The second housemaid who shares a room with her says the other girl slept all night through without a sound. Itâs those ones that make up things that cause us all the trouble.â

âWhat about the forced window?â

âAmateur job, Simmons says; done with a common chiselâordinary patternâwouldnât have made much noise. Ought to be a chisel about the house but nobody can find it. Still, thatâs common enough where tools are concerned.â

âThink any of the servants know anything?â

Rather unwillingly Inspector Slack replied:

âNo, sir, I donât think they do. They all seemed very shocked and upset. I had my suspicions of Lorrimerâreticent, he was, if you know what I meanâbut I donât think thereâs anything in it.â

Melchett nodded. He attached no importance to Lorrimerâs reticence. The energetic Inspector Slack often produced that effect on people he interrogated.

The door opened and Dr. Haydock came in.

âThought Iâd look in and give you the rough gist of things.â

âYes, yes, glad to see you. Well?â

âNothing much. Just what youâd think. Death was due to strangulation. Satin waistband of her own dress, which was passed round the neck and crossed at the back. Quite easy and simple to do. Wouldnât have needed great strengthâthat is, if the girl were taken by surprise. There are no signs of a struggle.â

âWhat about time of death?â

âSay, between ten oâclock and midnight.â

âYou canât get nearer than that?â

Haydock shook his head with a slight grin.

âI wonât risk my professional reputation. Not earlier than ten and not later than midnight.â

âAnd your own fancy inclines to which time?â

âDepends. There was a fire in the grateâthe room was warmâall that would delay rigor and cadaveric stiffening.â

âAnything more you can say about her?â

âNothing much. She was youngâabout seventeen or eighteen, I should say. Rather immature in some ways but well developed muscularly. Quite a healthy specimen. She was virgo intacta, by the way.â

And with a nod of his head the doctor left the room.

Melchett said to the Inspector:

âYouâre quite sure sheâd never been seen before at Gossington?â

âThe servants are positive of that. Quite indignant about it. Theyâd have remembered if theyâd ever seen her about in the neighbourhood, they say.â

âI expect they would,â said Melchett. âAnyone of that type sticks out a mile round here. Look at that young woman of Blakeâs.â

âPity it wasnât her,â said Slack; âthen we should be able to get on a bit.â

âIt seems to me this girl must have come down from London,â said the Chief Constable thoughtfully. âDonât believe there will be any local leads. In that case, I suppose, we should do well to call in the Yard. Itâs a case for them, not for us.â

âSomething must have brought her down here, though,â said Slack. He added tentatively: âSeems to me, Colonel and Mrs. Bantry must know somethingâof course, I know theyâre friends of yours, sirââ

Colonel Melchett treated him to a cold stare. He said stiffly:

âYou may rest assured that Iâm taking every possibility into account. Every possibility.â He went on: âYouâve looked through the list of persons reported missing, I suppose?â

Slack nodded. He produced a typed sheet.

âGot âem here. Mrs. Saunders, reported missing a week ago, dark-haired, blue-eyed, thirty-six. âTisnât herâand, anyway, everyone knows except her husband that sheâs gone off with a fellow from Leedsâcommercial. Mrs. Barnardâsheâs sixty-five. Pamela Reeves, sixteen, missing from her home last night, had attended Girl Guide rally, dark-brown hair in pigtail, five feet fiveââ

Melchett said irritably:

âDonât go on reading idiotic details, Slack. This wasnât a schoolgirl. In my opinionââ

He broke off as the telephone rang. âHalloâyesâyes, Much Benham Police Headquartersâwhat? Just a minuteââ

He listened, and wrote rapidly. Then he spoke again, a new tone in his voice:

âRuby Keene, eighteen, occupation professional dancer, five feet four inches, slender, platinum-blonde hair, blue eyes, retroussÃ© nose, believed to be wearing white diamantÃ© evening dress, silver sandal shoes. Is that right? What? Yes, not a doubt of it, I should say. Iâll send Slack over at once.â

He rang off and looked at his subordinate with rising excitement. âWeâve got it, I think. That was the Glenshire Policeâ (Glenshire was the adjoining county). âGirl reported missing from the Majestic Hotel, Danemouth.â

âDanemouth,â said Inspector Slack. âThatâs more like it.â

Danemouth was a large and fashionable watering-place on the coast not far away.

âItâs only a matter of eighteen miles or so from here,â said the Chief Constable. âThe girl was a dance hostess or something at the Majestic. Didnât come on to do her turn last night and the management were very fed up about it. When she was still missing this morning one of the other girls got the wind up about her, or someone else did. It sounds a bit obscure. Youâd better go over to Danemouth at once, Slack. Report there to Superintendent Harper, and cooperate with him.â

II

Activity was always to Inspector Slackâs taste. To rush off in a car, to silence rudely those people who were anxious to tell him things, to cut short conversations on the plea of urgent necessity. All this was the breath of life to Slack.

In an incredibly short time, therefore, he had arrived at Danemouth, reported at police headquarters, had a brief interview with a distracted and apprehensive hotel manager, and, leaving the latter with the doubtful comfort ofââgot to make sure it is the girl, first, before we start raising the windââwas driving back to Much Benham in company with Ruby Keeneâs nearest relative.

He had put through a short call to Much Benham before leaving Danemouth, so the Chief Constable was prepared for his arrival, though not perhaps for the brief introduction of: âThis is Josie, sir.â

Colonel Melchett stared at his subordinate coldly. His feeling was that Slack had taken leave of his senses.

The young woman who had just got out of the car came to the rescue.

âThatâs what Iâm known as professionally,â she explained with a momentary flash of large, handsome white teeth. âRaymond and Josie, my partner and I call ourselves, and, of course, all the hotel know me as Josie. Josephine Turnerâs my real name.â

Colonel Melchett adjusted himself to the situation and invited Miss Turner to sit down, meanwhile casting a swift, professional glance over her.

She was a good-looking young woman of perhaps nearer thirty than twenty, her looks depending more on skilful grooming than actual features. She looked competent and good-tempered, with plenty of common sense. She was not the type that would ever be described as glamorous, but she had nevertheless plenty of attraction. She was discreetly made-up and wore a dark tailor-made suit. Though she looked anxious and upset she was not, the Colonel decided, particularly grief-stricken.

As she sat down she said: âIt seems too awful to be true. Do you really think itâs Ruby?â

âThat, Iâm afraid, is what weâve got to ask you to tell us. Iâm afraid it may be rather unpleasant for you.â

Miss Turner said apprehensively:

âDoes sheâdoes sheâlook very terrible?â

âWellâIâm afraid it may be rather a shock to you.â He handed her his cigarette case and she accepted one gratefully.

âDoâdo you want me to look at her right away?â

âIt would be best, I think, Miss Turner. You see, itâs not much good asking you questions until weâre sure. Best get it over, donât you think?â

âAll right.â

They drove down to the mortuary.

When Josie came out after a brief visit, she looked rather sick.

âItâs Ruby all right,â she said shakily. âPoor kid! Goodness, I do feel queer. There isnâtââshe looked round wistfullyââany gin?â

Gin was not available, but brandy was, and after gulping a little down Miss Turner regained her composure. She said frankly:

âIt gives you a turn, doesnât it, seeing anything like that? Poor little Rube! What swine men are, arenât they?â

âYou believe it was a man?â

Josie looked slightly taken aback.

âWasnât it? Well, I meanâI naturally thoughtââ

âAny special man you were thinking of?â

She shook her head vigorously.

âNoânot me. I havenât the least idea. Naturally Ruby wouldnât have let on to me ifââ

âIf what?â

Josie hesitated.

âWellâif sheâd beenâgoing about with anyone.â

Melchett shot her a keen glance. He said no more until they were back at his office. Then he began:

âNow, Miss Turner, I want all the information you can give me.â

âYes, of course. Where shall I begin?â

âIâd like the girlâs full name and address, her relationship to you and all you know about her.â

Josephine Turner nodded. Melchett was confirmed in his opinion that she felt no particular grief. She was shocked and distressed but no more. She spoke readily enough.

âHer name was Ruby Keeneâher professional name, that is. Her real name was Rosy Legge. Her mother was my motherâs cousin. Iâve known her all my life, but not particularly well, if you know what I mean. Iâve got a lot of cousinsâsome in business, some on the stage. Ruby was more or less training for a dancer. She had some good engagements last year in panto and that sort of thing. Not really classy, but good provincial companies. Since then sheâs been engaged as one of the dancing partners at the Palais de Danse in BrixwellâSouth London. Itâs a nice respectable place and they look after the girls well, but there isnât much money in it.â She paused.

Colonel Melchett nodded.

âNow this is where I come in. Iâve been dance and bridge hostess at the Majestic in Danemouth for three years. Itâs a good job, well paid and pleasant to do. You look after people when they arriveâsize them up, of courseâsome like to be left alone and others are lonely and want to get into the swing of things. You try to get the right people together for bridge and all that, and get the young people dancing with each other. It needs a bit of tact and experience.â

Again Melchett nodded. He thought that this girl would be good at her job; she had a pleasant, friendly way with her and was, he thought, shrewd without being in the least intellectual.

âBesides that,â continued Josie, âI do a couple of exhibition dances every evening with Raymond. Raymond Starrâheâs the tennis and dancing pro. Well, as it happens, this summer I slipped on the rocks bathing one day and gave my ankle a nasty turn.â

Melchett had noticed that she walked with a slight limp.

âNaturally that put the stop to dancing for a bit and it was rather awkward. I didnât want the hotel to get someone else in my place. Thatâs always a dangerââfor a minute her good-natured blue eyes were hard and sharp; she was the female fighting for existenceââthat they may queer your pitch, you see. So I thought of Ruby and suggested to the manager that I should get her down. Iâd carry on with the hostess business and the bridge and all that. Ruby would just take on the dancing. Keep it in the family, if you see what I mean?â

Melchett said he saw.

âWell, they agreed, and I wired to Ruby and she came down. Rather a chance for her. Much better class than anything sheâd ever done before. That was about a month ago.â

Colonel Melchett said:

âI understand. And she was a success?â

âOh, yes,â Josie said carelessly, âshe went down quite well. She doesnât dance as well as I do, but Raymondâs clever and carried her through, and she was quite nice-looking, you knowâslim and fair and baby-looking. Overdid the makeup a bitâI was always on at her about that. But you know what girls are. She was only eighteen, and at that age they always go and overdo it. It doesnât do for a good-class place like the Majestic. I was always ticking her off about it and getting her to tone it down.â

Melchett asked: âPeople liked her?â

âOh, yes. Mind you, Ruby hadnât got much comeback. She was a bit dumb. She went down better with the older men than with the young ones.â

âHad she got any special friend?â

The girlâs eyes met his with complete understanding.

âNot in the way you mean. Or, at any rate, not that I knew about. But then, you see, she wouldnât tell me.â

Just for a moment Melchett wondered why notâJosie did not give the impression of being a strict disciplinarian. But he only said: âWill you describe to me now when you last saw your cousin.â

âLast night. She and Raymond do two exhibition dancesâone at 10:30 and the other at midnight. They finished the first one. After it, I noticed Ruby dancing with one of the young men staying in the hotel. I was playing bridge with some people in the lounge. Thereâs a glass panel between the lounge and the ballroom. Thatâs the last time I saw her. Just after midnight Raymond came up in a terrible taking, said where was Ruby, she hadnât turned up, and it was time to begin. I was vexed, I can tell you! Thatâs the sort of silly thing girls do and get the managementâs backs up and then they get the sack! I went up with him to her room, but she wasnât there. I noticed that sheâd changed. The dress sheâd been dancing inâa sort of pink, foamy thing with full skirtsâwas lying over a chair. Usually she kept the same dress on unless it was the special dance nightâWednesdays, that is.

âIâd no idea where sheâd got to. We got the band to play one more foxtrotâstill no Ruby, so I said to Raymond Iâd do the exhibition dance with him. We chose one that was easy on my ankle and made it shortâbut it played up my ankle pretty badly all the same. Itâs all swollen this morning. Still Ruby didnât show up. We sat about waiting up for her until two oâclock. Furious with her, I was.â

Her voice vibrated slightly. Melchett caught the note of real anger in it. Just for a moment he wondered. The reaction seemed a little more intense than was justified by the facts. He had a feeling of something deliberately left unsaid. He said:

âAnd this morning, when Ruby Keene had not returned and her bed had not been slept in, you went to the police?â

He knew from Slackâs brief telephone message from Danemouth that that was not the case. But he wanted to hear what Josephine Turner would say.

She did not hesitate. She said: âNo, I didnât.â

âWhy not, Miss Turner?â

Her eyes met his frankly. She said:

âYou wouldnâtâin my place!â

âYou think not?â

Josie said:

âIâve got my job to think about. The one thing a hotel doesnât want is scandalâespecially anything that brings in the police. I didnât think anything had happened to Ruby. Not for a minute! I thought sheâd just made a fool of herself about some young man. I thought sheâd turn up all rightâand I was going to give her a good dressing down when she did! Girls of eighteen are such fools.â

Melchett pretended to glance through his notes.

âAh, yes, I see it was a Mr. Jefferson who went to the police. One of the guests staying at the hotel?â

Josephine Turner said shortly:

âYes.â

Colonel Melchett asked:

âWhat made this Mr. Jefferson do that?â

Josie was stroking the cuff of her jacket. There was a constraint in her manner. Again Colonel Melchett had a feeling that something was being withheld. She said rather sullenly:

âHeâs an invalid. Heâhe gets all het up rather easily. Being an invalid, I mean.â

Melchett passed on from that. He asked:

âWho was the young man with whom you last saw your cousin dancing?â

âHis nameâs Bartlett. Heâd been there about ten days.â

âWere they on very friendly terms?â

âNot specially, I should say. Not that I knew, anyway.â

Again a curious note of anger in her voice.

âWhat does he have to say?â

âSaid that after their dance Ruby went upstairs to powder her nose.â

âThat was when she changed her dress?â

âI suppose so.â

âAnd that is the last thing you know? After that she justââ

âVanished,â said Josie. âThatâs right.â

âDid Miss Keene know anybody in St. Mary Mead? Or in this neighbourhood?â

âI donât know. She may have done. You see, quite a lot of young men come into Danemouth to the Majestic from all round about. I wouldnât know where they lived unless they happened to mention it.â

âDid you ever hear your cousin mention Gossington?â

âGossington?â Josie looked patently puzzled.

âGossington Hall.â

She shook her head.

âNever heard of it.â Her tone carried conviction. There was curiosity in it too.

âGossington Hall,â explained Colonel Melchett, âis where her body was found.â

âGossington Hall?â She stared. âHow extraordinary!â

Melchett thought to himself: âExtraordinaryâs the word!â Aloud he said:

âDo you know a Colonel or Mrs. Bantry?â

Again Josie shook her head.

âOr a Mr. Basil Blake?â

She frowned slightly.

âI think Iâve heard that name. Yes, Iâm sure I haveâbut I donât remember anything about him.â

The diligent Inspector Slack slid across to his superior officer a page torn from his notebook. On it was pencilled:

âCol. Bantry dined at Majestic last week.â

Melchett looked up and met the Inspectorâs eye. The Chief Constable flushed. Slack was an industrious and zealous officer and Melchett disliked him a good deal. But he could not disregard the challenge. The Inspector was tacitly accusing him of favouring his own classâof shielding an âold school tie.â

He turned to Josie.

âMiss Turner, I should like you, if you do not mind, to accompany me to Gossington Hall.â

Coldly, defiantly, almost ignoring Josieâs murmur of assent, Melchettâs eyes met Slackâs.

Four

I

St. Mary Mead was having the most exciting morning it had known for a long time.

Miss Wetherby, a long-nosed, acidulated spinster, was the first to spread the intoxicating information. She dropped in upon her friend and neighbour Miss Hartnell.

âForgive me coming so early, dear, but I thought, perhaps, you mightnât have heard the news.â

âWhat news?â demanded Miss Hartnell. She had a deep bass voice and visited the poor indefatigably, however hard they tried to avoid her ministrations.

âAbout the body in Colonel Bantryâs libraryâa womanâs bodyââ

âIn Colonel Bantryâs library?â

âYes. Isnât it terrible?â

âHis poor wife.â Miss Hartnell tried to disguise her deep and ardent pleasure.

âYes, indeed. I donât suppose she had any idea.â

Miss Hartnell observed censoriously:

âShe thought too much about her garden and not enough about her husband. Youâve got to keep an eye on a manâall the timeâall the time,â repeated Miss Hartnell fiercely.

âI know. I know. Itâs really too dreadful.â

âI wonder what Jane Marple will say. Do you think she knew anything about it? Sheâs so sharp about these things.â

âJane Marple has gone up to Gossington.â

âWhat? This morning?â

âVery early. Before breakfast.â

âBut really! I do think! Well, I mean, I think that is carrying things too far. We all know Jane likes to poke her nose into thingsâbut I call this indecent!â

âOh, but Mrs. Bantry sent for her.â

âMrs. Bantry sent for her?â

âWell, the car cameâwith Muswell driving it.â

âDear me! How very peculiarâ¦.â

They were silent a minute or two digesting the news.

âWhose body?â demanded Miss Hartnell.

âYou know that dreadful woman who comes down with Basil Blake?â

âThat terrible peroxide blonde?â Miss Hartnell was slightly behind the times. She had not yet advanced from peroxide to platinum. âThe one who lies about in the garden with practically nothing on?â

âYes, my dear. There she wasâon the hearthrugâstrangled!â

âBut what do you meanâat Gossington?â

Miss Wetherby nodded with infinite meaning.

âThenâColonel Bantry tooâ?â

Again Miss Wetherby nodded.

âOh!â

There was a pause as the ladies savoured this new addition to village scandal.

âWhat a wicked woman!â trumpeted Miss Hartnell with righteous wrath.

âQuite, quite abandoned, Iâm afraid!â

âAnd Colonel Bantryâsuch a nice quiet manââ

Miss Wetherby said zestfully:

âThose quiet ones are often the worst. Jane Marple always says so.â

II

Mrs. Price Ridley was among the last to hear the news.

A rich and dictatorial widow, she lived in a large house next door to the vicarage. Her informant was her little maid Clara.

âA woman, you say, Clara? Found dead on Colonel Bantryâs hearthrug?â

âYes, mum. And they say, mum, as she hadnât anything on at all, mum, not a stitch!â

âThat will do, Clara. It is not necessary to go into details.â

âNo, mum, and they say, mum, that at first they thought it was Mr. Blakeâs young ladyâwhat comes down for the weekends with âim to Mr. Bookerâs new âouse. But now they say itâs quite a different young lady. And the fishmongerâs young man, he says heâd never have believed it of Colonel Bantryânot with him handing round the plate on Sundays and all.â

âThere is a lot of wickedness in the world, Clara,â said Mrs. Price Ridley. âLet this be a warning to you.â

âYes, mum. Mother, she never will let me take a place where thereâs a gentleman in the âouse.â

âThat will do, Clara,â said Mrs. Price Ridley.

III

It was only a step from Mrs. Price Ridleyâs house to the vicarage.

Mrs. Price Ridley was fortunate enough to find the vicar in his study.

The vicar, a gentle, middle-aged man, was always the last to hear anything.

âSuch a terrible thing,â said Mrs. Price Ridley, panting a little, because she had come rather fast. âI felt I must have your advice, your counsel about it, dear vicar.â

Mr. Clement looked mildly alarmed. He said:

âHas anything happened?â

âHas anything happened?â Mrs. Price Ridley repeated the question dramatically. âThe most terrible scandal! None of us had any idea of it. An abandoned woman, completely unclothed, strangled on Colonel Bantryâs hearthrug.â

The vicar stared. He said:

âYouâyou are feeling quite well?â

âNo wonder you canât believe it! I couldnât at first. The hypocrisy of the man! All these years!â

âPlease tell me exactly what all this is about.â

Mrs. Price Ridley plunged into a full-swing narrative. When she had finished Mr. Clement said mildly:

âBut there is nothing, is there, to point to Colonel Bantryâs being involved in this?â

âOh, dear vicar, you are so unworldly! But I must tell you a little story. Last Thursdayâor was it the Thursday before? well, it doesnât matterâI was going up to London by the cheap day train. Colonel Bantry was in the same carriage. He looked, I thought, very abstracted. And nearly the whole way he buried himself behind The Times. As though, you know, he didnât want to talk.â

The vicar nodded with complete comprehension and possible sympathy.

âAt Paddington I said good-bye. He had offered to get me a taxi, but I was taking the bus down to Oxford Streetâbut he got into one, and I distinctly heard him tell the driver to go toâwhere do you think?â

Mr. Clement looked inquiring.

âAn address in St. Johnâs Wood!â

Mrs. Price Ridley paused triumphantly.

The vicar remained completely unenlightened.

âThat, I consider, proves it,â said Mrs. Price Ridley.

IV

At Gossington, Mrs. Bantry and Miss Marple were sitting in the drawing room.

âYou know,â said Mrs. Bantry, âI canât help feeling glad theyâve taken the body away. Itâs not nice to have a body in oneâs house.â

Miss Marple nodded.

âI know, dear. I know just how you feel.â

âYou canât,â said Mrs. Bantry; ânot until youâve had one. I know you had one next door once, but thatâs not the same thing. I only hope,â she went on, âthat Arthur wonât take a dislike to the library. We sit there so much. What are you doing, Jane?â

For Miss Marple, with a glance at her watch, was rising to her feet. âWell, I was thinking Iâd go home. If thereâs nothing more I can do for you?â

âDonât go yet,â said Mrs. Bantry. âThe fingerprint men and the photographers and most of the police have gone, I know, but I still feel something might happen. You donât want to miss anything.â

The telephone rang and she went off to answer. She returned with a beaming face.

âI told you more things would happen. That was Colonel Melchett. Heâs bringing the poor girlâs cousin along.â

âI wonder why,â said Miss Marple.

âOh, I suppose, to see where it happened and all that.â

âMore than that, I expect,â said Miss Marple.

âWhat do you mean, Jane?â

âWell, I thinkâperhapsâhe might want her to meet Colonel Bantry.â

Mrs. Bantry said sharply:

âTo see if she recognizes him? I supposeâoh, yes, I suppose theyâre bound to suspect Arthur.â

âIâm afraid so.â

âAs though Arthur could have anything to do with it!â

Miss Marple was silent. Mrs. Bantry turned on her accusingly.

âAnd donât quote old General Hendersonâor some frightful old man who kept his housemaidâat me. Arthur isnât like that.â

âNo, no, of course not.â

âNo, but he really isnât. Heâs justâsometimesâa little silly about pretty girls who come to tennis. You knowârather fatuous and avuncular. Thereâs no harm in it. And why shouldnât he? After all,â finished Mrs. Bantry rather obscurely, âIâve got the garden.â

Miss Marple smiled.

âYou must not worry, Dolly,â she said.

âNo, I donât mean to. But all the same I do a little. So does Arthur. Itâs upset him. All these policemen prowling about. Heâs gone down to the farm. Looking at pigs and things always soothes him if heâs been upset. Hallo, here they are.â

The Chief Constableâs car drew up outside.

Colonel Melchett came in accompanied by a smartly dressed young woman.

âThis is Miss Turner, Mrs. Bantry. The cousin of theâerâvictim.â

âHow do you do,â said Mrs. Bantry, advancing with outstretched hand. âAll this must be rather awful for you.â

Josephine Turner said frankly: âOh, it is. None of it seems real, somehow. Itâs like a bad dream.â

Mrs. Bantry introduced Miss Marple.

Melchett said casually: âYour good man about?â

âHe had to go down to one of the farms. Heâll be back soon.â

âOhââ Melchett seemed rather at a loss.

Mrs. Bantry said to Josie: âWould you like to see whereâwhere it happened? Or would you rather not?â

Josephine said after a momentâs pause:

âI think Iâd like to see.â

Mrs. Bantry led her to her library with Miss Marple and Melchett following behind.

âShe was there,â said Mrs. Bantry, pointing dramatically; âon the hearthrug.â

âOh!â Josie shuddered. But she also looked perplexed. She said, her brow creased: âI just canât understand it! I canât!â

âWell, we certainly canât,â said Mrs. Bantry.

Josie said slowly:

âIt isnât the sort of placeââ and broke off.

Miss Marple nodded her head gently in agreement with the unfinished sentiment.

âThat,â she murmured, âis what makes it so very interesting.â

âCome now, Miss Marple,â said Colonel Melchett goodhumouredly, âhavenât you got an explanation?â

âOh yes, Iâve got an explanation,â said Miss Marple. âQuite a feasible one. But of course itâs only my own idea. Tommy Bond,â she continued, âand Mrs. Martin, our new schoolmistress. She went to wind up the clock and a frog jumped out.â

Josephine Turner looked puzzled. As they all went out of the room she murmured to Mrs. Bantry: âIs the old lady a bit funny in the head?â

âNot at all,â said Mrs. Bantry indignantly.

Josie said: âSorry; I thought perhaps she thought she was a frog or something.â

Colonel Bantry was just coming in through the side door. Melchett hailed him, and watched Josephine Turner as he introduced them to each other. But there was no sign of interest or recognition in her face. Melchett breathed a sigh of relief. Curse Slack and his insinuations!

In answer to Mrs. Bantryâs questions Josie was pouring out the story of Ruby Keeneâs disappearance.

âFrightfully worrying for you, my dear,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âI was more angry than worried,â said Josie. âYou see, I didnât know then that anything had happened to her.â

âAnd yet,â said Miss Marple, âyou went to the police. Wasnât thatâexcuse meârather premature?â

Josie said eagerly:

âOh, but I didnât. That was Mr. Jeffersonââ

Mrs. Bantry said: âJefferson?â

âYes, heâs an invalid.â

âNot Conway Jefferson? But I know him well. Heâs an old friend of ours. Arthur, listenâConway Jefferson. Heâs staying at the Majestic, and it was he who went to the police! Isnât that a coincidence?â

Josephine Turner said:

âMr. Jefferson was here last summer too.â

âFancy! And we never knew. I havenât seen him for a long time.â She turned to Josie. âHowâhow is he, nowadays?â

Josie considered.

âI think heâs wonderful, reallyâquite wonderful. Considering, I mean. Heâs always cheerfulâalways got a joke.â

âAre the family there with him?â

âMr. Gaskell, you mean? And young Mrs. Jefferson? And Peter? Oh, yes.â

There was something inhibiting Josephine Turnerâs usual attractive frankness of manner. When she spoke of the Jeffersons there was something not quite natural in her voice.

Mrs. Bantry said: âTheyâre both very nice, arenât they? The young ones, I mean.â

Josie said rather uncertainly:

âOh yesâyes, they are. Iâweâyes, they are, really.â

V

âAnd what,â demanded Mrs. Bantry as she looked through the window at the retreating car of the Chief Constable, âdid she mean by that? âThey are, really.â Donât you think, Jane, that thereâs somethingââ

Miss Marple fell upon the words eagerly.

âOh, I doâindeed I do. Itâs quite unmistakable! Her manner changed at once when the Jeffersons were mentioned. She had seemed quite natural up to then.â

âBut what do you think it is, Jane?â

âWell, my dear, you know them. All I feel is that there is something, as you say, about them which is worrying that young woman. Another thing, did you notice that when you asked her if she wasnât anxious about the girl being missing, she said that she was angry! And she looked angryâreally angry! That strikes me as interesting, you know. I have a feelingâperhaps Iâm wrongâthat thatâs her main reaction to the fact of the girlâs death. She didnât care for her, Iâm sure. Sheâs not grieving in any way. But I do think, very definitely, that the thought of that girl, Ruby Keene, makes her angry. And the interesting point isâwhy?â

âWeâll find out!â said Mrs. Bantry. âWeâll go over to Danemouth and stay at the Majesticâyes, Jane, you too. I need a change for my nerves after what has happened here. A few days at the Majesticâthatâs what we need. And youâll meet Conway Jefferson. Heâs a dearâa perfect dear. Itâs the saddest story imaginable. Had a son and daughter, both of whom he loved dearly. They were both married, but they still spent a lot of time at home. His wife, too, was the sweetest woman, and he was devoted to her. They were flying home one year from France and there was an accident. They were all killed: the pilot, Mrs. Jefferson, Rosamund, and Frank. Conway had both legs so badly injured they had to be amputated. And heâs been wonderfulâhis courage, his pluck! He was a very active man and now heâs a helpless cripple, but he never complains. His daughter-in-law lives with himâshe was a widow when Frank Jefferson married her and she had a son by her first marriageâPeter Carmody. They both live with Conway. And Mark Gaskell, Rosamundâs husband, is there too most of the time. The whole thing was the most awful tragedy.â

âAnd now,â said Miss Marple, âthereâs another tragedyââ

Mrs. Bantry said: âOh yesâyesâbut itâs nothing to do with the Jeffersons.â

âIsnât it?â said Miss Marple. âIt was Mr. Jefferson who went to the police.â

âSo he did â¦ You know, Jane, that is curiousâ¦.â

Five

I

Colonel Melchett was facing a much annoyed hotel manager. With him was Superintendent Harper of the Glenshire Police and the inevitable Inspector Slackâthe latter rather disgruntled at the Chief Constableâs wilful usurpation of the case.

Superintendent Harper was inclined to be soothing with the almost tearful Mr. PrestcottâColonel Melchett tended towards a blunt brutality.

âNo good crying over spilt milk,â he said sharply. âThe girlâs deadâstrangled. Youâre lucky that she wasnât strangled in your hotel. This puts the inquiry in a different county and lets your establishment down extremely lightly. But certain inquiries have got to be made, and the sooner we get on with it the better. You can trust us to be discreet and tactful. So I suggest you cut the cackle and come to the horses. Just what exactly do you know about the girl?â

âI knew nothing of herânothing at all. Josie brought her here.â

âJosieâs been here some time?â

âTwo yearsâno, three.â

âAnd you like her?â

âYes, Josieâs a good girlâa nice girl. Competent. She gets on with people, and smoothes over differencesâbridge, you know, is a touchy sort of gameââ Colonel Melchett nodded feelingly. His wife was a keen but an extremely bad bridge player. Mr. Prestcott went on: âJosie was very good at calming down unpleasantnesses. She could handle people wellâsort of bright and firm, if you know what I mean.â

Again Melchett nodded. He knew now what it was Miss Josephine Turner had reminded him of. In spite of the makeup and the smart turnout there was a distinct touch of the nursery governess about her.

âI depend upon her,â went on Mr. Prestcott. His manner became aggrieved. âWhat does she want to go playing about on slippery rocks in that damnâ fool way? Weâve got a nice beach here. Why couldnât she bathe from that? Slipping and falling and breaking her ankle. It wasnât fair on me! I pay her to dance and play bridge and keep people happy and amusedânot to go bathing off rocks and breaking her ankle. Dancers ought to be careful of their anklesânot take risks. I was very annoyed about it. It wasnât fair to the hotel.â

Melchett cut the recital short.

âAnd then she suggested this girlâher cousinâcoming down?â

Prestcott assented grudgingly.

âThatâs right. It sounded quite a good idea. Mind you, I wasnât going to pay anything extra. The girl could have her keep; but as for salary, that would have to be fixed up between her and Josie. Thatâs the way it was arranged. I didnât know anything about the girl.â

âBut she turned out all right?â

âOh yes, there wasnât anything wrong with herânot to look at, anyway. She was very young, of courseârather cheap in style, perhaps, for a place of this kind, but nice mannersâquiet and wellbehaved. Danced well. People liked her.â

âPretty?â

It had been a question hard to answer from a view of the blue swollen face.

Mr. Prestcott considered.

âFair to middling. Bit weaselly, if you know what I mean. Wouldnât have been much without makeup. As it was she managed to look quite attractive.â

âMany young men hanging about after her?â

âI know what youâre trying to get at, sir.â Mr. Prestcott became excited. âI never saw anything. Nothing special. One or two of the boys hung around a bitâbut all in the dayâs work, so to speak. Nothing in the strangling line, Iâd say. She got on well with the older people, tooâhad a kind of prattling way with herâseemed quite a kid, if you know what I mean. It amused them.â

Superintendent Harper said in a deep melancholy voice:

âMr. Jefferson, for instance?â

The manager agreed.

âYes, Mr. Jefferson was the one I had in mind. She used to sit with him and his family a lot. He used to take her out for drives sometimes. Mr. Jeffersonâs very fond of young people and very good to them. I donât want to have any misunderstanding. Mr. Jeffersonâs a cripple; he canât get about muchâonly where his wheelchair will take him. But heâs always keen on seeing young people enjoy themselvesâwatches the tennis and the bathing and all thatâand gives parties for young people here. He likes youthâand thereâs nothing bitter about him as there well might be. A very popular gentleman and, Iâd say, a very fine character.â

Melchett asked:

âAnd he took an interest in Ruby Keene?â

âHer talk amused him, I think.â

âDid his family share his liking for her?â

âThey were always very pleasant to her.â

Harper said:

âAnd it was he who reported the fact of her being missing to the police?â

He contrived to put into the word a significance and a reproach to which the manager instantly responded.

âPut yourself in my place, Mr. Harper. I didnât dream for a minute anything was wrong. Mr. Jefferson came along to my office, storming, and all worked up. The girl hadnât slept in her room. She hadnât appeared in her dance last night. She must have gone for a drive and had an accident, perhaps. The police must be informed at once! Inquiries made! In a state, he was, and quite high-handed. He rang up the police station then and there.â

âWithout consulting Miss Turner?â

âJosie didnât like it much. I could see that. She was very annoyed about the whole thingâannoyed with Ruby, I mean. But what could she say?â

âI think,â said Melchett, âweâd better see Mr. Jefferson. Eh, Harper?â

Superintendent Harper agreed.

II

Mr. Prestcott went up with them to Conway Jeffersonâs suite. It was on the first floor, overlooking the sea. Melchett said carelessly:

âDoes himself pretty well, eh? Rich man?â

âVery well off indeed, I believe. Nothingâs ever stinted when he comes here. Best rooms reservedâfood usually Ã  la carte, expensive winesâbest of everything.â

Melchett nodded.

Mr. Prestcott tapped on the outer door and a womanâs voice said: âCome in.â

The manager entered, the others behind him.

Mr. Prestcottâs manner was apologetic as he spoke to the woman who turned her head at their entrance from her seat by the window.

âI am so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Jefferson, but these gentlemen areâfrom the police. They are very anxious to have a word with Mr. Jefferson. ErâColonel MelchettâSuperintendent Harper, InspectorâerâSlackâMrs. Jefferson.â

Mrs. Jefferson acknowledged the introduction by bending her head.

A plain woman, was Melchettâs first impression. Then, as a slight smile came to her lips and she spoke, he changed his opinion. She had a singularly charming and sympathetic voice and her eyes, clear hazel eyes, were beautiful. She was quietly but not unbecomingly dressed and was, he judged, about thirty-five years of age.

She said:

âMy father-in-law is asleep. He is not strong at all, and this affair has been a terrible shock to him. We had to have the doctor, and the doctor gave him a sedative. As soon as he wakes he will, I know, want to see you. In the meantime, perhaps I can help you? Wonât you sit down?â

Mr. Prestcott, anxious to escape, said to Colonel Melchett: âWellâerâif thatâs all I can do for you?â and thankfully received permission to depart.

With his closing of the door behind him, the atmosphere took on a mellow and more social quality. Adelaide Jefferson had the power of creating a restful atmosphere. She was a woman who never seemed to say anything remarkable but who succeeded in stimulating other people to talk and setting them at their ease. She struck now the right note when she said:

âThis business has shocked us all very much. We saw quite a lot of the poor girl, you know. It seems quite unbelievable. My father-in-law is terribly upset. He was very fond of Ruby.â

Colonel Melchett said:

âIt was Mr. Jefferson, I understand, who reported her disappearance to the police?â

He wanted to see exactly how she would react to that. There was a flickerâjust a flickerâofâannoyance? concern?âhe could not say what exactly, but there was something, and it seemed to him she had definitely to brace herself, as though to an unpleasant task, before going on.

She said:

âYes, that is so. Being an invalid, he gets easily upset and worried. We tried to persuade him that it was all right, that there was some natural explanation, and that the girl herself would not like the police being notified. He insisted. Wellââshe made a slight gestureââhe was right and we were wrong.â

Melchett asked: âExactly how well did you know Ruby Keene, Mrs. Jefferson?â

She considered.

âItâs difficult to say. My father-in-law is very fond of young people and likes to have them round him. Ruby was a new type to himâhe was amused and interested by her chatter. She sat with us a good deal in the hotel and my father-in-law took her out for drives in the car.â

Her voice was quite noncommittal. Melchett thought to himself: âShe could say more if she chose.â

He said: âWill you tell me what you can of the course of events last night?â

âCertainly, but there is very little that will be useful, Iâm afraid. After dinner Ruby came and sat with us in the lounge. She remained even after the dancing had started. We had arranged to play bridge later, but we were waiting for Mark, that is Mark Gaskell, my brother-in-lawâhe married Mr. Jeffersonâs daughter, you knowâwho had some important letters to write, and also for Josie. She was going to make a fourth with us.â

âDid that often happen?â

âQuite frequently. Sheâs a first-class player, of course, and very nice. My father-in-law is a keen bridge player and whenever possible liked to get hold of Josie to make the fourth instead of an outsider. Naturally, as she has to arrange the fours, she canât always play with us, but she does whenever she can, and asââher eyes smiled a littleââmy father-in-law spends a lot of money in the hotel, the management are quite pleased for Josie to favour us.â

Melchett asked:

âYou like Josie?â

âYes, I do. Sheâs always good-humoured and cheerful, works hard and seems to enjoy her job. Sheâs shrewd, though not well educated, andâwellânever pretends about anything. Sheâs natural and unaffected.â

âPlease go on, Mrs. Jefferson.â

âAs I say, Josie had to get her bridge fours arranged and Mark was writing, so Ruby sat and talked with us a little longer than usual. Then Josie came along, and Ruby went off to do her first solo dance with Raymondâheâs the dance and tennis professional. She came back to us afterwards just as Mark joined us. Then she went off to dance with a young man and we four started our bridge.â

She stopped, and made a slight insignificant gesture of helplessness.

âAnd thatâs all I know! I just caught a glimpse of her once dancing, but bridge is an absorbing game and I hardly glanced through the glass partition at the ballroom. Then, at midnight, Raymond came along to Josie very upset and asked where Ruby was. Josie, naturally, tried to shut him up butââ

Superintendent Harper interrupted. He said in his quiet voice: âWhy ânaturally,â Mrs. Jefferson?â

âWellââshe hesitated, looked, Melchett thought, a little put outââJosie didnât want the girlâs absence made too much of. She considered herself responsible for her in a way. She said Ruby was probably up in her bedroom, said the girl had talked about having a headache earlierâI donât think that was true, by the way; Josie just said it by way of excuse. Raymond went off and telephoned up to Rubyâs room, but apparently there was no answer, and he came back in rather a stateâtemperamental, you know. Josie went off with him and tried to soothe him down, and in the end she danced with him instead of Ruby. Rather plucky of her, because you could see afterwards it had hurt her ankle. She came back to us when the dance was over and tried to calm down Mr. Jefferson. He had got worked up by then. We persuaded him in the end to go to bed, told him Ruby had probably gone for a spin in a car and that theyâd had a puncture. He went to bed worried, and this morning he began to agitate at once.â She paused. âThe rest you know.â

âThank you, Mrs. Jefferson. Now Iâm going to ask you if youâve any idea who could have done this thing.â

She said immediately: âNo idea whatever. Iâm afraid I canât help you in the slightest.â

He pressed her. âThe girl never said anything? Nothing about jealousy? About some man she was afraid of? Or intimate with?â

Adelaide Jefferson shook her head to each query.

There seemed nothing more that she could tell them.

The Superintendent suggested that they should interview young George Bartlett and return to see Mr. Jefferson later. Colonel Melchett agreed, and the three men went out, Mrs. Jefferson promising to send word as soon as Mr. Jefferson was awake.

âNice woman,â said the Colonel, as they closed the door behind them.

âA very nice lady indeed,â said Superintendent Harper.

III

George Bartlett was a thin, lanky youth with a prominent Adamâs apple and an immense difficulty in saying what he meant. He was in such a state of dither that it was hard to get a calm statement from him.

âI say, it is awful, isnât it? Sort of thing one reads about in the Sunday papersâbut one doesnât feel it really happens, donât you know?â

âUnfortunately there is no doubt about it, Mr. Bartlett,â said the Superintendent.

âNo, no, of course not. But it seems so rum somehow. And miles from here and everythingâin some country house, wasnât it? Awfully county and all that. Created a bit of a stir in the neighbourhoodâwhat?â

Colonel Melchett took charge.

âHow well did you know the dead girl, Mr. Bartlett?â

George Bartlett looked alarmed.

âOh, n-n-n-ot well at all, s-s-sir. No, hardly at allâif you know what I mean. Danced with her once or twiceâpassed the time of dayâbit of tennisâyou know.â

âYou were, I think, the last person to see her alive last night?â

âI suppose I wasâdoesnât it sound awful? I mean, she was perfectly all right when I saw herâabsolutely.â

âWhat time was that, Mr. Bartlett?â

âWell, you know, I never know about timeâwasnât very late, if you know what I mean.â

âYou danced with her?â

âYesâas a matter of factâwell, yes, I did. Early on in the evening, though. Tell you what, it was just after her exhibition dance with the pro fellow. Must have been ten, half-past, eleven, I donât know.â

âNever mind the time. We can fix that. Please tell us exactly what happened.â

âWell, we danced, donât you know. Not that Iâm much of a dancer.â

âHow you dance is not really relevant, Mr. Bartlett.â

George Bartlett cast an alarmed eye on the Colonel and stammered:

âNoâerân-n-n-o, I suppose it isnât. Well, as I say, we danced, round and round, and I talked, but Ruby didnât say very much and she yawned a bit. As I say, I donât dance awfully well, and so girlsâwellâinclined to give it a miss, if you know what I mean. She said she had a headacheâI know where I get off, so I said righty ho, and that was that.â

âWhat was the last you saw of her?â

âShe went off upstairs.â

âShe said nothing about meeting anyone? Or going for a drive? Orâorâhaving a date?â The Colonel used the colloquial expression with a slight effort.

Bartlett shook his head.

âNot to me.â He looked rather mournful. âJust gave me the push.â

âWhat was her manner? Did she seem anxious, abstracted, anything on her mind?â

George Bartlett considered. Then he shook his head.

âSeemed a bit bored. Yawned, as I said. Nothing more.â

Colonel Melchett said:

âAnd what did you do, Mr. Bartlett?â

âEh?â

âWhat did you do when Ruby Keene left you?â

George Bartlett gaped at him.

âLetâs see nowâwhat did I do?â

âWeâre waiting for you to tell us.â

âYes, yesâof course. Jolly difficult, remembering things, what? Let me see. Shouldnât be surprised if I went into the bar and had a drink.â

âDid you go into the bar and have a drink?â

âThatâs just it. I did have a drink. Donât think it was just then. Have an idea I wandered out, donât you know? Bit of air. Rather stuffy for September. Very nice outside. Yes, thatâs it. I strolled around a bit, then I came in and had a drink and then I strolled back to the ballroom. Wasnât much doing. Noticed whatâs-her-nameâJosieâwas dancing again. With the tennis fellow. Sheâd been on the sick listâtwisted ankle or something.â

âThat fixes the time of your return at midnight. Do you intend us to understand that you spent over an hour walking about outside?â

âWell, I had a drink, you know. I wasâwell, I was thinking of things.â

This statement received more credulity than any other.

Colonel Melchett said sharply:

âWhat were you thinking about?â

âOh, I donât know. Things,â said Mr. Bartlett vaguely.

âYou have a car, Mr. Bartlett?â

âOh, yes, Iâve got a car.â

âWhere was it, in the hotel garage?â

âNo, it was in the courtyard, as a matter of fact. Thought I might go for a spin, you see.â

âPerhaps you did go for a spin?â

âNoâno, I didnât. Swear I didnât.â

âYou didnât, for instance, take Miss Keene for a spin?â

âOh, I say. Look here, what are you getting at? I didnâtâI swear I didnât. Really, now.â

âThank you, Mr. Bartlett, I donât think there is anything more at present. At present,â repeated Colonel Melchett with a good deal of emphasis on the words.

They left Mr. Bartlett looking after them with a ludicrous expression of alarm on his unintellectual face.

âBrainless young ass,â said Colonel Melchett. âOr isnât he?â

Superintendent Harper shook his head.

âWeâve got a long way to go,â he said.

Six

I

Neither the night porter nor the barman proved helpful. The night porter remembered ringing up to Miss Keeneâs room just after midnight and getting no reply. He had not noticed Mr. Bartlett leaving or entering the hotel. A lot of gentlemen and ladies were strolling in and out, the night being fine. And there were side doors off the corridor as well as the one in the main hall. He was fairly certain Miss Keene had not gone out by the main door, but if she had come down from her room, which was on the first floor, there was a staircase next to it and a door out at the end of the corridor, leading on to the side terrace. She could have gone out of that unseen easily enough. It was not locked until the dancing was over at two oâclock.

The barman remembered Mr. Bartlett being in the bar the preceding evening but could not say when. Somewhere about the middle of the evening, he thought. Mr. Bartlett had sat against the wall and was looking rather melancholy. He did not know how long he was there. There were a lot of outside guests coming and going in the bar. He had noticed Mr. Bartlett but he couldnât fix the time in any way.

II

As they left the bar, they were accosted by a small boy of about nine years old. He burst immediately into excited speech.

âI say, are you the detectives? Iâm Peter Carmody. It was my grandfather, Mr. Jefferson, who rang up the police about Ruby. Are you from Scotland Yard? You donât mind my speaking to you, do you?â

Colonel Melchett looked as though he were about to return a short answer, but Superintendent Harper intervened. He spoke benignly and heartily.

âThatâs all right, my son. Naturally interests you, I expect?â

âYou bet it does. Do you like detective stories? I do. I read them all, and Iâve got autographs from Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr and H. C. Bailey. Will the murder be in the papers?â

âItâll be in the papers all right,â said Superintendent Harper grimly.

âYou see, Iâm going back to school next week and I shall tell them all that I knew herâreally knew her well.â

âWhat did you think of her, eh?â

Peter considered.

âWell, I didnât like her much. I think she was rather a stupid sort of girl. Mum and Uncle Mark didnât like her much either. Only Grandfather. Grandfather wants to see you, by the way. Edwards is looking for you.â

Superintendent Harper murmured encouragingly:

âSo your mother and your Uncle Mark didnât like Ruby Keene much? Why was that?â

âOh, I donât know. She was always butting in. And they didnât like Grandfather making such a fuss of her. I expect,â said Peter cheerfully, âthat theyâre glad sheâs dead.â

Superintendent Harper looked at him thoughtfully. He said: âDid you hear themâerâsay so?â

âWell, not exactly. Uncle Mark said: âWell, itâs one way out, anyway,â and Mums said: âYes, but such a horrible one,â and Uncle Mark said it was no good being hypocritical.â

The men exchanged glances. At that moment a respectable, clean-shaven man, neatly dressed in blue serge, came up to them.

âExcuse me, gentlemen. I am Mr. Jeffersonâs valet. He is awake now and sent me to find you, as he is very anxious to see you.â

Once more they went up to Conway Jeffersonâs suite. In the sitting room Adelaide Jefferson was talking to a tall, restless man who was prowling nervously about the room. He swung round sharply to view the newcomers.

âOh, yes. Glad youâve come. My father-in-lawâs been asking for you. Heâs awake now. Keep him as calm as you can, wonât you? His healthâs not too good. Itâs a wonder, really, that this shock didnât do for him.â

Harper said:

âIâd no idea his health was as bad as that.â

âHe doesnât know it himself,â said Mark Gaskell. âItâs his heart, you see. The doctor warned Addie that he mustnât be overexcited or startled. He more or less hinted that the end might come any time, didnât he, Addie?â

Mrs. Jefferson nodded. She said:

âItâs incredible that heâs rallied the way he has.â

Melchett said dryly:

âMurder isnât exactly a soothing incident. Weâll be as careful as we can.â

He was sizing up Mark Gaskell as he spoke. He didnât much care for the fellow. A bold, unscrupulous, hawk-like face. One of those men who usually get their own way and whom women frequently admire.

âBut not the sort of fellow Iâd trust,â the Colonel thought to himself.

Unscrupulousâthat was the word for him.

The sort of fellow who wouldnât stick at anythingâ¦.

III

In the big bedroom overlooking the sea, Conway Jefferson was sitting in his wheeled chair by the window.

No sooner were you in the room with him than you felt the power and magnetism of the man. It was as though the injuries which had left him a cripple had resulted in concentrating the vitality of his shattered body into a narrower and more intense focus.

He had a fine head, the red of the hair slightly grizzled. The face was rugged and powerful, deeply suntanned, and the eyes were a startling blue. There was no sign of illness or feebleness about him. The deep lines on his face were the lines of suffering, not the lines of weakness. Here was a man who would never rail against fate but accept it and pass on to victory.

He said: âIâm glad youâve come.â His quick eyes took them in. He said to Melchett: âYouâre the Chief Constable of Radfordshire? Right. And youâre Superintendent Harper? Sit down. Cigarettes on the table beside you.â

They thanked him and sat down. Melchett said:

âI understand, Mr. Jefferson, that you were interested in the dead girl?â

A quick, twisted smile flashed across the lined face.

âYesâtheyâll all have told you that! Well, itâs no secret. How much has my family said to you?â

He looked quickly from one to the other as he asked the question. It was Melchett who answered.

âMrs. Jefferson told us very little beyond the fact that the girlâs chatter amused you and that she was by way of being a protÃ©gÃ©e. We have only exchanged half a dozen words with Mr. Gaskell.â

Conway Jefferson smiled.

âAddieâs a discreet creature, bless her. Mark would probably have been more outspoken. I think, Melchett, that Iâd better tell you some facts rather fully. Itâs important, in order that you should understand my attitude. And, to begin with, itâs necessary that I go back to the big tragedy of my life. Eight years ago I lost my wife, my son, and my daughter in an aeroplane accident. Since then Iâve been like a man whoâs lost half himselfâand Iâm not speaking of my physical plight! I was a family man. My daughter-in-law and my son-in-law have been very good to me. Theyâve done all they can to take the place of my flesh and blood. But Iâve realizedâespecially of late, that they have, after all, their own lives to live.

âSo you must understand that, essentially, Iâm a lonely man. I like young people. I enjoy them. Once or twice Iâve played with the idea of adopting some girl or boy. During this last month I got very friendly with the child whoâs been killed. She was absolutely naturalâcompletely naÃ¯ve. She chattered on about her life and her experiencesâin pantomime, with touring companies, with Mum and Dad as a child in cheap lodgings. Such a different life from any Iâve known! Never complaining, never seeing it as sordid. Just a natural, uncomplaining, hardworking child, unspoilt and charming. Not a lady, perhaps, but, thank God, neither vulgar norâabominable wordââlady-like.â

âI got more and more fond of Ruby. I decided, gentlemen, to adopt her legally. She would becomeâby lawâmy daughter. That, I hope, explains my concern for her and the steps I took when I heard of her unaccountable disappearance.â

There was a pause. Then Superintendent Harper, his unemotional voice robbing the question of any offence, asked: âMay I ask what your son-in-law and daughter-in-law said to that?â

Jeffersonâs answer came back quickly:

âWhat could they say? They didnât, perhaps, like it very much. Itâs the sort of thing that arouses prejudice. But they behaved very wellâyes, very well. Itâs not as though, you see, they were dependent on me. When my son Frank married I turned over half my worldly goods to him then and there. I believe in that. Donât let your children wait until youâre dead. They want the money when theyâre young, not when theyâre middle-aged. In the same way when my daughter Rosamund insisted on marrying a poor man, I settled a big sum of money on her. That sum passed to him at her death. So, you see, that simplified the matter from the financial angle.â

âI see, Mr. Jefferson,â said Superintendent Harper.

But there was a certain reserve in his tone. Conway Jefferson pounced upon it.

âBut you donât agree, eh?â

âItâs not for me to say, sir, but families, in my experience, donât always act reasonably.â

âI dare say youâre right, Superintendent, but you must remember that Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson arenât, strictly speaking, my family. Theyâre not blood relations.â

âThat, of course, makes a difference,â admitted the Superintendent.

For a moment Conway Jeffersonâs eyes twinkled. He said: âThatâs not to say that they didnât think me an old fool! That would be the average personâs reaction. But I wasnât being a fool. I know character. With education and polishing, Ruby Keene could have taken her place anywhere.â

Melchett said:

âIâm afraid weâre being rather impertinent and inquisitive, but itâs important that we should get at all the facts. You proposed to make full provision for the girlâthat is, settle money upon her, but you hadnât already done so?â

Jefferson said:

âI understand what youâre driving atâthe possibility of someoneâs benefiting by the girlâs death? But nobody could. The necessary formalities for legal adoption were under way, but they hadnât yet been completed.â

Melchett said slowly:

âThen, if anything happened to youâ?â

He left the sentence unfinished, as a query. Conway Jefferson was quick to respond.

âNothingâs likely to happen to me! Iâm a cripple, but Iâm not an invalid. Although doctors do like to pull long faces and give advice about not overdoing things. Not overdoing things! Iâm as strong as a horse! Still, Iâm quite aware of the fatalities of lifeâmy God, Iâve good reason to be! Sudden death comes to the strongest manâespecially in these days of road casualties. But Iâd provided for that. I made a new will about ten days ago.â

âYes?â Superintendent Harper leaned forward.

âI left the sum of fifty thousand pounds to be held in trust for Ruby Keene until she was twenty-five, when she would come into the principal.â

Superintendent Harperâs eyes opened. So did Colonel Melchettâs. Harper said in an almost awed voice:

âThatâs a very large sum of money, Mr. Jefferson.â

âIn these days, yes, it is.â

âAnd you were leaving it to a girl you had only known a few weeks?â

Anger flashed into the vivid blue eyes.

âMust I go on repeating the same thing over and over again? Iâve no flesh and blood of my ownâno nieces or nephews or distant cousins, even! I might have left it to charity. I prefer to leave it to an individual.â He laughed. âCinderella turned into a princess overnight! A fairy-godfather instead of a fairy-godmother. Why not? Itâs my money. I made it.â

Colonel Melchett asked: âAny other bequests?â

âA small legacy to Edwards, my valetâand the remainder to Mark and Addie in equal shares.â

âWouldâexcuse meâthe residue amount to a large sum?â

âProbably not. Itâs difficult to say exactly, investments fluctuate all the time. The sum involved, after death duties and expenses had been paid, would probably have come to something between five and ten thousand pounds net.â

âI see.â

âAnd you neednât think I was treating them shabbily. As I said, I divided up my estate at the time my children married. I left myself, actually, a very small sum. But afterâafter the tragedyâI wanted something to occupy my mind. I flung myself into business. At my house in London I had a private line put in connecting my bedroom with my office. I worked hardâit helped me not to think, and it made me feel that myâmy mutilation had not vanquished me. I threw myself into workââhis voice took on a deeper note, he spoke more to himself than to his audienceââand, by some subtle irony, everything I did prospered! My wildest speculations succeeded. If I gambled, I won. Everything I touched turned to gold. Fateâs ironic way of righting the balance, I suppose.â

The lines of suffering stood out on his face again.

Recollecting himself, he smiled wryly at them.

âSo you see, the sum of money I left Ruby was indisputably mine to do with as my fancy dictated.â

Melchett said quickly:

âUndoubtedly, my dear fellow, we are not questioning that for a moment.â

Conway Jefferson said: âGood. Now I want to ask some questions in my turn, if I may. I want to hearâmore about this terrible business. All I know is that sheâthat little Ruby was found strangled in a house some twenty miles from here.â

âThat is correct. At Gossington Hall.â

Jefferson frowned.

âGossington? But thatâsââ

âColonel Bantryâs house.â

âBantry! Arthur Bantry? But I know him. Know him and his wife! Met them abroad some years ago. I didnât realize they lived in this part of the world. Why, itâsââ

He broke off. Superintendent Harper slipped in smoothly:

âColonel Bantry was dining in the hotel here Tuesday of last week. You didnât see him?â

âTuesday? Tuesday? No, we were back late. Went over to Harden Head and had dinner on the way back.â

Melchett said:

âRuby Keene never mentioned the Bantrys to you?â

Jefferson shook his head.

âNever. Donât believe she knew them. Sure she didnât. She didnât know anybody but theatrical folk and that sort of thing.â He paused and then asked abruptly:

âWhatâs Bantry got to say about it?â

âHe canât account for it in the least. He was out at a Conservative meeting last night. The body was discovered this morning. He says heâs never seen the girl in his life.â

Jefferson nodded. He said:

âIt certainly seems fantastic.â

Superintendent Harper cleared his throat. He said:

âHave you any idea at all, sir, who can have done this?â

âGood God, I wish I had!â The veins stood out on his forehead. âItâs incredible, unimaginable! Iâd say it couldnât have happened, if it hadnât happened!â

âThereâs no friend of hersâfrom her past lifeâno man hanging aboutâor threatening her?â

âIâm sure there isnât. Sheâd have told me if so. Sheâs never had a regular âboyfriend.â She told me so herself.â

Superintendent Harper thought:

âYes, I dare say thatâs what she told you! But thatâs as may be!â

Conway Jefferson went on:

âJosie would know better than anyone if there had been some man hanging about Ruby or pestering her. Canât she help?â

âShe says not.â

Jefferson said, frowning:

âI canât help feeling it must be the work of some maniacâthe brutality of the methodâbreaking into a country houseâthe whole thing so unconnected and senseless. There are men of that type, men outwardly sane, but who decoy girlsâsometimes childrenâaway and kill them. Sexual crimes really, I suppose.â

Harper said:

âOh, yes, there are such cases, but weâve no knowledge of anyone of that kind operating in this neighbourhood.â

Jefferson went on:

âIâve thought over all the various men Iâve seen with Ruby. Guests here and outsidersâmen sheâd danced with. They all seem harmless enoughâthe usual type. She had no special friend of any kind.â

Superintendent Harperâs face remained quite impassive, but unseen by Conway Jefferson there was still a speculative glint in his eye.

It was quite possible, he thought, that Ruby Keene might have had a special friend even though Conway Jefferson did not know about it.

He said nothing, however. The Chief Constable gave him a glance of inquiry and then rose to his feet. He said:

âThank you, Mr. Jefferson. Thatâs all we need for the present.â

Jefferson said:

âYouâll keep me informed of your progress?â

âYes, yes, weâll keep in touch with you.â

The two men went out.

Conway Jefferson leaned back in his chair.

His eyelids came down and veiled the fierce blue of his eyes. He looked suddenly a very tired man.

Then, after a minute or two, the lids flickered. He called: âEdwards!â

From the next room the valet appeared promptly. Edwards knew his master as no one else did. Others, even his nearest, knew only his strength. Edwards knew his weakness. He had seen Conway Jefferson tired, discouraged, weary of life, momentarily defeated by infirmity and loneliness.

âYes, sir?â

Jefferson said:

âGet on to Sir Henry Clithering. Heâs at Melborne Abbas. Ask him, from me, to get here today if he can, instead of tomorrow. Tell him itâs urgent.â

Seven

I

When they were outside Jeffersonâs door, Superintendent Harper said:

âWell, for what itâs worth, weâve got a motive, sir.â

âHâm,â said Melchett. âFifty thousand pounds, eh?â

âYes, sir. Murderâs been done for a good deal less than that.â

âYes, butââ

Colonel Melchett left the sentence unfinished. Harper, however, understood him.

âYou donât think itâs likely in this case? Well, I donât either, as far as that goes. But itâs got to be gone into all the same.â

âOh, of course.â

Harper went on:

âIf, as Mr. Jefferson says, Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson are already well provided for and in receipt of a comfortable income, well, itâs not likely theyâd set out to do a brutal murder.â

âQuite so. Their financial standing will have to be investigated, of course. Canât say I like the appearance of Gaskell muchâlooks a sharp, unscrupulous sort of fellowâbut thatâs a long way from making him out a murderer.â

âOh, yes, sir, as I say, I donât think itâs likely to be either of them, and from what Josie said I donât see how it would have been humanly possible. They were both playing bridge from twenty minutes to eleven until midnight. No, to my mind thereâs another possibility much more likely.â

Melchett said: âBoy friend of Ruby Keeneâs?â

âThatâs it, sir. Some disgruntled young fellowânot too strong in the head, perhaps. Someone, Iâd say, she knew before she came here. This adoption scheme, if he got wise to it, may just have put the lid on things. He saw himself losing her, saw her being removed to a different sphere of life altogether, and he went mad and blind with rage. He got her to come out and meet him last night, had a row with her over it, lost his head completely and did her in.â

âAnd how did she come to be in Bantryâs library?â

âI think thatâs feasible. They were out, say, in his car at the time. He came to himself, realized what heâd done, and his first thought was how to get rid of the body. Say they were near the gates of a big house at the time. The idea comes to him that if sheâs found there the hue and cry will centre round the house and its occupants and will leave him comfortably out of it. Sheâs a little bit of a thing. He could easily carry her. Heâs got a chisel in the car. He forces a window and plops her down on the hearthrug. Being a strangling case, thereâs no blood or mess to give him away in the car. See what I mean, sir?â

âOh, yes, Harper, itâs all perfectly possible. But thereâs still one thing to be done. Cherchez lâhomme.â

âWhat? Oh, very good, sir.â

Superintendent Harper tactfully applauded his superiorâs joke, although, owing to the excellence of Colonel Melchettâs French accent he almost missed the sense of the words.

II

âOhâerâI sayâerâc-could I speak to you a minute?â It was George Bartlett who thus waylaid the two men. Colonel Melchett, who was not attracted to Mr. Bartlett and who was anxious to see how Slack had got on with the investigation of the girlâs room and the questioning of the chambermaids, barked sharply:

âWell, what is itâwhat is it?â

Young Mr. Bartlett retreated a step or two, opening and shutting his mouth and giving an unconscious imitation of a fish in a tank.

âWellâerâprobably isnât important, donât you knowâthought I ought to tell you. Matter of fact, canât find my car.â

âWhat do you mean, canât find your car?â

Stammering a good deal, Mr. Bartlett explained that what he meant was that he couldnât find his car.

Superintendent Harper said:

âDo you mean itâs been stolen?â

George Bartlett turned gratefully to the more placid voice.

âWell, thatâs just it, you know. I mean, one canât tell, can one? I mean someone may just have buzzed off in it, not meaning any harm, if you know what I mean.â

âWhen did you last see it, Mr. Bartlett?â

âWell, I was tryinâ to remember. Funny how difficult it is to remember anything, isnât it?â

Colonel Melchett said coldly:

âNot, I should think, to a normal intelligence. I understood you to say just now that it was in the courtyard of the hotel last nightââ

Mr. Bartlett was bold enough to interrupt. He said:

âThatâs just itâwas it?â

âWhat do you mean by âwas itâ? You said it was.â

âWellâI mean I thought it was. I meanâwell, I didnât go out and look, donât you see?â

Colonel Melchett sighed. He summoned all his patience. He said:

âLetâs get this quite clear. When was the last time you sawâactually saw your car? What make is it, by the way?â

âMinoan 14.â

âAnd you last saw itâwhen?â

George Bartlettâs Adamâs apple jerked convulsively up and down.

âBeen trying to think. Had it before lunch yesterday. Was going for a spin in the afternoon. But somehow, you know how it is, went to sleep instead. Then, after tea, had a game of squash and all that, and a bathe afterwards.â

âAnd the car was then in the courtyard of the hotel?â

âSuppose so. I mean, thatâs where Iâd put it. Thought, you see, Iâd take someone for a spin. After dinner, I mean. But it wasnât my lucky evening. Nothing doing. Never took the old bus out after all.â

Harper said:

âBut, as far as you knew, the car was still in the courtyard?â

âWell, naturally. I mean, Iâd put it thereâwhat?â

âWould you have noticed if it had not been there?â

Mr. Bartlett shook his head.

âDonât think so, you know. Lots of cars going and coming and all that. Plenty of Minoans.â

Superintendent Harper nodded. He had just cast a casual glance out of the window. There were at that moment no less than eight Minoan 14s in the courtyardâit was the popular cheap car of the year.

âArenât you in the habit of putting your car away at night?â asked Colonel Melchett.

âDonât usually bother,â said Mr. Bartlett. âFine weather and all that, you know. Such a fag putting a car away in a garage.â

Glancing at Colonel Melchett, Superintendent Harper said: âIâll join you upstairs, sir. Iâll just get hold of Sergeant Higgins and he can take down particulars from Mr. Bartlett.â

âRight, Harper.â

Mr. Bartlett murmured wistfully:

âThought I ought to let you know, you know. Might be important, what?â

III

Mr. Prestcott had supplied his additional dancer with board and lodging. Whatever the board, the lodging was the poorest the hotel possessed.

Josephine Turner and Ruby Keene had occupied rooms at the extreme end of a mean and dingy little corridor. The rooms were small, faced north on to a portion of the cliff that backed the hotel, and were furnished with the odds and ends of suites that had once, some thirty years ago, represented luxury and magnificence in the best suites. Now, when the hotel had been modernized and the bedrooms supplied with built-in receptacles for clothes, these large Victorian oak and mahogany wardrobes were relegated to those rooms occupied by the hotelâs resident staff, or given to guests in the height of the season when all the rest of the hotel was full.

As Melchett saw at once, the position of Ruby Keeneâs room was ideal for the purpose of leaving the hotel without being observed, and was particularly unfortunate from the point of view of throwing light on the circumstances of that departure.

At the end of the corridor was a small staircase which led down to an equally obscure corridor on the ground floor. Here there was a glass door which led out on to the side terrace of the hotel, an unfrequented terrace with no view. You could go from it to the main terrace in front, or you could go down a winding path and come out in a lane that eventually rejoined the cliff road farther along. Its surface being bad, it was seldom used.

Inspector Slack had been busy harrying chambermaids and examining Rubyâs room for clues. He had been lucky enough to find the room exactly as it had been left the night before.

Ruby Keene had not been in the habit of rising early. Her usual procedure, Slack discovered, was to sleep until about ten or half-past and then ring for breakfast. Consequently, since Conway Jefferson had begun his representations to the manager very early, the police had taken charge of things before the chambermaids had touched the room. They had actually not been down that corridor at all. The other rooms there, at this season of the year, were only opened and dusted once a week.

âThatâs all to the good as far as it goes,â Slack explained gloomily. âIt means that if there were anything to find weâd find it, but there isnât anything.â

The Glenshire police had already been over the room for fingerprints, but there were none unaccounted for. Rubyâs own, Josieâs, and the two chambermaidsâone on the morning and one on the evening shift. There were also a couple of prints made by Raymond Starr, but these were accounted for by his story that he had come up with Josie to look for Ruby when she did not appear for the midnight exhibition dance.

There had been a heap of letters and general rubbish in the pigeonholes of the massive mahogany desk in the corner. Slack had just been carefully sorting through them. But he had found nothing of a suggestive nature. Bills, receipts, theatre programmes, cinema stubs, newspaper cuttings, beauty hints torn from magazines. Of the letters there were some from âLil,â apparently a friend from the Palais de Danse, recounting various affairs and gossip, saying they âmissed Rube a lot. Mr. Findeison asked after you ever so often! Quite put out, he is! Young Reg has taken up with May now youâve gone. Barny asks after you now and then. Things going much as usual. Old Grouser still as mean as ever with us girls. He ticked off Ada for going about with a fellow.â

Slack had carefully noted all the names mentioned. Inquiries would be madeâand it was possible some useful information might come to light. To this Colonel Melchett agreed; so did Superintendent Harper, who had joined them. Otherwise the room had little to yield in the way of information.

Across a chair in the middle of the room was the foamy pink dance frock Ruby had worn early in the evening with a pair of pink satin high-heeled shoes kicked off carelessly on the floor. Two sheer silk stockings were rolled into a ball and flung down. One had a ladder in it. Melchett recalled that the dead girl had had bare feet and legs. This, Slack learned, was her custom. She used makeup on her legs instead of stockings and only sometimes wore stockings for dancing, by this means saving expense. The wardrobe door was open and showed a variety of rather flashy evening dresses and a row of shoes below. There was some soiled underwear in the clothes-basket, some nail parings, soiled face-cleaning tissue and bits of cotton wool stained with rouge and nail-polish in the wastepaper basketâin fact, nothing out of the ordinary! The facts seemed plain to read. Ruby Keene had hurried upstairs, changed her clothes and hurried off againâwhere?

Josephine Turner, who might be supposed to know most of Rubyâs life and friends, had proved unable to help. But this, as Inspector Slack pointed out, might be natural.

âIf what you tell me is true, sirâabout this adoption business, I meanâwell, Josie would be all for Ruby breaking with any old friends she might have and who might queer the pitch, so to speak. As I see it, this invalid gentleman gets all worked up about Ruby Keene being such a sweet, innocent, childish little piece of goods. Now, supposing Rubyâs got a tough boy friendâthat wonât go down so well with the old boy. So itâs Rubyâs business to keep that dark. Josie doesnât know much about the girl anywayânot about her friends and all that. But one thing she wouldnât stand forâRubyâs messing up things by carrying on with some undesirable fellow. So it stands to reason that Ruby (who, as I see it, was a sly little piece!) would keep very dark about seeing any old friend. She wouldnât let on to Josie anything about itâotherwise Josie would say: âNo, you donât, my girl.â But you know what girls areâespecially young onesâalways ready to make a fool of themselves over a tough guy. Ruby wants to see him. He comes down here, cuts up rough about the whole business, and wrings the girlâs neck.â

âI expect youâre right, Slack,â said Colonel Melchett, disguising his usual repugnance for the unpleasant way Slack had of putting things. âIf so, we ought to be able to discover this tough friendâs identity fairly easily.â

âYou leave it to me, sir,â said Slack with his usual confidence. âIâll get hold of this âLilâ girl at that Palais de Danse place and turn her right inside out. Weâll soon get at the truth.â

Colonel Melchett wondered if they would. Slackâs energy and activity always made him feel tired.

âThereâs one other person you might be able to get a tip from, sir,â went on Slack, âand thatâs the dance and tennis pro fellow. He must have seen a lot of her and heâd know more than Josie would. Likely enough sheâd loosen her tongue a bit to him.â

âI have already discussed that point with Superintendent Harper.â

âGood, sir. Iâve done the chambermaids pretty thoroughly! They donât know a thing. Looked down on these two, as far as I can make out. Scamped the service as much as they dared. Chambermaid was in here last at seven oâclock last night, when she turned down the bed and drew the curtains and cleared up a bit. Thereâs a bathroom next door, if youâd like to see it?â

The bathroom was situated between Rubyâs room and the slightly larger room occupied by Josie. It was illuminating. Colonel Melchett silently marvelled at the amount of aids to beauty that women could use. Rows of jars of face cream, cleansing cream, vanishing cream, skin-feeding cream! Boxes of different shades of powder. An untidy heap of every variety of lipstick. Hair lotions and âbrighteningâ applications. Eyelash black, mascara, blue stain for under the eyes, at least twelve different shades of nail varnish, face tissues, bits of cotton wool, dirty powder-puffs. Bottles of lotionsâastringent, tonic, soothing, etc.

âDo you mean to say,â he murmured feebly, âthat women use all these things?â

Inspector Slack, who always knew everything, kindly enlightened him.

âIn private life, sir, so to speak, a lady keeps to one or two distinct shades, one for evening, one for day. They know what suits them and they keep to it. But these professional girls, they have to ring a change, so to speak. They do exhibition dances, and one night itâs a tango and the next a crinoline Victorian dance and then a kind of Apache dance and then just ordinary ballroom, and, of course, the makeup varies a good bit.â

âGood lord!â said the Colonel. âNo wonder the people who turn out these creams and messes make a fortune.â

âEasy money, thatâs what it is,â said Slack. âEasy money. Got to spend a bit in advertisement, of course.â

Colonel Melchett jerked his mind away from the fascinating and age-long problem of womanâs adornments. He said to Harper, who had just joined them:

âThereâs still this dancing fellow. Your pigeon, Superintendent?â

âI suppose so, sir.â

As they went downstairs Harper asked:

âWhat did you think of Mr. Bartlettâs story, sir?â

âAbout his car? I think, Harper, that that young man wants watching. Itâs a fishy story. Supposing that he did take Ruby Keene out in that car last night, after all?â

IV

Superintendent Harperâs manner was slow and pleasant and absolutely noncommittal. These cases where the police of two counties had to collaborate were always difficult. He liked Colonel Melchett and considered him an able Chief Constable, but he was nevertheless glad to be tackling the present interview by himself. Never do too much at once, was Superintendent Harperâs rule. Bare routine inquiry for the first time. That left the persons you were interviewing relieved and predisposed them to be more unguarded in the next interview you had with them.

Harper already knew Raymond Starr by sight. A fine-looking specimen, tall, lithe, and good-looking, with very white teeth in a deeply-bronzed face. He was dark and graceful. He had a pleasant, friendly manner and was very popular in the hotel.

âIâm afraid I canât help you much, Superintendent. I knew Ruby quite well, of course. Sheâd been here over a month and we had practised our dances together and all that. But thereâs really very little to say. She was quite a pleasant and rather stupid girl.â

âItâs her friendships weâre particularly anxious to know about. Her friendships with men.â

âSo I suppose. Well, I donât know anything! Sheâd got a few young men in tow in the hotel, but nothing special. You see, she was nearly always monopolized by the Jefferson family.â

âYes, the Jefferson family.â Harper paused meditatively. He shot a shrewd glance at the young man. âWhat did you think of that business, Mr. Starr?â

Raymond Starr said coolly: âWhat business?â

Harper said: âDid you know that Mr. Jefferson was proposing to adopt Ruby Keene legally?â

This appeared to be news to Starr. He pursed up his lips and whistled. He said:

âThe clever little devil! Oh, well, thereâs no fool like an old fool.â

âThatâs how it strikes you, is it?â

âWellâwhat else can one say? If the old boy wanted to adopt someone, why didnât he pick upon a girl of his own class?â

âRuby Keene never mentioned the matter to you?â

âNo, she didnât. I knew she was elated about something, but I didnât know what it was.â

âAnd Josie?â

âOh, I think Josie must have known what was in the wind. Probably she was the one who planned the whole thing. Josieâs no fool. Sheâs got a head on her, that girl.â

Harper nodded. It was Josie who had sent for Ruby Keene. Josie, no doubt, who had encouraged the intimacy. No wonder she had been upset when Ruby had failed to show up for her dance that night and Conway Jefferson had begun to panic. She was envisaging her plans going awry.

He asked:

âCould Ruby keep a secret, do you think?â

âAs well as most. She didnât talk about her own affairs much.â

âDid she ever say anythingâanything at allâabout some friend of hersâsomeone from her former life who was coming to see her here, or whom she had had difficulty withâyou know the sort of thing I mean, no doubt.â

âI know perfectly. Well, as far as Iâm aware, there was no one of the kind. Not by anything she ever said.â

âThank you, Mr. Starr. Now will you just tell me in your own words exactly what happened last night?â

âCertainly. Ruby and I did our ten-thirty dance togetherââ

âNo signs of anything unusual about her then?â

Raymond considered.

âI donât think so. I didnât notice what happened afterwards. I had my own partners to look after. I do remember noticing she wasnât in the ballroom. At midnight she hadnât turned up. I was very annoyed and went to Josie about it. Josie was playing bridge with the Jeffersons. She hadnât any idea where Ruby was, and I think she got a bit of a jolt. I noticed her shoot a quick, anxious glance at Mr. Jefferson. I persuaded the band to play another dance and I went to the office and got them to ring up to Rubyâs room. There wasnât any answer. I went back to Josie. She suggested that Ruby was perhaps asleep in her room. Idiotic suggestion really, but it was meant for the Jeffersons, of course! She came away with me and said weâd go up together.â

âYes, Mr. Starr. And what did she say when she was alone with you?â

âAs far as I can remember, she looked very angry and said: âDamned little fool. She canât do this sort of thing. It will ruin all her chances. Whoâs she with, do you know?â

âI said that I hadnât the least idea. The last Iâd seen of her was dancing with young Bartlett. Josie said: âShe wouldnât be with him. What can she be up to? She isnât with that film man, is she?ââ

Harper said sharply: âFilm man? Who was he?â

Raymond said: âI donât know his name. Heâs never stayed here. Rather an unusual-looking chapâblack hair and theatrical-looking. He has something to do with the film industry, I believeâor so he told Ruby. He came over to dine here once or twice and danced with Ruby afterwards, but I donât think she knew him at all well. Thatâs why I was surprised when Josie mentioned him. I said I didnât think heâd been here tonight. Josie said: âWell, she must be out with someone. What on earth am I going to say to the Jeffersons?â I said what did it matter to the Jeffersons? And Josie said it did matter. And she said, too, that sheâd never forgive Ruby if she went and messed things up.

âWeâd got to Rubyâs room by then. She wasnât there, of course, but sheâd been there, because the dress she had been wearing was lying across a chair. Josie looked in the wardrobe and said she thought sheâd put on her old white dress. Normally sheâd have changed into a black velvet dress for our Spanish dance. I was pretty angry by this time at the way Ruby had let me down. Josie did her best to soothe me and said sheâd dance herself so that old Prestcott shouldnât get after us all. She went away and changed her dress and we went down and did a tangoâexaggerated style and quite showy but not really too exhausting upon the ankles. Josie was very plucky about itâfor it hurt her, I could see. After that she asked me to help her soothe the Jeffersons down. She said it was important. So, of course, I did what I could.â

Superintendent Harper nodded. He said:

âThank you, Mr. Starr.â

To himself he thought: âIt was important, all right! Fifty thousand pounds!â

He watched Raymond Starr as the latter moved gracefully away. He went down the steps of the terrace, picking up a bag of tennis balls and a racquet on the way. Mrs. Jefferson, also carrying a racquet, joined him and they went towards the tennis courts.

âExcuse me, sir.â

Sergeant Higgins, rather breathless, stood at Harperâs side.

The Superintendent, jerked from the train of thought he was following, looked startled.

âMessage just come through for you from headquarters, sir. Labourer reported this morning saw glare as of fire. Half an hour ago they found a burnt-out car in a quarry. Vennâs Quarryâabout two miles from here. Traces of a charred body inside.â

A flush came over Harperâs heavy features. He said:

âWhatâs come to Glenshire? An epidemic of violence? Donât tell me weâre going to have a Rouse case now!â

He asked: âCould they get the number of the car?â

âNo, sir. But weâll be able to identify it, of course, by the engine number. A Minoan 14, they think it is.â

Eight

I

Sir Henry Clithering, as he passed through the lounge of the Majestic, hardly glanced at its occupants. His mind was preoccupied. Nevertheless, as is the way of life, something registered in his subconscious. It waited its time patiently.

Sir Henry was wondering as he went upstairs just what had induced the sudden urgency of his friendâs message. Conway Jefferson was not the type of man who sent urgent summonses to anyone. Something quite out of the usual must have occurred, decided Sir Henry.

Jefferson wasted no time in beating about the bush. He said:

âGlad youâve come. Edwards, get Sir Henry a drink. Sit down, man. Youâve not heard anything, I suppose? Nothing in the papers yet?â

Sir Henry shook his head, his curiosity aroused.

âWhatâs the matter?â

âMurderâs the matter. Iâm concerned in it and so are your friends the Bantrys.â

âArthur and Dolly Bantry?â Clithering sounded incredulous.

âYes, you see, the body was found in their house.â

Clearly and succinctly, Conway Jefferson ran through the facts. Sir Henry listened without interrupting. Both men were accustomed to grasping the gist of a matter. Sir Henry, during his term as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, had been renowned for his quick grip on essentials.

âItâs an extraordinary business,â he commented when the other had finished. âHow do the Bantrys come into it, do you think?â

âThatâs what worries me. You see, Henry, it looks to me as though possibly the fact that I know them might have a bearing on the case. Thatâs the only connection I can find. Neither of them, I gather, ever saw the girl before. Thatâs what they say, and thereâs no reason to disbelieve them. Itâs most unlikely they should know her. Then isnât it possible that she was decoyed away and her body deliberately left in the house of friends of mine?â

Clithering said:

âI think thatâs far-fetched.â

âItâs possible, though,â persisted the other.

âYes, but unlikely. What do you want me to do?â

Conway Jefferson said bitterly:

âIâm an invalid. I disguise the factârefuse to face itâbut now it comes home to me. I canât go about as Iâd like to, asking questions, looking into things. Iâve got to stay here meekly grateful for such scraps of information as the police are kind enough to dole out to me. Do you happen to know Melchett, by the way, the Chief Constable of Radfordshire?â

âYes, Iâve met him.â

Something stirred in Sir Henryâs brain. A face and figure noted unseeingly as he passed through the lounge. A straight-backed old lady whose face was familiar. It linked up with the last time he had seen Melchett.

He said:

âDo you mean you want me to be a kind of amateur sleuth? Thatâs not my line.â

Jefferson said:

âYouâre not an amateur, thatâs just it.â

âIâm not a professional anymore. Iâm on the retired list now.â

Jefferson said: âThat simplifies matters.â

âYou mean that if I were still at Scotland Yard I couldnât butt in? Thatâs perfectly true.â

âAs it is,â said Jefferson, âyour experience qualifies you to take an interest in the case, and any cooperation you offer will be welcomed.â

Clithering said slowly:

âEtiquette permits, I agree. But what do you really want, Conway? To find out who killed this girl?â

âJust that.â

âYouâve no idea yourself?â

âNone whatever.â

Sir Henry said slowly:

âYou probably wonât believe me, but youâve got an expert at solving mysteries sitting downstairs in the lounge at this minute. Someone whoâs better than I am at it, and who in all probability may have some local dope.â

âWhat are you talking about?â

âDownstairs in the lounge, by the third pillar from the left, there sits an old lady with a sweet, placid spinsterish face, and a mind that has plumbed the depths of human iniquity and taken it as all in the dayâs work. Her nameâs Miss Marple. She comes from the village of St. Mary Mead, which is a mile and a half from Gossington, sheâs a friend of the Bantrysâand where crime is concerned sheâs the goods, Conway.â

Jefferson stared at him with thick, puckered brows. He said heavily:

âYouâre joking.â

âNo, Iâm not. You spoke of Melchett just now. The last time I saw Melchett there was a village tragedy. Girl supposed to have drowned herself. Police quite rightly suspected that it wasnât suicide, but murder. They thought they knew who did it. Along to me comes old Miss Marple, fluttering and dithering. Sheâs afraid, she says, theyâll hang the wrong person. Sheâs got no evidence, but she knows who did do it. Hands me a piece of paper with a name written on it. And, by God, Jefferson, she was right!â

Conway Jeffersonâs brows came down lower than ever. He grunted disbelievingly:

âWomanâs intuition, I suppose,â he said sceptically.

âNo, she doesnât call it that. Specialized knowledge is her claim.â

âAnd what does that mean?â

âWell, you know, Jefferson, we use it in police work. We get a burglary and we usually know pretty well who did itâof the regular crowd, that is. We know the sort of burglar who acts in a particular sort of way. Miss Marple has an interesting, though occasionally trivial, series of parallels from village life.â

Jefferson said sceptically:

âWhat is she likely to know about a girl whoâs been brought up in a theatrical milieu and probably never been in a village in her life?â

âI think,â said Sir Henry Clithering firmly, âthat she might have ideas.â

II

Miss Marple flushed with pleasure as Sir Henry bore down upon her.

âOh, Sir Henry, this is indeed a great piece of luck meeting you here.â

Sir Henry was gallant. He said:

âTo me it is a great pleasure.â

Miss Marple murmured, flushing: âSo kind of you.â

âAre you staying here?â

âWell, as a matter of fact, we are.â

âWe?â

âMrs. Bantryâs here too.â She looked at him sharply. âHave you heard yet? Yes, I can see you have. It is terrible, is it not?â

âWhatâs Dolly Bantry doing here? Is her husband here too?â

âNo. Naturally, they both reacted quite differently. Colonel Bantry, poor man, just shuts himself up in his study, or goes down to one of the farms, when anything like this happens. Like tortoises, you know, they draw their heads in and hope nobody will notice them. Dolly, of course, is quite different.â

âDolly, in fact,â said Sir Henry, who knew his old friend fairly well, âis almost enjoying herself, eh?â

âWellâerâyes. Poor dear.â

âAnd sheâs brought you along to produce the rabbits out of the hat for her?â

Miss Marple said composedly:

âDolly thought that a change of scene would be a good thing and she didnât want to come alone.â She met his eye and her own gently twinkled. âBut, of course, your way of describing it is quite true. Itâs rather embarrassing for me, because, of course, I am no use at all.â

âNo ideas? No village parallels?â

âI donât know very much about it all yet.â

âI can remedy that, I think. Iâm going to call you into consultation, Miss Marple.â

He gave a brief recital of the course of events. Miss Marple listened with keen interest.

âPoor Mr. Jefferson,â she said. âWhat a very sad story. These terrible accidents. To leave him alive, crippled, seems more cruel than if he had been killed too.â

âYes, indeed. Thatâs why all his friends admire him so much for the resolute way heâs gone on, conquering pain and grief and physical disabilities.â

âYes, it is splendid.â

âThe only thing I canât understand is this sudden outpouring of affection for this girl. She may, of course, have had some remarkable qualities.â

âProbably not,â said Miss Marple placidly.

âYou donât think so?â

âI donât think her qualities entered into it.â

Sir Henry said:

âHe isnât just a nasty old man, you know.â

âOh, no, no!â Miss Marple got quite pink. âI wasnât implying that for a minute. What I was trying to say wasâvery badly, I knowâthat he was just looking for a nice bright girl to take his dead daughterâs placeâand then this girl saw her opportunity and played it for all she was worth! That sounds rather uncharitable, I know, but I have seen so many cases of the kind. The young maid-servant at Mr. Harbottleâs, for instance. A very ordinary girl, but quiet with nice manners. His sister was called away to nurse a dying relative and when she got back she found the girl completely above herself, sitting down in the drawing room laughing and talking and not wearing her cap or apron. Miss Harbottle spoke to her very sharply and the girl was impertinent, and then old Mr. Harbottle left her quite dumbfounded by saying that he thought she had kept house for him long enough and that he was making other arrangements.

âSuch a scandal as it created in the village, but poor Miss Harbottle had to go and live most uncomfortably in rooms in Eastbourne. People said things, of course, but I believe there was no familiarity of any kindâit was simply that the old man found it much pleasanter to have a young, cheerful girl telling him how clever and amusing he was than to have his sister continually pointing out his faults to him, even if she was a good economical manager.â

There was a momentâs pause, and then Miss Marple resumed.

âAnd there was Mr. Badger who had the chemistâs shop. Made a lot of fuss over the young lady who worked in his toilet section. Told his wife they must look on her as a daughter and have her to live in the house. Mrs. Badger didnât see it that way at all.â

Sir Henry said: âIf sheâd only been a girl in his own rank of lifeâa friendâs childââ

Miss Marple interrupted him.

âOh! but that wouldnât have been nearly as satisfactory from his point of view. Itâs like King Cophetua and the beggar maid. If youâre really rather a lonely, tired old man, and if, perhaps, your own family have been neglecting youââshe paused for a secondââwell, to befriend someone who will be overwhelmed with your magnificenceâ(to put it rather melodramatically, but I hope you see what I mean)âwell, thatâs much more interesting. It makes you feel a much greater personâa beneficent monarch! The recipient is more likely to be dazzled, and that, of course, is a pleasant feeling for you.â She paused and said: âMr. Badger, you know, bought the girl in his shop some really fantastic presents, a diamond bracelet and a most expensive radio-gramophone. Took out a lot of his savings to do so. However, Mrs. Badger, who was a much more astute woman than poor Miss Harbottle (marriage, of course, helps), took the trouble to find out a few things. And when Mr. Badger discovered that the girl was carrying on with a very undesirable young man connected with the racecourses, and had actually pawned the bracelet to give him the moneyâwell, he was completely disgusted and the affair passed over quite safely. And he gave Mrs. Badger a diamond ring the following Christmas.â

Her pleasant, shrewd eyes met Sir Henryâs. He wondered if what she had been saying was intended as a hint. He said:

âAre you suggesting that if there had been a young man in Ruby Keeneâs life, my friendâs attitude towards her might have altered?â

âIt probably would, you know. I dare say, in a year or two, he might have liked to arrange for her marriage himselfâthough more likely he wouldnâtâgentlemen are usually rather selfish. But I certainly think that if Ruby Keene had had a young man sheâd have been careful to keep very quiet about it.â

âAnd the young man might have resented that?â

âI suppose that is the most plausible solution. It struck me, you know, that her cousin, the young woman who was at Gossington this morning, looked definitely angry with the dead girl. What youâve told me explains why. No doubt she was looking forward to doing very well out of the business.â

âRather a cold-blooded character, in fact?â

âThatâs too harsh a judgment, perhaps. The poor thing has had to earn her living, and you canât expect her to sentimentalize because a well-to-do man and womanâas you have described Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jeffersonâare going to be done out of a further large sum of money to which they have really no particular moral right. I should say Miss Turner was a hard-headed, ambitious young woman, with a good temper and considerable joie de vivre. A little,â added Miss Marple, âlike Jessie Golden, the bakerâs daughter.â

âWhat happened to her?â asked Sir Henry.

âShe trained as a nursery governess and married the son of the house, who was home on leave from India. Made him a very good wife, I believe.â

Sir Henry pulled himself clear of these fascinating side issues. He said:

âIs there any reason, do you think, why my friend Conway Jefferson should suddenly have developed this âCophetua complex,â if you like to call it that?â

âThere might have been.â

âIn what way?â

Miss Marple said, hesitating a little:

âI should thinkâitâs only a suggestion, of courseâthat perhaps his son-in-law and daughter-in-law might have wanted to get married again.â

âSurely he couldnât have objected to that?â

âOh, no, not objected. But, you see, you must look at it from his point of view. He had a terrible shock and lossâso had they. The three bereaved people live together and the link between them is the loss they have all sustained. But Time, as my dear mother used to say, is a great healer. Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson are young. Without knowing it themselves, they may have begun to feel restless, to resent the bonds that tied them to their past sorrow. And so, feeling like that, old Mr. Jefferson would have become conscious of a sudden lack of sympathy without knowing its cause. Itâs usually that. Gentlemen so easily feel neglected. With Mr. Harbottle it was Miss Harbottle going away. And with the Badgers it was Mrs. Badger taking such an interest in Spiritualism and always going out to sÃ©ances.â

âI must say,â said Sir Henry ruefully, âthat I dislike the way you reduce us all to a General Common Denominator.â

Miss Marple shook her head sadly.

âHuman nature is very much the same anywhere, Sir Henry.â

Sir Henry said distastefully:

âMr. Harbottle! Mr. Badger! And poor Conway! I hate to intrude the personal note, but have you any parallel for my humble self in your village?â

âWell, of course, there is Briggs.â

âWhoâs Briggs?â

âHe was the head gardener up at Old Hall. Quite the best man they ever had. Knew exactly when the under-gardeners were slacking offâquite uncanny it was! He managed with only three men and a boy and the place was kept better than it had been with six. And took several firsts with his sweet peas. Heâs retired now.â

âLike me,â said Sir Henry.

âBut he still does a little jobbingâif he likes the people.â

âAh,â said Sir Henry. âAgain like me. Thatâs what Iâm doing nowâjobbingâto help an old friend.â

âTwo old friends.â

âTwo?â Sir Henry looked a little puzzled.

Miss Marple said:

âI suppose you meant Mr. Jefferson. But I wasnât thinking of him. I was thinking of Colonel and Mrs. Bantry.â

âYesâyesâI seeââ He asked sharply: âWas that why you alluded to Dolly Bantry as âpoor dearâ at the beginning of our conversation?â

âYes. She hasnât begun to realize things yet. I know because Iâve had more experience. You see, Sir Henry, it seems to me that thereâs a great possibility of this crime being the kind of crime that never does get solved. Like the Brighton trunk murders. But if that happens it will be absolutely disastrous for the Bantrys. Colonel Bantry, like nearly all retired military men, is really abnormally sensitive. He reacts very quickly to public opinion. He wonât notice it for some time, and then it will begin to go home to him. A slight here, and a snub there, and invitations that are refused, and excuses that are madeâand then, little by little, it will dawn upon him and heâll retire into his shell and get terribly morbid and miserable.â

âLet me be sure I understand you rightly, Miss Marple. You mean that, because the body was found in his house, people will think that he had something to do with it?â

âOf course they will! Iâve no doubt theyâre saying so already. Theyâll say so more and more. And people will cold shoulder the Bantrys and avoid them. Thatâs why the truth has got to be found out and why I was willing to come here with Mrs. Bantry. An open accusation is one thingâand quite easy for a soldier to meet. Heâs indignant and he has a chance of fighting. But this other whispering business will break himâwill break them both. So you see, Sir Henry, weâve got to find out the truth.â

Sir Henry said:

âAny ideas as to why the body should have been found in his house? There must be an explanation of that. Some connection.â

âOh, of course.â

âThe girl was last seen here about twenty minutes to eleven. By midnight, according to the medical evidence, she was dead. Gossingtonâs about eighteen miles from here. Good road for sixteen of those miles until one turns off the main road. A powerful car could do it in well under half an hour. Practically any car could average thirty-five. But why anyone should either kill her here and take her body out to Gossington or should take her out to Gossington and strangle her there, I donât know.â

âOf course you donât, because it didnât happen.â

âDo you mean that she was strangled by some fellow who took her out in a car and he then decided to push her into the first likely house in the neighbourhood?â

âI donât think anything of the kind. I think there was a very careful plan made. What happened was that the plan went wrong.â

Sir Henry stared at her.

âWhy did the plan go wrong?â

Miss Marple said rather apologetically:

âSuch curious things happen, donât they? If I were to say that this particular plan went wrong because human beings are so much more vulnerable and sensitive than anyone thinks, it wouldnât sound sensible, would it? But thatâs what I believeâandââ

She broke off. âHereâs Mrs. Bantry now.â

Nine

Mrs. Bantry was with Adelaide Jefferson. The former came up to Sir Henry and exclaimed: âYou?â

âI, myself.â He took both her hands and pressed them warmly. âI canât tell you how distressed I am at all this, Mrs. B.â

Mrs. Bantry said mechanically:

âDonât call me Mrs. B.!â and went on: âArthur isnât here. Heâs taking it all rather seriously. Miss Marple and I have come here to sleuth. Do you know Mrs. Jefferson?â

âYes, of course.â

He shook hands. Adelaide Jefferson said:

âHave you seen my father-in-law?â

âYes, I have.â

âIâm glad. Weâre anxious about him. It was a terrible shock.â

Mrs. Bantry said:

âLetâs come out on the terrace and have drinks and talk about it all.â

The four of them went out and joined Mark Gaskell, who was sitting at the extreme end of the terrace by himself.

After a few desultory remarks and the arrival of the drinks Mrs. Bantry plunged straight into the subject with her usual zest for direct action.

âWe can talk about it, canât we?â she said. âI mean, weâre all old friendsâexcept Miss Marple, and she knows all about crime. And she wants to help.â

Mark Gaskell looked at Miss Marple in a somewhat puzzled fashion. He said doubtfully:

âDo youâerâwrite detective stories?â

The most unlikely people, he knew, wrote detective stories. And Miss Marple, in her old-fashioned spinsterâs clothes, looked a singularly unlikely person.

âOh no, Iâm not clever enough for that.â

âSheâs wonderful,â said Mrs. Bantry impatiently. âI canât explain now, but she is. Now, Addie, I want to know all about things. What was she really like, this girl?â

âWellââ Adelaide Jefferson paused, glanced across at Mark, and half laughed. She said: âYouâre so direct.â

âDid you like her?â

âNo, of course I didnât.â

âWhat was she really like?â Mrs. Bantry shifted her inquiry to Mark Gaskell. Mark said deliberately:

âCommon or garden gold-digger. And she knew her stuff. Sheâd got her hooks into Jeff all right.â

Both of them called their father-in-law Jeff.

Sir Henry thought, looking disapprovingly at Mark:

âIndiscreet fellow. Shouldnât be so outspoken.â

He had always disapproved a little of Mark Gaskell. The man had charm but he was unreliableâtalked too much, was occasionally boastfulânot quite to be trusted, Sir Henry thought. He had sometimes wondered if Conway Jefferson thought so too.

âBut couldnât you do something about it?â demanded Mrs. Bantry.

Mark said dryly:

âWe might haveâif weâd realized it in time.â

He shot a glance at Adelaide and she coloured faintly. There had been reproach in that glance.

She said:

âMark thinks I ought to have seen what was coming.â

âYou left the old boy alone too much, Addie. Tennis lessons and all the rest of it.â

âWell, I had to have some exercise.â She spoke apologetically. âAnyway, I never dreamedââ

âNo,â said Mark, âneither of us ever dreamed. Jeff has always been such a sensible, levelheaded old boy.â

Miss Marple made a contribution to the conversation.

âGentlemen,â she said with her old-maidâs way of referring to the opposite sex as though it were a species of wild animal, âare frequently not as levelheaded as they seem.â

âIâll say youâre right,â said Mark. âUnfortunately, Miss Marple, we didnât realize that. We wondered what the old boy saw in that rather insipid and meretricious little bag of tricks. But we were pleased for him to be kept happy and amused. We thought there was no harm in her. No harm in her! I wish Iâd wrung her neck!â

âMark,â said Addie, âyou really must be careful what you say.â

He grinned at her engagingly.

âI suppose I must. Otherwise people will think I actually did wring her neck. Oh well, I suppose Iâm under suspicion, anyway. If anyone had an interest in seeing that girl dead it was Addie and myself.â

âMark,â cried Mrs. Jefferson, half laughing and half angry, âyou really mustnât!â

âAll right, all right,â said Mark Gaskell pacifically. âBut I do like speaking my mind. Fifty thousand pounds our esteemed father-in-law was proposing to settle upon that half-baked nitwitted little slypuss.â

âMark, you mustnâtâsheâs dead.â

âYes, sheâs dead, poor little devil. And after all, why shouldnât she use the weapons that Nature gave her? Who am I to judge? Done plenty of rotten things myself in my life. No, letâs say Ruby was entitled to plot and scheme and we were mugs not to have tumbled to her game sooner.â

Sir Henry said:

âWhat did you say when Conway told you he proposed to adopt the girl?â

Mark thrust out his hands.

âWhat could we say? Addie, always the little lady, retained her self-control admirably. Put a brave face upon it. I endeavoured to follow her example.â

âI should have made a fuss!â said Mrs. Bantry.

âWell, frankly speaking, we werenât entitled to make a fuss. It was Jeff âs money. We werenât his flesh and blood. Heâd always been damned good to us. There was nothing for it but to bite on the bullet.â He added reflectively: âBut we didnât love little Ruby.â

Adelaide Jefferson said:

âIf only it had been some other kind of girl. Jeff had two godchildren, you know. If it had been one of themâwell, one would have understood it.â She added, with a shade of resentment: âAnd Jeff âs always seemed so fond of Peter.â

âOf course,â said Mrs. Bantry. âI always have known Peter was your first husbandâs childâbut Iâd quite forgotten it. Iâve always thought of him as Mr. Jeffersonâs grandson.â

âSo have I,â said Adelaide. Her voice held a note that made Miss Marple turn in her chair and look at her.

âIt was Josieâs fault,â said Mark. âJosie brought her here.â

Adelaide said:

âOh, but surely you donât think it was deliberate, do you? Why, youâve always liked Josie so much.â

âYes, I did like her. I thought she was a good sport.â

âIt was sheer accident her bringing the girl down.â

âJosieâs got a good head on her shoulders, my girl.â

âYes, but she couldnât foreseeââ

Mark said:

âNo, she couldnât. I admit it. Iâm not really accusing her of planning the whole thing. But Iâve no doubt she saw which way the wind was blowing long before we did and kept very quiet about it.â

Adelaide said with a sigh:

âI suppose one canât blame her for that.â

Mark said:

âOh, we canât blame anyone for anything!â

Mrs. Bantry asked:

âWas Ruby Keene very pretty?â

Mark stared at her. âI thought youâd seenââ

Mrs. Bantry said hastily:

âOh yes, I saw herâher body. But sheâd been strangled, you know, and one couldnât tellââ She shivered.

Mark said, thoughtfully:

âI donât think she was really pretty at all. She certainly wouldnât have been without any makeup. A thin ferrety little face, not much chin, teeth running down her throat, nondescript sort of noseââ

âIt sounds revolting,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âOh no, she wasnât. As I say, with makeup she managed to give quite an effect of good looks, donât you think so, Addie?â

âYes, rather chocolate-box, pink and white business. She had nice blue eyes.â

âYes, innocent baby stare, and the heavily-blacked lashes brought out the blueness. Her hair was bleached, of course. Itâs true, when I come to think of it, that in colouringâartificial colouring, anywayâshe had a kind of spurious resemblance to Rosamundâmy wife, you know. I dare say thatâs what attracted the old manâs attention to her.â

He sighed.

âWell, itâs a bad business. The awful thing is that Addie and I canât help being glad, really, that sheâs deadââ

He quelled a protest from his sister-in-law.

âItâs no good, Addie; I know what you feel. I feel the same. And Iâm not going to pretend! But, at the same time, if you know what I mean, I really am most awfully concerned for Jeff about the whole business. Itâs hit him very hard. Iââ

He stopped, and stared towards the doors leading out of the lounge on to the terrace.

âWell, wellâsee whoâs here. What an unscrupulous woman you are, Addie.â

Mrs. Jefferson looked over her shoulder, uttered an exclamation and got up, a slight colour rising in her face. She walked quickly along the terrace and went up to a tall middle-aged man with a thin brown face, who was looking uncertainly about him.

Mrs. Bantry said: âIsnât that Hugo McLean?â

Mark Gaskell said:

âHugo McLean it is. Alias William Dobbin.â

Mrs. Bantry murmured:

âHeâs very faithful, isnât he?â

âDog-like devotion,â said Mark. âAddieâs only got to whistle and Hugo comes trotting from any odd corner of the globe. Always hopes that some day sheâll marry him. I dare say she will.â

Miss Marple looked beamingly after them. She said:

âI see. A romance?â

âOne of the good old-fashioned kind,â Mark assured her. âItâs been going on for years. Addieâs that kind of woman.â

He added meditatively: âI suppose Addie telephoned him this morning. She didnât tell me she had.â

Edwards came discreetly along the terrace and paused at Markâs elbow.

âExcuse me, sir. Mr. Jefferson would like you to come up.â

âIâll come at once.â Mark sprang up.

He nodded to them, said: âSee you later,â and went off.

Sir Henry leant forward to Miss Marple. He said:

âWell, what do you think of the principal beneficiaries of the crime?â

Miss Marple said thoughtfully, looking at Adelaide Jefferson as she stood talking to her old friend:

âI should think, you know, that she was a very devoted mother.â

âOh, she is,â said Mrs. Bantry. âSheâs simply devoted to Peter.â

âSheâs the kind of woman,â said Miss Marple, âthat everyone likes. The kind of woman that could go on getting married again and again. I donât mean a manâs womanâthatâs quite different.â

âI know what you mean,â said Sir Henry.

âWhat you both mean,â said Mrs. Bantry, âis that sheâs a good listener.â

Sir Henry laughed. He said:

âAnd Mark Gaskell?â

âAh,â said Miss Marple, âheâs a downy fellow.â

âVillage parallel, please?â

âMr. Cargill, the builder. He bluffed a lot of people into having things done to their houses they never meant to do. And how he charged them for it! But he could always explain his bills away plausibly. A downy fellow. He married money. So did Mr. Gaskell, I understand.â

âYou donât like him.â

âYes, I do. Most women would. But he canât take me in. Heâs a very attractive person, I think. But a little unwise, perhaps, to talk as much as he does.â

âUnwise is the word,â said Sir Henry. âMark will get himself into trouble if he doesnât look out.â

A tall dark young man in white flannels came up the steps to the terrace and paused just for a minute, watching Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean.

âAnd that,â said Sir Henry obligingly, âis X, whom we might describe as an interested party. He is the tennis and dancing proâRaymond Starr, Ruby Keeneâs partner.â

Miss Marple looked at him with interest. She said:

âHeâs very nice-looking, isnât he?â

âI suppose so.â

âDonât be absurd, Sir Henry,â said Mrs. Bantry; âthereâs no supposing about it. He is good-looking.â

Miss Marple murmured:

âMrs. Jefferson has been taking tennis lessons, I think she said.â

âDo you mean anything by that, Jane, or donât you?â

Miss Marple had no chance of replying to this downright question. Young Peter Carmody came across the terrace and joined them. He addressed himself to Sir Henry:

âI say, are you a detective, too? I saw you talking to the Superintendentâthe fat one is a superintendent, isnât he?â

âQuite right, my son.â

âAnd somebody told me you were a frightfully important detective from London. The head of Scotland Yard or something like that.â

âThe head of Scotland Yard is usually a complete dud in books, isnât he?â

âOh no, not nowadays. Making fun of the police is very old-fashioned. Do you know who did the murder yet?â

âNot yet, Iâm afraid.â

âAre you enjoying this very much, Peter?â asked Mrs. Bantry.

âWell, I am, rather. It makes a change, doesnât it? Iâve been hunting round to see if I could find any clues, but I havenât been lucky. Iâve got a souvenir, though. Would you like to see it? Fancy, Mother wanted me to throw it away. I do think oneâs parents are rather trying sometimes.â

He produced from his pocket a small matchbox. Pushing it open, he disclosed the precious contents.

âSee, itâs a fingernail. Her fingernail! Iâm going to label it Fingernail of the Murdered Woman and take it back to school. Itâs a good souvenir, donât you think?â

âWhere did you get it?â asked Miss Marple.

âWell, it was a bit of luck, really. Because, of course, I didnât know she was going to be murdered then. It was before dinner last night. Ruby caught her nail in Josieâs shawl and it tore it. Mums cut it off for her and gave it to me and said put it in the wastepaper basket, and I meant to, but I put it in my pocket instead, and this morning I remembered and looked to see if it was still there and it was, so now Iâve got it as a souvenir.â

âDisgusting,â said Mrs. Bantry.

Peter said politely: âOh, do you think so?â

âGot any other souvenirs?â asked Sir Henry.

âWell, I donât know. Iâve got something that might be.â

âExplain yourself, young man.â

Peter looked at him thoughtfully. Then he pulled out an envelope. From the inside of it he extracted a piece of browny tapey substance.

âItâs a bit of that chap George Bartlettâs shoe-lace,â he explained. âI saw his shoes outside the door this morning and I bagged a bit just in case.â

âIn case what?â

âIn case he should be the murderer, of course. He was the last person to see her and thatâs always frightfully suspicious, you know. Is it nearly dinner time, do you think? Iâm frightfully hungry. It always seems such a long time between tea and dinner. Hallo, thereâs Uncle Hugo. I didnât know Mums had asked him to come down. I suppose she sent for him. She always does if sheâs in a jam. Hereâs Josie coming. Hi, Josie!â

Josephine Turner, coming along the terrace, stopped and looked rather startled to see Mrs. Bantry and Miss Marple.

Mrs. Bantry said pleasantly:

âHow dâyou do, Miss Turner. Weâve come to do a bit of sleuthing!â

Josie cast a guilty glance round. She said, lowering her voice:

âItâs awful. Nobody knows yet. I mean, it isnât in the papers yet. I suppose everyone will be asking me questions and itâs so awkward. I donât know what I ought to say.â

Her glance went rather wistfully towards Miss Marple, who said: âYes, it will be a very difficult situation for you, Iâm afraid.â

Josie warmed to this sympathy.

âYou see, Mr. Prestcott said to me: âDonât talk about it.â And thatâs all very well, but everyone is sure to ask me, and you canât offend people, can you? Mr. Prestcott said he hoped Iâd feel able to carry on as usualâand he wasnât very nice about it, so of course I want to do my best. And I really donât see why it should all be blamed on me.â

Sir Henry said:

âDo you mind me asking you a frank question, Miss Turner?â

âOh, do ask me anything you like,â said Josie, a little insincerely.

âHas there been any unpleasantness between you and Mrs. Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell over all this?â

âOver the murder, do you mean?â

âNo, I donât mean the murder.â

Josie stood twisting her fingers together. She said rather sullenly:

âWell, there has and there hasnât, if you know what I mean. Neither of them have said anything. But I think they blamed it on meâMr. Jefferson taking such a fancy to Ruby, I mean. It wasnât my fault, though, was it? These things happen, and I never dreamt of such a thing happening beforehand, not for a moment. IâI was quite dumbfounded.â

Her words rang out with what seemed undeniable sincerity.

Sir Henry said kindly:

âIâm quite sure you were. But once it had happened?â

Josieâs chin went up.

âWell, it was a piece of luck, wasnât it? Everyoneâs got the right to have a piece of luck sometimes.â

She looked from one to the other of them in a slightly defiant questioning manner and then went on across the terrace and into the hotel.

Peter said judicially:

âI donât think she did it.â

Miss Marple murmured:

âItâs interesting, that piece of fingernail. It had been worrying me, you knowâhow to account for her nails.â

âNails?â asked Sir Henry.

âThe dead girlâs nails,â explained Mrs. Bantry. âThey were quite short, and now that Jane says so, of course it was a little unlikely. A girl like that usually has absolute talons.â

Miss Marple said:

âBut of course if she tore one off, then she might clip the others close, so as to match. Did they find nail parings in her room, I wonder?â

Sir Henry looked at her curiously. He said:

âIâll ask Superintendent Harper when he gets back.â

âBack from where?â asked Mrs. Bantry. âHe hasnât gone over to Gossington, has he?â

Sir Henry said gravely:

âNo. Thereâs been another tragedy. Blazing car in a quarryââ

Miss Marple caught her breath.

âWas there someone in the car?â

âIâm afraid soâyes.â

Miss Marple said thoughtfully:

âI expect that will be the Girl Guide whoâs missingâPatienceâno, Pamela Reeves.â

Sir Henry stared at her.

âNow why on earth do you think that, Miss Marple?â

Miss Marple got rather pink.

âWell, it was given out on the wireless that she was missing from her homeâsince last night. And her home was Daneleigh Vale; thatâs not very far from here. And she was last seen at the Girl-Guide Rally up on Danebury Downs. Thatâs very close indeed. In fact, sheâd have to pass through Danemouth to get home. So it does rather fit in, doesnât it? I mean, it looks as though she might have seenâor perhaps heardâsomething that no one was supposed to see and hear. If so, of course, sheâd be a source of danger to the murderer and sheâd have to beâremoved. Two things like that must be connected, donât you think?â

Sir Henry said, his voice dropping a little:

âYou thinkâa second murder?â

âWhy not?â Her quiet placid gaze met his. âWhen anyone has committed one murder, they donât shrink from another, do they? Nor even from a third.â

âA third? You donât think there will be a third murder?â

âI think itâs just possible â¦ Yes, I think itâs highly possible.â

âMiss Marple,â said Sir Henry, âyou frighten me. Do you know who is going to be murdered?â

Miss Marple said: âIâve a very good idea.â

Ten

I

Superintendent Harper stood looking at the charred and twisted heap of metal. A burnt-up car was always a revolting object, even without the additional gruesome burden of a charred and blackened corpse.

Vennâs Quarry was a remote spot, far from any human habitation. Though actually only two miles as the crow flies from Danemouth, the approach to it was by one of those narrow, twisted, rutted roads, little more than a cart track, which led nowhere except to the quarry itself. It was a long time now since the quarry had been worked, and the only people who came along the lane were the casual visitors in search of blackberries. As a spot to dispose of a car it was ideal. The car need not have been found for weeks but for the accident of the glow in the sky having been seen by Albert Biggs, a labourer, on his way to work.

Albert Biggs was still on the scene, though all he had to tell had been heard some time ago, but he continued to repeat the thrilling story with such embellishments as occurred to him.

âWhy, dang my eyes, I said, whatever be that? Proper glow it was, up in the sky. Might be a bonfire, I says, but whoâd be having bonfire over to Vennâs Quarry? No, I says, âtis some mighty big fire, to be sure. But whatever would it be, I says? Thereâs no house or farm to that direction. âTis over by Vennâs, I says, thatâs where it is, to be sure. Didnât rightly know what I ought to do about it, but seeing as Constable Gregg comes along just then on his bicycle, I tells him about it. âTwas all died down by then, but I tells him just where âtwere. âTis over that direction, I says. Big glare in the sky, I says. Mayhap as itâs a rick, I says. One of them tramps, as likely as not, set alight of it. But I did never think as how it might be a carâfar less as someone was being burnt up alive in it. âTis a terrible tragedy, to be sure.â

The Glenshire police had been busy. Cameras had clicked and the position of the charred body had been carefully noted before the police surgeon had started his own investigation.

The latter came over now to Harper, dusting black ash off his hands, his lips set grimly together.

âA pretty thorough job,â he said. âPart of one foot and shoe are about all that has escaped. Personally I myself couldnât say if the body was a manâs or a womanâs at the moment, though weâll get some indication from the bones, I expect. But the shoe is one of the black strapped affairsâthe kind schoolgirls wear.â

âThereâs a schoolgirl missing from the next county,â said Harper; âquite close to here. Girl of sixteen or so.â

âThen itâs probably her,â said the doctor. âPoor kid.â

Harper said uneasily: âShe wasnât alive whenâ?â

âNo, no, I donât think so. No signs of her having tried to get out. Body was just slumped down on the seatâwith the foot sticking out. She was dead when she was put there, I should say. Then the car was set fire to in order to try and get rid of the evidence.â

He paused, and asked:

âWant me any longer?â

âI donât think so, thank you.â

âRight. Iâll be off.â

He strode away to his car. Harper went over to where one of his sergeants, a man who specialized in car cases, was busy.

The latter looked up.

âQuite a clear case, sir. Petrol poured over the car and the whole thing deliberately set light to. There are three empty cans in the hedge over there.â

A little farther away another man was carefully arranging small objects picked out of the wreckage. There was a scorched black leather shoe and with it some scraps of scorched and blackened material. As Harper approached, his subordinate looked up and exclaimed:

âLook at this, sir. This seems to clinch it.â

Harper took the small object in his hand. He said:

âButton from a Girl Guideâs uniform?â

âYes, sir.â

âYes,â said Harper, âthat does seem to settle it.â

A decent, kindly man, he felt slightly sick. First Ruby Keene and now this child, Pamela Reeves.

He said to himself, as he had said before:

âWhatâs come to Glenshire?â

His next move was first to ring up his own Chief Constable, and afterwards to get in touch with Colonel Melchett. The disappearance of Pamela Reeves had taken place in Radfordshire though her body had been found in Glenshire.

The next task set him was not a pleasant one. He had to break the news to Pamela Reevesâs father and motherâ¦.

II

Superintendent Harper looked up consideringly at the faÃ§ade of Braeside as he rang the front door bell.

Neat little villa, nice garden of about an acre and a half. The sort of place that had been built fairly freely all over the countryside in the last twenty years. Retired Army men, retired Civil Servantsâthat type. Nice decent folk; the worst you could say of them was that they might be a bit dull. Spent as much money as they could afford on their childrenâs education. Not the kind of people you associated with tragedy. And now tragedy had come to them. He sighed.

He was shown at once into a lounge where a stiff man with a grey moustache and a woman whose eyes were red with weeping both sprang up. Mrs. Reeves cried out eagerly:

âYou have some news of Pamela?â

Then she shrank back, as though the Superintendentâs commiserating glance had been a blow.

Harper said:

âIâm afraid you must prepare yourself for bad news.â

âPamelaââ faltered the woman.

Major Reeves said sharply:

âSomethingâs happenedâto the child?â

âYes, sir.â

âDo you mean sheâs dead?â

Mrs. Reeves burst out:

âOh no, no,â and broke into a storm of weeping. Major Reeves put his arm round his wife and drew her to him. His lips trembled but he looked inquiringly at Harper, who bent his head.

âAn accident?â

âNot exactly, Major Reeves. She was found in a burnt-out car which had been abandoned in a quarry.â

âIn a car? In a quarry?â

His astonishment was evident.

Mrs. Reeves broke down altogether and sank down on the sofa, sobbing violently.

Superintendent Harper said:

âIf youâd like me to wait a few minutes?â

Major Reeves said sharply:

âWhat does this mean? Foul play?â

âThatâs what it looks like, sir. Thatâs why Iâd like to ask you some questions if it isnât too trying for you.â

âNo, no, youâre quite right. No time must be lost if what you suggest is true. But I canât believe it. Who would want to harm a child like Pamela?â

Harper said stolidly:

âYouâve already reported to your local police the circumstances of your daughterâs disappearance. She left here to attend a Guides rally and you expected her home for supper. That is right?â

âYes.â

âShe was to return by bus?â

âYes.â

âI understand that, according to the story of her fellow Guides, when the rally was over Pamela said she was going into Danemouth to Woolworthâs, and would catch a later bus home. That strikes you as quite a normal proceeding?â

âOh yes, Pamela was very fond of going to Woolworthâs. She often went into Danemouth to shop. The bus goes from the main road, only about a quarter of a mile from here.â

âAnd she had no other plans, so far as you know?â

âNone.â

âShe was not meeting anybody in Danemouth?â

âNo, Iâm sure she wasnât. She would have mentioned it if so. We expected her back for supper. Thatâs why, when it got so late and she hadnât turned up, we rang up the police. It wasnât like her not to come home.â

âYour daughter had no undesirable friendsâthat is, friends that you didnât approve of?â

âNo, there was never any trouble of that kind.â

Mrs. Reeves said tearfully:

âPam was just a child. She was very young for her age. She liked games and all that. She wasnât precocious in any way.â

âDo you know a Mr. George Bartlett who is staying at the Majestic Hotel in Danemouth?â

Major Reeves stared.

âNever heard of him.â

âYou donât think your daughter knew him?â

âIâm quite sure she didnât.â

He added sharply: âHow does he come into it?â

âHeâs the owner of the Minoan 14 car in which your daughterâs body was found.â

Mrs. Reeves cried: âBut then he mustââ

Harper said quickly:

âHe reported his car missing early today. It was in the courtyard of the Majestic Hotel at lunch time yesterday. Anybody might have taken the car.â

âBut didnât someone see who took it?â

The Superintendent shook his head.

âDozens of cars going in and out all day. And a Minoan 14 is one of the commonest makes.â

Mrs. Reeves cried:

âBut arenât you doing something? Arenât you trying to find theâthe devil who did this? My little girlâoh, my little girl! She wasnât burnt alive, was she? Oh, Pam, Pam â¦!â

âShe didnât suffer, Mrs. Reeves. I assure you she was already dead when the car was set alight.â

Reeves asked stiffly:

âHow was she killed?â

Harper gave him a significant glance.

âWe donât know. The fire had destroyed all evidence of that kind.â

He turned to the distraught woman on the sofa.

âBelieve me, Mrs. Reeves, weâre doing everything we can. Itâs a matter of checking up. Sooner or later we shall find someone who saw your daughter in Danemouth yesterday, and saw whom she was with. It all takes time, you know. We shall have dozens, hundreds of reports coming in about a Girl Guide who was seen here, there, and everywhere. Itâs a matter of selection and of patienceâbut we shall find out the truth in the end, never you fear.â

Mrs. Reeves asked:

âWhereâwhere is she? Can I go to her?â

Again Superintendent Harper caught the husbandâs eye. He said:

âThe medical officer is attending to all that. Iâd suggest that your husband comes with me now and attends to all the formalities. In the meantime, try and recollect anything Pamela may have saidâsomething, perhaps, that you didnât pay attention to at the time but which might throw some light upon things. You know what I meanâjust some chance word or phrase. Thatâs the best way you can help us.â

As the two men went towards the door, Reeves said, pointing to a photograph:

âThere she is.â

Harper looked at it attentively. It was a hockey group. Reeves pointed out Pamela in the centre of the team.

âA nice kid,â Harper thought, as he looked at the earnest face of the pigtailed girl.

His mouth set in a grim line as he thought of the charred body in the car.

He vowed to himself that the murder of Pamela Reeves should not remain one of Glenshireâs unsolved mysteries.

Ruby Keene, so he admitted privately, might have asked for what was coming to her, but Pamela Reeves was quite another story. A nice kid, if he ever saw one. Heâd not rest until heâd hunted down the man or woman whoâd killed her.

Eleven

A day or two later Colonel Melchett and Superintendent Harper looked at each other across the formerâs big desk. Harper had come over to Much Benham for a consultation.

Melchett said gloomily:

âWell, we know where we areâor rather where we arenât!â

âWhere we arenât expresses it better, sir.â

âWeâve got two deaths to take into account,â said Melchett. âTwo murders. Ruby Keene and the child Pamela Reeves. Not much to identify her by, poor kid, but enough. That shoe that escaped burning has been identified positively as hers by her father, and thereâs this button from her Girl Guide uniform. A fiendish business, Superintendent.â

Superintendent Harper said very quietly:

âIâll say youâre right, sir.â

âIâm glad itâs quite certain she was dead before the car was set on fire. The way she was lying, thrown across the seat, shows that. Probably knocked on the head, poor kid.â

âOr strangled, perhaps,â said Harper.

Melchett looked at him sharply.

âYou think so?â

âWell, sir, there are murderers like that.â

âI know. Iâve seen the parentsâthe poor girlâs motherâs beside herself. Damned painful, the whole thing. The point for us to settle isâare the two murders connected?â

âIâd say definitely yes.â

âSo would I.â

The Superintendent ticked off the points on his fingers.

âPamela Reeves attended rally of Girl Guides on Danebury Downs. Stated by companions to be normal and cheerful. Did not return with three companions by the bus to Medchester. Said to them that she was going into Danemouth to Woolworthâs and would take the bus home from there. The main road into Danemouth from the downs does a big round inland. Pamela Reeves took a shortcut over two fields and a footpath and lane which would bring her into Danemouth near the Majestic Hotel. The lane, in fact, actually passes the hotel on the west side. Itâs possible, therefore, that she overheard or saw somethingâsomething concerning Ruby Keeneâwhich would have proved dangerous to the murdererâsay, for instance, that she heard him arranging to meet Ruby Keene at eleven that evening. He realizes that this schoolgirl has overheard, and he has to silence her.â

Colonel Melchett said:

âThatâs presuming, Harper, that the Ruby Keene crime was premeditatedânot spontaneous.â

Superintendent Harper agreed.

âI believe it was, sir. It looks as though it would be the other wayâsudden violence, a fit of passion or jealousyâbut Iâm beginning to think that thatâs not so. I donât see otherwise how you can account for the death of the Reeves child. If she was a witness of the actual crime, it would be late at night, round about eleven p.m., and what would she be doing round about the Majestic at that time? Why, at nine oâclock her parents were getting anxious because she hadnât returned.â

âThe alternative is that she went to meet someone in Danemouth unknown to her family and friends, and that her death is quite unconnected with the other death.â

âYes, sir, and I donât believe thatâs so. Look how even the old lady, old Miss Marple, tumbled to it at once that there was a connection. She asked at once if the body in the burnt car was the body of the missing Girl Guide. Very smart old lady, that. These old ladies are sometimes. Shrewd, you know. Put their fingers on the vital spot.â

âMiss Marple has done that more than once,â said Colonel Melchett dryly.

âAnd besides, sir, thereâs the car. That seems to me to link up her death definitely with the Majestic Hotel. It was Mr. George Bartlettâs car.â

Again the eyes of the two men met. Melchett said:

âGeorge Bartlett? Could be! What do you think?â

Again Harper methodically recited various points.

âRuby Keene was last seen with George Bartlett. He says she went to her room (borne out by the dress she was wearing being found there), but did she go to her room and change in order to go out with him? Had they made a date to go out together earlierâdiscussed it, say, before dinner, and did Pamela Reeves happen to overhear?â

Melchett said: âHe didnât report the loss of his car until the following morning, and he was extremely vague about it then, pretended he couldnât remember exactly when he had last noticed it.â

âThat might be cleverness, sir. As I see it, heâs either a very clever gentleman pretending to be a silly ass, or elseâwell, he is a silly ass.â

âWhat we want,â said Melchett, âis motive. As it stands, he had no motive whatever for killing Ruby Keene.â

âYesâthatâs where weâre stuck every time. Motive. All the reports from the Palais de Danse at Brixwell are negative, I understand?â

âAbsolutely! Ruby Keene had no special boy friend. Slackâs been into the matter thoroughlyâgive Slack his due, he is thorough.â

âThatâs right, sir. Thoroughâs the word.â

âIf there was anything to ferret out, heâd have ferreted it out. But thereâs nothing there. He got a list of her most frequent dancing partnersâall vetted and found correct. Harmless fellows, and all able to produce alibis for that night.â

âAh,â said Superintendent Harper. âAlibis. Thatâs what weâre up against.â

Melchett looked at him sharply. âThink so? Iâve left that side of the investigation to you.â

âYes, sir. Itâs been gone intoâvery thoroughly. We applied to London for help over it.â

âWell?â

âMr. Conway Jefferson may think that Mr. Gaskell and young Mrs. Jefferson are comfortably off, but that is not the case. Theyâre both extremely hard up.â

âIs that true?â

âQuite true, sir. Itâs as Mr. Conway Jefferson said, he made over considerable sums of money to his son and daughter when they married. That was over ten years ago, though. Mr. Jefferson fancied himself as knowing good investments. He didnât invest in anything absolutely wild cat, but he was unlucky and showed poor judgment more than once. His holdings have gone steadily down. I should say the widow found it difficult to make both ends meet and send her son to a good school.â

âBut she hasnât applied to her father-in-law for help?â

âNo, sir. As far as I can make out she lives with him, and consequently has no household expenses.â

âAnd his health is such that he wasnât expected to live long?â

âThatâs right, sir. Now for Mr. Mark Gaskell. Heâs a gambler, pure and simple. Got through his wifeâs money very soon. Has got himself tangled up rather critically just at present. He needs money badlyâand a good deal of it.â

âCanât say I liked the looks of him much,â said Colonel Melchett. âWild-looking sort of fellowâwhat? And heâs got a motive all right. Twenty-five thousand pounds it meant to him getting that girl out of the way. Yes, itâs a motive all right.â

âThey both had a motive.â

âIâm not considering Mrs. Jefferson.â

âNo, sir, I know youâre not. And, anyway, the alibi holds for both of them. They couldnât have done it. Just that.â

âYouâve got a detailed statement of their movements that evening?â

âYes, I have. Take Mr. Gaskell first. He dined with his father-in-law and Mrs. Jefferson, had coffee with them afterwards when Ruby Keene joined them. Then he said he had to write letters and left them. Actually he took his car and went for a spin down to the front. He told me quite frankly he couldnât stick playing bridge for a whole evening. The old boyâs mad on it. So he made letters an excuse. Ruby Keene remained with the others. Mark Gaskell returned when she was dancing with Raymond. After the dance Ruby came and had a drink with them, then she went off with young Bartlett, and Gaskell and the others cut for partners and started their bridge. That was at twenty minutes to elevenâand he didnât leave the table until after midnight. Thatâs quite certain, sir. Everyone says so. The family, the waiters, everyone. Therefore he couldnât have done it. And Mrs. Jeffersonâs alibi is the same. She, too, didnât leave the table. Theyâre out, both of themâout.â

Colonel Melchett leaned back, tapping the table with a paper cutter.

Superintendent Harper said:

âThat is, assuming the girl was killed before midnight.â

âHaydock said she was. Heâs a very sound fellow in police work. If he says a thing, itâs so.â

âThere might be reasonsâhealth, physical idiosyncrasy, or something.â

âIâll put it to him.â Melchett glanced at his watch, picked up the telephone receiver and asked for a number. He said: âHaydock ought to be at home at this time. Now, assuming that she was killed after midnight?â

Harper said:

âThen there might be a chance. There was some coming and going afterwards. Letâs assume that Gaskell had asked the girl to meet him outside somewhereâsay at twenty past twelve. He slips away for a minute or two, strangles her, comes back and disposes of the body laterâin the early hours of the morning.â

Melchett said:

âTakes her by car thirty-odd miles to put her in Bantryâs library? Dash it all, itâs not a likely story.â

âNo, it isnât,â the Superintendent admitted at once.

The telephone rang. Melchett picked up the receiver.

âHallo, Haydock, is that you? Ruby Keene. Would it be possible for her to have been killed after midnight?â

âI told you she was killed between ten and midnight.â

âYes, I know, but one could stretch it a bitâwhat?â

âNo, you couldnât stretch it. When I say she was killed before midnight I mean before midnight, and donât try to tamper with the medical evidence.â

âYes, but couldnât there be some physiological what-not? You know what I mean.â

âI know that you donât know what youâre talking about. The girl was perfectly healthy and not abnormal in any wayâand Iâm not going to say she was just to help you fit a rope round the neck of some wretched fellow whom you police wallahs have got your knife into. Now donât protest. I know your ways. And, by the way, the girl wasnât strangled willinglyâthat is to say, she was drugged first. Powerful narcotic. She died of strangulation but she was drugged first.â Haydock rang off.

Melchett said gloomily: âWell, thatâs that.â

Harper said:

âThought Iâd found another likely starterâbut it petered out.â

âWhatâs that? Who?â

âStrictly speaking, heâs your pigeon, sir. Name of Basil Blake. Lives near Gossington Hall.â

âImpudent young jackanapes!â The Colonelâs brow darkened as he remembered Basil Blakeâs outrageous rudeness. âHowâs he mixed up in it?â

âSeems he knew Ruby Keene. Dined over at the Majestic quite oftenâdanced with the girl. Do you remember what Josie said to Raymond when Ruby was discovered to be missing? âSheâs not with that film fellow, is she?â Iâve found out it was Blake, she meant. Heâs employed with the Lemville Studios, you know. Josie has nothing to go upon except a belief that Ruby was rather keen on him.â

âVery promising, Harper, very promising.â

âNot so good as it sounds, sir. Basil Blake was at a party at the studios that night. You know the sort of thing. Starts at eight with cocktails and goes on and on until the airâs too thick to see through and everyone passes out. According to Inspector Slack, whoâs questioned him, he left the show round about midnight. At midnight Ruby Keene was dead.â

âAnyone bear out his statement?â

âMost of them, I gather, sir, were ratherâerâfar gone. Theâerâyoung woman now at the bungalowâMiss Dinah Leeâsays his statement is correct.â

âDoesnât mean a thing!â

âNo, sir, probably not. Statements taken from other members of the party bear Mr. Blakeâs statement out on the whole, though ideas as to time are somewhat vague.â

âWhere are these studios?â

âLemville, sir, thirty miles southwest of London.â

âHâmâabout the same distance from here?â

âYes, sir.â

Colonel Melchett rubbed his nose. He said in a rather dissatisfied tone:

âWell, it looks as though we could wash him out.â

âI think so, sir. There is no evidence that he was seriously attracted by Ruby Keene. In factââSuperintendent Harper coughed primlyââhe seems fully occupied with his own young lady.â

Melchett said:

âWell, we are left with âX,â an unknown murdererâso unknown Slack canât find a trace of him! Or Jeffersonâs son-in-law, who might have wanted to kill the girlâbut didnât have a chance to do so. Daughter-in-law ditto. Or George Bartlett, who has no alibiâbut unfortunately no motive either. Or with young Blake, who has an alibi and no motive. And thatâs the lot! No, stop, I suppose we ought to consider the dancing fellowâRaymond Starr. After all, he saw a lot of the girl.â

Harper said slowly:

âCanât believe he took much interest in herâor else heâs a thundering good actor. And, for all practical purposes, heâs got an alibi too. He was more or less in view from twenty minutes to eleven until midnight, dancing with various partners. I donât see that we can make a case against him.â

âIn fact,â said Colonel Melchett, âwe canât make a case against anybody.â

âGeorge Bartlettâs our best hope. If we could only hit on a motive.â

âYouâve had him looked up?â

âYes, sir. Only child. Coddled by his mother. Came into a good deal of money on her death a year ago. Getting through it fast. Weak rather than vicious.â

âMay be mental,â said Melchett hopefully.

Superintendent Harper nodded. He said:

âHas it struck you, sirâthat that may be the explanation of the whole case?â

âCriminal lunatic, you mean?â

âYes, sir. One of those fellows who go about strangling young girls. Doctors have a long name for it.â

âThat would solve all our difficulties,â said Melchett.

âThereâs only one thing I donât like about it,â said Superintendent Harper.

âWhat?â

âItâs too easy.â

âHâmâyesâperhaps. So, as I said at the beginning where are we?â

âNowhere, sir,â said Superintendent Harper.

Twelve

I

Conway Jefferson stirred in his sleep and stretched. His arms were flung out, long, powerful arms into which all the strength of his body seemed to be concentrated since his accident.

Through the curtains the morning light glowed softly.

Conway Jefferson smiled to himself. Always, after a night of rest, he woke like this, happy, refreshed, his deep vitality renewed. Another day!

So for a minute he lay. Then he pressed the special bell by his hand. And suddenly a wave of remembrance swept over him.

Even as Edwards, deft and quiet-footed, entered the room, a groan was wrung from his master.

Edwards paused with his hand on the curtains. He said: âYouâre not in pain, sir?â

Conway Jefferson said harshly:

âNo. Go on, pull âem.â

The clear light flooded the room. Edwards, understanding, did not glance at his master.

His face grim, Conway Jefferson lay remembering and thinking. Before his eyes he saw again the pretty, vapid face of Ruby. Only in his mind he did not use the adjective vapid. Last night he would have said innocent. A naÃ¯ve, innocent child! And now?

A great weariness came over Conway Jefferson. He closed his eyes. He murmured below his breath:

âMargaretâ¦.â

It was the name of his dead wifeâ¦.

II

âI like your friend,â said Adelaide Jefferson to Mrs. Bantry.

The two women were sitting on the terrace.

âJane Marpleâs a very remarkable woman,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âSheâs nice too,â said Addie, smiling.

âPeople call her a scandalmonger,â said Mrs. Bantry, âbut she isnât really.â

âJust a low opinion of human nature?â

âYou could call it that.â

âItâs rather refreshing,â said Adelaide Jefferson, âafter having had too much of the other thing.â

Mrs. Bantry looked at her sharply.

Addie explained herself.

âSo much high-thinkingâidealization of an unworthy object!â

âYou mean Ruby Keene?â

Addie nodded.

âI donât want to be horrid about her. There wasnât any harm in her. Poor little rat, she had to fight for what she wanted. She wasnât bad. Common and rather silly and quite good-natured, but a decided little gold-digger. I donât think she schemed or planned. It was just that she was quick to take advantage of a possibility. And she knew just how to appeal to an elderly man who wasâlonely.â

âI suppose,â said Mrs. Bantry thoughtfully, âthat Conway was lonely?â

Addie moved restlessly. She said:

âHe wasâthis summer.â She paused and then burst out: âMark will have it that it was all my fault. Perhaps it was, I donât know.â

She was silent for a minute, then, impelled by some need to talk, she went on speaking in a difficult, almost reluctant way.

âIâIâve had such an odd sort of life. Mike Carmody, my first husband, died so soon after we were marriedâitâit knocked me out. Peter, as you know, was born after his death. Frank Jefferson was Mikeâs great friend. So I came to see a lot of him. He was Peterâs godfatherâMike had wanted that. I got very fond of himâandâoh! sorry for him too.â

âSorry?â queried Mrs. Bantry with interest.

âYes, just that. It sounds odd. Frank had always had everything he wanted. His father and his mother couldnât have been nicer to him. And yetâhow can I say it?âyou see, old Mr. Jeffersonâs personality is so strong. If you live with it, you canât somehow have a personality of your own. Frank felt that.

âWhen we were married he was very happyâwonderfully so. Mr. Jefferson was very generous. He settled a large sum of money on Frankâsaid he wanted his children to be independent and not have to wait for his death. It was so nice of himâso generous. But it was much too sudden. He ought really to have accustomed Frank to independence little by little.

âIt went to Frankâs head. He wanted to be as good a man as his father, as clever about money and business, as far-seeing and successful. And, of course, he wasnât. He didnât exactly speculate with the money, but he invested in the wrong things at the wrong time. Itâs frightening, you know, how soon money goes if youâre not clever about it. The more Frank dropped, the more eager he was to get it back by some clever deal. So things went from bad to worse.â

âBut, my dear,â said Mrs. Bantry, âcouldnât Conway have advised him?â

âHe didnât want to be advised. The one thing he wanted was to do well on his own. Thatâs why we never let Mr. Jefferson know. When Frank died there was very little leftâonly a tiny income for me. And IâI didnât let his father know either. You seeââ

She turned abruptly.

âIt would have felt like betraying Frank to him. Frank would have hated it so. Mr. Jefferson was ill for a long time. When he got well he assumed that I was a very-well-off widow. Iâve never undeceived him. Itâs been a point of honour. He knows Iâm very careful about moneyâbut he approves of that, thinks Iâm a thrifty sort of woman. And, of course, Peter and I have lived with him practically ever since, and heâs paid for all our living expenses. So Iâve never had to worry.â

She said slowly:

âWeâve been like a family all these yearsâonlyâonlyâyou see (or donât you see?) Iâve never been Frankâs widow to himâIâve been Frankâs wife.â

Mrs. Bantry grasped the implication.

âYou mean heâs never accepted their deaths?â

âNo. Heâs been wonderful. But heâs conquered his own terrible tragedy by refusing to recognize death. Mark is Rosamundâs husband and Iâm Frankâs wifeâand though Frank and Rosamund arenât exactly here with usâthey are still existent.â

Mrs. Bantry said softly:

âItâs a wonderful triumph of faith.â

âI know. Weâve gone on, year after year. But suddenlyâthis summerâsomething went wrong in me. I feltâI felt rebellious. Itâs an awful thing to say, but I didnât want to think of Frank anymore! All that was overâmy love and companionship with him, and my grief when he died. It was something that had been and wasnât any longer.

âItâs awfully hard to describe. Itâs like wanting to wipe the slate clean and start again. I wanted to be meâAddie, still reasonably young and strong and able to play games and swim and danceâjust a person. Even Hugoâ(you know Hugo McLean?) heâs a dear and wants to marry me, but, of course, Iâve never really thought of itâbut this summer I did begin to think of itânot seriouslyâonly vaguelyâ¦.â

She stopped and shook her head.

âAnd so I suppose itâs true. I neglected Jeff. I donât mean really neglected him, but my mind and thoughts werenât with him. When Ruby, as I saw, amused him, I was rather glad. It left me freer to go and do my own things. I never dreamedâof course I never dreamedâthat he would be soâsoâinfatuated by her!â

Mrs. Bantry asked:

âAnd when you did find out?â

âI was dumbfoundedâabsolutely dumbfounded! And, Iâm afraid, angry too.â

âIâd have been angry,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âThere was Peter, you see. Peterâs whole future depends on Jeff. Jeff practically looked on him as a grandson, or so I thought, but, of course, he wasnât a grandson. He was no relation at all. And to think that he was going to beâdisinherited!â Her firm, well-shaped hands shook a little where they lay in her lap. âFor thatâs what it felt likeâand for a vulgar, gold-digging little simpletonâOh! I could have killed her!â

She stopped, stricken. Her beautiful hazel eyes met Mrs. Bantryâs in a pleading horror. She said:

âWhat an awful thing to say!â

Hugo McLean, coming quietly up behind them, asked:

âWhatâs an awful thing to say?â

âSit down, Hugo. You know Mrs. Bantry, donât you?â

McLean had already greeted the older lady. He said now in a low, persevering way:

âWhat was an awful thing to say?â

Addie Jefferson said:

âThat Iâd like to have killed Ruby Keene.â

Hugo McLean reflected a minute or two. Then he said:

âNo, I wouldnât say that if I were you. Might be misunderstood.â

His eyesâsteady, reflective, grey eyesâlooked at her meaningly.

He said:

âYouâve got to watch your step, Addie.â

There was a warning in his voice.

III

When Miss Marple came out of the hotel and joined Mrs. Bantry a few minutes later, Hugo McLean and Adelaide Jefferson were walking down the path to the sea together.

Seating herself, Miss Marple remarked:

âHe seems very devoted.â

âHeâs been devoted for years! One of those men.â

âI know. Like Major Bury. He hung round an Anglo-Indian widow for quite ten years. A joke among her friends! In the end she gave inâbut unfortunately ten days before they were to have been married she ran away with the chauffeur! Such a nice woman, too, and usually so well balanced.â

âPeople do do very odd things,â agreed Mrs. Bantry. âI wish youâd been here just now, Jane. Addie Jefferson was telling me all about herselfâhow her husband went through all his money but they never let Mr. Jefferson know. And then, this summer, things felt different to herââ

Miss Marple nodded.

âYes. She rebelled, I suppose, against being made to live in the past? After all, thereâs a time for everything. You canât sit in the house with the blinds down forever. I suppose Mrs. Jefferson just pulled them up and took off her widowâs weeds, and her father-in-law, of course, didnât like it. Felt left out in the cold, though I donât suppose for a minute he realized who put her up to it. Still, he certainly wouldnât like it. And so, of course, like old Mr. Badger when his wife took up Spiritualism, he was just ripe for what happened. Any fairly nice-looking young girl who listened prettily would have done.â

âDo you think,â said Mrs. Bantry, âthat that cousin, Josie, got her down here deliberatelyâthat it was a family plot?â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âNo, I donât think so at all. I donât think Josie has the kind of mind that could foresee peopleâs reactions. Sheâs rather dense in that way. Sheâs got one of those shrewd, limited, practical minds that never do foresee the future and are usually astonished by it.â

âIt seems to have taken everyone by surprise,â said Mrs. Bantry. âAddieâand Mark Gaskell too, apparently.â

Miss Marple smiled.

âI dare say he had his own fish to fry. A bold fellow with a roving eye! Not the man to go on being a sorrowing widower for years, no matter how fond he may have been of his wife. I should think they were both restless under old Mr. Jeffersonâs yoke of perpetual remembrance.

âOnly,â added Miss Marple cynically, âitâs easier for gentlemen, of course.â

IV

At that very moment Mark was confirming this judgment on himself in a talk with Sir Henry Clithering.

With characteristic candour Mark had gone straight to the heart of things.

âItâs just dawned on me,â he said, âthat Iâm Favourite Suspect No. I to the police! Theyâve been delving into my financial troubles. Iâm broke, you know, or very nearly. If dear old Jeff dies according to schedule in a month or two, and Addie and I divide the dibs also according to schedule, all will be well. Matter of fact, I owe rather a lot â¦ If the crash comes it will be a big one! If I can stave it off, it will be the other way roundâI shall come out on top and be a very rich man.â

Sir Henry Clithering said:

âYouâre a gambler, Mark.â

âAlways have been. Risk everythingâthatâs my motto! Yes, itâs a lucky thing for me that somebody strangled that poor kid. I didnât do it. Iâm not a strangler. I donât really think I could ever murder anybody. Iâm too easygoing. But I donât suppose I can ask the police to believe that! I must look to them like the answer to the criminal investigatorâs prayer! I had a motive, was on the spot, I am not burdened with high moral scruples! I canât imagine why Iâm not in the jug already! That Superintendentâs got a very nasty eye.â

âYouâve got that useful thing, an alibi.â

âAn alibi is the fishiest thing on Godâs earth! No innocent person ever has an alibi! Besides, it all depends on the time of death, or something like that, and you may be sure if three doctors say the girl was killed at midnight, at least six will be found who will swear positively that she was killed at five in the morningâand whereâs my alibi then?â

âAt any rate, you are able to joke about it.â

âDamned bad taste, isnât it?â said Mark cheerfully. âActually, Iâm rather scared. One isâwith murder! And donât think Iâm not sorry for old Jeff. I am. But itâs better this wayâbad as the shock wasâthan if heâd found her out.â

âWhat do you mean, found her out?â

Mark winked.

âWhere did she go off to last night? Iâll lay you any odds you like she went to meet a man. Jeff wouldnât have liked that. He wouldnât have liked it at all. If heâd found she was deceiving himâthat she wasnât the prattling little innocent she seemedâwellâmy father-in-law is an odd man. Heâs a man of great self-control, but that self-control can snap. And thenâlook out!â

Sir Henry glanced at him curiously.

âAre you fond of him or not?â

âIâm very fond of himâand at the same time I resent him. Iâll try and explain. Conway Jefferson is a man who likes to control his surroundings. Heâs a benevolent despot, kind, generous, and affectionateâbut his is the tune, and the others dance to his piping.â

Mark Gaskell paused.

âI loved my wife. I shall never feel the same for anyone else. Rosamund was sunshine and laughter and flowers, and when she was killed I felt just like a man in the ring whoâs had a knock-out blow. But the refereeâs been counting a good long time now. Iâm a man, after all. I like women. I donât want to marry againânot in the least. Well, thatâs all right. Iâve had to be discreetâbut Iâve had my good times all right. Poor Addie hasnât. Addieâs a really nice woman. Sheâs the kind of woman men want to marry, not to sleep with. Give her half a chance and she would marry againâand be very happy and make the chap happy too. But old Jeff saw her always as Frankâs wifeâand hypnotized her into seeing herself like that. He doesnât know it, but weâve been in prison. I broke out, on the quiet, a long time ago. Addie broke out this summerâand it gave him a shock. It split up his world. ResultâRuby Keene.â

Irrepressibly he sang:

âBut she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

âCome and have a drink, Clithering.â

It was hardly surprising, Sir Henry reflected, that Mark Gaskell should be an object of suspicion to the police.

Thirteen

I

Dr. Metcalf was one of the best-known physicians in Danemouth. He had no aggressive bedside manner, but his presence in the sick room had an invariably cheering effect. He was middle-aged, with a quiet pleasant voice.

He listened carefully to Superintendent Harper and replied to his questions with gentle precision.

Harper said:

âThen I can take it, Doctor Metcalf, that what I was told by Mrs. Jefferson was substantially correct?â

âYes, Mr. Jeffersonâs health is in a precarious state. For several years now the man has been driving himself ruthlessly. In his determination to live like other men, he has lived at a far greater pace than the normal man of his age. He has refused to rest, to take things easy, to go slowâor any of the other phrases with which I and his other medical advisers have tendered our opinion. The result is that the man is an overworked engine. Heart, lungs, blood pressureâtheyâre all overstrained.â

âYou say Mr. Jefferson has absolutely refused to listen?â

âYes. I donât know that I blame him. Itâs not what I say to my patients, Superintendent, but a man may as well wear out as rust out. A lot of my colleagues do that, and take it from me itâs not a bad way. In a place like Danemouth one sees most of the other thing: invalids clinging to life, terrified of over-exerting themselves, terrified of a breath of draughty air, of a stray germ, of an injudicious meal!â

âI expect thatâs true enough,â said Superintendent Harper. âWhat it amounts to, then, is this: Conway Jefferson is strong enough, physically speakingâor, I suppose I mean, muscularly speaking. Just what can he do in the active line, by the way?â

âHe has immense strength in his arms and shoulders. He was a powerful man before his accident. He is extremely dexterous in his handling of his wheeled chair, and with the aid of crutches he can move himself about a roomâfrom his bed to the chair, for instance.â

âIsnât it possible for a man injured as Mr. Jefferson was to have artificial legs?â

âNot in his case. There was a spine injury.â

âI see. Let me sum up again. Jefferson is strong and fit in the muscular sense. He feels well and all that?â

Metcalf nodded.

âBut his heart is in a bad condition. Any overstrain or exertion, or a shock or a sudden fright, and he might pop off. Is that it?â

âMore or less. Over-exertion is killing him slowly, because he wonât give in when he feels tired. That aggravates the cardiac condition. It is unlikely that exertion would kill him suddenly. But a sudden shock or fright might easily do so. That is why I expressly warned his family.â

Superintendent Harper said slowly:

âBut in actual fact a shock didnât kill him. I mean, doctor, that there couldnât have been a much worse shock than this business, and heâs still alive?â

Dr. Metcalf shrugged his shoulders.

âI know. But if youâd had my experience, Superintendent, youâd know that case history shows the impossibility of prognosticating accurately. People who ought to die of shock and exposure donât die of shock and exposure, etc., etc. The human frame is tougher than one can imagine possible. Moreover, in my experience, a physical shock is more often fatal than a mental shock. In plain language, a door banging suddenly would be more likely to kill Mr. Jefferson than the discovery that a girl he was fond of had died in a particularly horrible manner.â

âWhy is that, I wonder?â

âThe breaking of a piece of bad news nearly always sets up a defence reaction. It numbs the recipient. They are unableâat firstâto take it in. Full realization takes a little time. But the banged door, someone jumping out of a cupboard, the sudden onslaught of a motor as you cross a roadâall those things are immediate in their action. The heart gives a terrified leapâto put it in laymanâs language.â

Superintendent Harper said slowly:

âBut as far as anyone would know, Mr. Jeffersonâs death might easily have been caused by the shock of the girlâs death?â

âOh, easily.â The doctor looked curiously at the other. âYou donât thinkââ

âI donât know what I think,â said Superintendent Harper vexedly.

II

âBut youâll admit, sir, that the two things would fit in very prettily together,â he said a little later to Sir Henry Clithering. âKill two birds with one stone. First the girlâand the fact of her death takes off Mr. Jefferson tooâbefore heâs had any opportunity of altering his will.â

âDo you think he will alter it?â

âYouâd be more likely to know that, sir, than I would. What do you say?â

âI donât know. Before Ruby Keene came on the scene I happen to know that he had left his money between Mark Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson. I donât see why he should now change his mind about that. But of course he might do so. Might leave it to a Catsâ Home, or to subsidize young professional dancers.â

Superintendent Harper agreed.

âYou never know what bee a man is going to get in his bonnetâespecially when he doesnât feel thereâs any moral obligation in the disposal of his fortune. No blood relations in this case.â

Sir Henry said:

âHe is fond of the boyâof young Peter.â

âDâyou think he regards him as a grandson? Youâd know that better than I would, sir.â

Sir Henry said slowly:

âNo, I donât think so.â

âThereâs another thing Iâd like to ask you, sir. Itâs a thing I canât judge for myself. But theyâre friends of yours and so youâd know. Iâd like very much to know just how fond Mr. Jefferson is of Mr. Gaskell and young Mrs. Jefferson.â

Sir Henry frowned.

âIâm not sure if I understand you, Superintendent?â

âWell, itâs this way, sir. How fond is he of them as personsâapart from his relationship to them?â

âAh, I see what you mean.â

âYes, sir. Nobody doubts that he was very attached to them bothâbut he was attached to them, as I see it, because they were, respectively, the husband and the wife of his daughter and his son. But supposing, for instance, one of them had married again?â

Sir Henry reflected. He said:

âItâs an interesting point you raise there. I donât know. Iâm inclined to suspectâthis is a mere opinionâthat it would have altered his attitude a good deal. He would have wished them well, borne no rancour, but I think, yes, I rather think that he would have taken very little more interest in them.â

âIn both cases, sir?â

âI think so, yes. In Mr. Gaskellâs, almost certainly, and I rather think in Mrs. Jeffersonâs also, but thatâs not nearly so certain. I think he was fond of her for her own sake.â

âSex would have something to do with that,â said Superintendent Harper sapiently. âEasier for him to look on her as a daughter than to look on Mr. Gaskell as a son. It works both ways. Women accept a son-in-law as one of the family easily enough, but there arenât many times when a woman looks on her sonâs wife as a daughter.â

Superintendent Harper went on:

âMind if we walk along this path, sir, to the tennis court? I see Miss Marpleâs sitting there. I want to ask her to do something for me. As a matter of fact I want to rope you both in.â

âIn what way, Superintendent?â

âTo get at stuff that I canât get at myself. I want you to tackle Edwards for me, sir.â

âEdwards? What do you want from him?â

âEverything you can think of! Everything he knows and what he thinks! About the relations between the various members of the family, his angle on the Ruby Keene business. Inside stuff. He knows better than anyone the state of affairsâyou bet he does! And he wouldnât tell me. But heâll tell you. And something might turn up from it. That is, of course, if you donât object?â

Sir Henry said grimly:

âI donât object. Iâve been sent for, urgently, to get at the truth. I mean to do my utmost.â

He added:

âHow do you want Miss Marple to help you?â

âWith some girls. Some of those Girl Guides. Weâve rounded up half a dozen or so, the ones who were most friendly with Pamela Reeves. Itâs possible that they may know something. You see, Iâve been thinking. It seems to me that if that girl was really going to Woolworthâs she would have tried to persuade one of the other girls to go with her. Girls usually like to shop with someone.â

âYes, I think thatâs true.â

âSo I think itâs possible that Woolworthâs was only an excuse. I want to know where the girl was really going. She may have let slip something. If so, I feel Miss Marpleâs the person to get it out of these girls. Iâd say she knows a thing or two about girlsâmore than I do. And, anyway, theyâd be scared of the police.â

âIt sounds to me the kind of village domestic problem that is right up Miss Marpleâs street. Sheâs very sharp, you know.â

The Superintendent smiled. He said:

âIâll say youâre right. Nothing much gets past her.â Miss Marple looked up at their approach and welcomed them eagerly. She listened to the Superintendentâs request and at once acquiesced.

âI should like to help you very much, Superintendent, and I think that perhaps I could be of some use. What with the Sunday School, you know, and the Brownies, and our Guides, and the Orphanage quite nearâIâm on the committee, you know, and often run in to have a little talk with Matronâand then servantsâI usually have very young maids. Oh, yes, Iâve quite a lot of experience in when a girl is speaking the truth and when she is holding something back.â

âIn fact, youâre an expert,â said Sir Henry.

Miss Marple flashed him a reproachful glance and said:

âOh, please donât laugh at me, Sir Henry.â

âI shouldnât dream of laughing at you. Youâve had the laugh of me too many times.â

âOne does see so much evil in a village,â murmured Miss Marple in an explanatory voice.

âBy the way,â said Sir Henry, âIâve cleared up one point you asked me about. The Superintendent tells me that there were nail clippings in Rubyâs wastepaper basket.â

Miss Marple said thoughtfully:

âThere were? Then thatâs thatâ¦.â

âWhy did you want to know, Miss Marple?â asked the Superintendent.

Miss Marple said:

âIt was one of the things thatâwell, that seemed wrong when I looked at the body. The hands were wrong, somehow, and I couldnât at first think why. Then I realized that girls who are very much made-up, and all that, usually have very long fingernails. Of course, I know that girls everywhere do bite their nailsâitâs one of those habits that are very hard to break oneself of. But vanity often does a lot to help. Still, I presumed that this girl hadnât cured herself. And then the little boyâPeter, you knowâhe said something which showed that her nails had been long, only she caught one and broke it. So then, of course, she might have trimmed off the rest to make an even appearance, and I asked about clippings and Sir Henry said heâd find out.â

Sir Henry remarked:

âYou said just now, âone of the things that seemed wrong when you looked at the body.â Was there something else?â

Miss Marple nodded vigorously.

âOh yes!â she said. âThere was the dress. The dress was all wrong.â

Both men looked at her curiously.

âNow why?â said Sir Henry.

âWell, you see, it was an old dress. Josie said so, definitely, and I could see for myself that it was shabby and rather worn. Now thatâs all wrong.â

âI donât see why.â

Miss Marple got a little pink.

âWell, the idea is, isnât it, that Ruby Keene changed her dress and went off to meet someone on whom she presumably had what my young nephews call a âcrushâ?â

The Superintendentâs eyes twinkled a little.

âThatâs the theory. Sheâd got a date with someoneâa boy friend, as the saying goes.â

âThen why,â demanded Miss Marple, âwas she wearing an old dress?â

The Superintendent scratched his head thoughtfully. He said:

âI see your point. You think sheâd wear a new one?â

âI think sheâd wear her best dress. Girls do.â

Sir Henry interposed.

âYes, but look here, Miss Marple. Suppose she was going outside to this rendezvous. Going in an open car, perhaps, or walking in some rough going. Then sheâd not want to risk messing a new frock and sheâd put on an old one.â

âThat would be the sensible thing to do,â agreed the Superintendent.

Miss Marple turned on him. She spoke with animation.

âThe sensible thing to do would be to change into trousers and a pullover, or into tweeds. That, of course (I donât want to be snobbish, but Iâm afraid itâs unavoidable), thatâs what a girl ofâof our class would do.

âA well-bred girl,â continued Miss Marple, warming to her subject, âis always very particular to wear the right clothes for the right occasion. I mean, however hot the day was, a well-bred girl would never turn up at a point-to-point in a silk flowered frock.â

âAnd the correct wear to meet a lover?â demanded Sir Henry.

âIf she were meeting him inside the hotel or somewhere where evening dress was worn, sheâd wear her best evening frock, of courseâbut outside sheâd feel sheâd look ridiculous in evening dress and sheâd wear her most attractive sportswear.â

âGranted, Fashion Queen, but the girl Rubyââ

Miss Marple said:

âRuby, of course, wasnâtâwell, to put it bluntlyâRuby wasnât a lady. She belonged to the class that wear their best clothes however unsuitable to the occasion. Last year, you know, we had a picnic outing at Scrantor Rocks. Youâd be surprised at the unsuitable clothes the girls wore. Foulard dresses and patent shoes and quite elaborate hats, some of them. For climbing about over rocks and in gorse and heather. And the young men in their best suits. Of course, hikingâs different again. Thatâs practically a uniformâand girls donât seem to realize that shorts are very unbecoming unless they are very slender.â

The Superintendent said slowly:

âAnd you think that Ruby Keeneâ?â

âI think that sheâd have kept on the frock she was wearingâher best pink one. Sheâd only have changed it if sheâd had something newer still.â

Superintendent Harper said:

âAnd whatâs your explanation, Miss Marple?â

Miss Marple said:

âI havenât got oneâyet. But I canât help feeling that itâs importantâ¦.â

III

Inside the wire cage, the tennis lesson that Raymond Starr was giving had come to an end.

A stout middle-aged woman uttered a few appreciative squeaks, picked up a sky-blue cardigan and went off towards the hotel.

Raymond called out a few gay words after her.

Then he turned towards the bench where the three onlookers were sitting. The balls dangled in a net in his hand, his racquet was under one arm. The gay, laughing expression on his face was wiped off as though by a sponge from a slate. He looked tired and worried.

Coming towards them, he said: âThatâs over.â

Then the smile broke out again, that charming, boyish, expressive smile that went so harmoniously with his suntanned face and dark lithe grace.

Sir Henry found himself wondering how old the man was. Twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five? It was impossible to say.

Raymond said, shaking his head a little:

âSheâll never be able to play, you know.â

âAll this must be very boring for you,â said Miss Marple.

Raymond said simply:

âIt is, sometimes. Especially at the end of the summer. For a time the thought of the pay buoys you up, but even that fails to stimulate imagination in the end!â

Superintendent Harper got up. He said abruptly:

âIâll call for you in half an hourâs time, Miss Marple, if that will be all right?â

âPerfectly, thank you. I shall be ready.â

Harper went off. Raymond stood looking after him. Then he said: âMind if I sit here for a bit?â

âDo,â said Sir Henry. âHave a cigarette?â He offered his case, wondering as he did so why he had a slight feeling of prejudice against Raymond Starr. Was it simply because he was a professional tennis coach and dancer? If so, it wasnât the tennisâit was the dancing. The English, Sir Henry decided, had a distrust for any man who danced too well! This fellow moved with too much grace! RamonâRaymondâwhich was his name? Abruptly, he asked the question.

The other seemed amused.

âRamon was my original professional name. Ramon and JosieâSpanish effect, you know. Then there was rather a prejudice against foreignersâso I became Raymondâvery Britishââ

Miss Marple said:

âAnd is your real name something quite different?â

He smiled at her.

âActually my real name is Ramon. I had an Argentine grandmother, you seeââ (And that accounts for that swing from the hips, thought Sir Henry parenthetically.) âBut my first name is Thomas. Painfully prosaic.â

He turned to Sir Henry.

âYou come from Devonshire, donât you, sir? From Stane? My people lived down that way. At Alsmonston.â

Sir Henryâs face lit up.

âAre you one of the Alsmonston Starrs? I didnât realize that.â

âNoâI donât suppose you would.â

There was a slight bitterness in his voice.

Sir Henry said awkwardly:

âBad luckâerâall that.â

âThe place being sold up after it had been in the family for three hundred years? Yes, it was rather. Still, our kind have to go, I suppose. Weâve outlived our usefulness. My elder brother went to New York. Heâs in publishingâdoing well. The rest of us are scattered up and down the earth. Iâll say itâs hard to get a job nowadays when youâve nothing to say for yourself except that youâve had a public-school education! Sometimes, if youâre lucky, you get taken on as a reception clerk at an hotel. The tie and the manner are an asset there. The only job I could get was showman in a plumbing establishment. Selling superb peach and lemon-coloured porcelain baths. Enormous showrooms, but as I never knew the price of the damned things or how soon we could deliver themâI got fired.

âThe only things I could do were dance and play tennis. I got taken on at an hotel on the Riviera. Good pickings there. I suppose I was doing well. Then I overheard an old Colonel, real old Colonel, incredibly ancient, British to the backbone and always talking about Poona. He went up to the manager and said at the top of his voice:

ââWhereâs the gigolo? I want to get hold of the gigolo. My wife and daughter want to dance, yer know. Where is the feller? What does he sting yer for? Itâs the gigolo I want.ââ

Raymond went on:

âSilly to mindâbut I did. I chucked it. Came here. Less pay but pleasanter work. Mostly teaching tennis to rotund women who will never, never, never be able to play. That and dancing with the neglected wallflower daughters of rich clients. Oh well, itâs life, I suppose. Excuse todayâs hard-luck story!â

He laughed. His teeth flashed out white, his eyes crinkled up at the corners. He looked suddenly healthy and happy and very much alive.

Sir Henry said:

âIâm glad to have a chat with you. Iâve been wanting to talk with you.â

âAbout Ruby Keene? I canât help you, you know. I donât know who killed her. I knew very little about her. She didnât confide in me.â

Miss Marple said: âDid you like her?â

âNot particularly. I didnât dislike her.â

His voice was careless, uninterested.

Sir Henry said:

âSo youâve no suggestions to offer?â

âIâm afraid not â¦ Iâd have told Harper if I had. It just seems to me one of those things! Petty, sordid little crimeâno clues, no motive.â

âTwo people had a motive,â said Miss Marple.

Sir Henry looked at her sharply.

âReally?â Raymond looked surprised.

Miss Marple looked insistently at Sir Henry and he said rather unwillingly:

âHer death probably benefits Mrs. Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell to the amount of fifty thousand pounds.â

âWhat?â Raymond looked really startledâmore than startledâupset. âOh, but thatâs absurdâabsolutely absurdâMrs. Jeffersonâneither of themâcould have had anything to do with it. It would be incredible to think of such a thing.â

Miss Marple coughed. She said gently:

âIâm afraid, you know, youâre rather an idealist.â

âI?â he laughed. âNot me! Iâm a hard-boiled cynic.â

âMoney,â said Miss Marple, âis a very powerful motive.â

âPerhaps,â Raymond said hotly. âBut that either of those two would strangle a girl in cold bloodââ He shook his head.

Then he got up.

âHereâs Mrs. Jefferson now. Come for her lesson. Sheâs late.â His voice sounded amused. âTen minutes late!â

Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean were walking rapidly down the path towards them.

With a smiling apology for her lateness, Addie Jefferson went on to the court. McLean sat down on the bench. After a polite inquiry whether Miss Marple minded a pipe, he lit it and puffed for some minutes in silence, watching critically the two white figures about the tennis court.

He said at last:

âCanât see what Addie wants to have lessons for. Have a game, yes. No one enjoys it better than I do. But why lessons?â

âWants to improve her game,â said Sir Henry.

âSheâs not a bad player,â said Hugo. âGood enough, at all events. Dash it all, she isnât aiming to play at Wimbledon.â

He was silent for a minute or two. Then he said:

âWho is this Raymond fellow? Where do they come from, these pros? Fellow looks like a dago to me.â

âHeâs one of the Devonshire Starrs,â said Sir Henry.

âWhat? Not really?â

Sir Henry nodded. It was clear that this news was unpleasing to Hugo McLean. He scowled more than ever.

He said: âDonât know why Addie sent for me. She seems not to have turned a hair over this business! Never looked better. Why send for me?â

Sir Henry asked with some curiosity:

âWhen did she send for you?â

âOhâerâwhen all this happened.â

âHow did you hear? Telephone or telegram?â

âTelegram.â

âAs a matter of curiosity, when was it sent off?â

âWellâI donât know exactly.â

âWhat time did you receive it?â

âI didnât exactly receive it. It was telephoned on to meâas a matter of fact.â

âWhy, where were you?â

âFact is, Iâd left London the afternoon before. I was staying at Danebury Head.â

âWhatâquite near here?â

âYes, rather funny, wasnât it? Got the message when I got in from a round of golf and came over here at once.â

Miss Marple gazed at him thoughtfully. He looked hot and uncomfortable. She said: âIâve heard itâs very pleasant at Danebury Head, and not very expensive.â

âNo, itâs not expensive. I couldnât afford it if it was. Itâs a nice little place.â

âWe must drive over there one day,â said Miss Marple.

âEh? What? Ohâerâyes, I should.â He got up. âBetter take some exerciseâget an appetite.â

He walked away stiffly.

âWomen,â said Sir Henry, âtreat their devoted admirers very badly.â

Miss Marple smiled but made no answer.

âDoes he strike you as rather a dull dog?â asked Sir Henry. âIâd be interested to know.â

âA little limited in his ideas, perhaps,â said Miss Marple. âBut with possibilities, I thinkâoh, definitely possibilities.â

Sir Henry in his turn got up.

âItâs time for me to go and do my stuff. I see Mrs. Bantry is on her way to keep you company.â

IV

Mrs. Bantry arrived breathless and sat down with a gasp.

She said:

âIâve been talking to chambermaids. But it isnât any good. I havenât found out a thing more! Do you think that girl can really have been carrying on with someone without everybody in the hotel knowing all about it?â

âThatâs a very interesting point, dear. I should say, definitely not. Somebody knows, depend upon it, if itâs true! But she must have been very clever about it.â

Mrs. Bantryâs attention had strayed to the tennis court. She said approvingly:

âAddieâs tennis is coming on a lot. Attractive young man, that tennis pro. Addieâs looking quite nice-looking. Sheâs still an attractive womanâI shouldnât be at all surprised if she married again.â

âSheâll be a rich woman, too, when Mr. Jefferson dies,â said Miss Marple.

âOh, donât always have such a nasty mind, Jane! Why havenât you solved this mystery yet? We donât seem to be getting on at all. I thought youâd know at once.â Mrs. Bantryâs tone held reproach.

âNo, no, dear. I didnât know at onceânot for some time.â

Mrs. Bantry turned startled and incredulous eyes on her.

âYou mean you know now who killed Ruby Keene?â

âOh yes,â said Miss Marple, âI know that!â

âBut Jane, who is it? Tell me at once.â

Miss Marple shook her head very firmly and pursed up her lips.

âIâm sorry, Dolly, but that wouldnât do at all.â

âWhy wouldnât it do?â

âBecause youâre so indiscreet. You would go round telling everyoneâor, if you didnât tell, youâd hint.â

âNo, I wouldnât. I wouldnât tell a soul.â

âPeople who use that phrase are always the last to live up to it. Itâs no good, dear. Thereâs a long way to go yet. A great many things that are quite obscure. You remember when I was so against letting Mrs. Partridge collect for the Red Cross, and I couldnât say why. The reason was that her nose had twitched in just the same way that that maid of mine, Alice, twitched her nose when I sent her out to pay the books. Always paid them a shilling or so short, and said âit could go on to the next weekâs account,â which, of course, was exactly what Mrs. Partridge did, only on a much larger scale. Seventy-five pounds it was she embezzled.â

âNever mind Mrs. Partridge,â said Mrs. Bantry.

âBut I had to explain to you. And if you care Iâll give you a hint. The trouble in this case is that everybody has been much too credulous and believing. You simply cannot afford to believe everything that people tell you. When thereâs anything fishy about, I never believe anyone at all! You see, I know human nature so well.â

Mrs. Bantry was silent for a minute or two. Then she said in a different tone of voice:

âI told you, didnât I, that I didnât see why I shouldnât enjoy myself over this case. A real murder in my own house! The sort of thing that will never happen again.â

âI hope not,â said Miss Marple.

âWell, so do I, really. Once is enough. But itâs my murder, Jane; I want to enjoy myself over it.â

Miss Marple shot a glance at her.

Mrs. Bantry said belligerently:

âDonât you believe that?â

Miss Marple said sweetly:

âOf course, Dolly, if you tell me so.â

âYes, but you never believe what people tell you, do you? Youâve just said so. Well, youâre quite right.â Mrs. Bantryâs voice took on a sudden bitter note. She said: âIâm not altogether a fool. You may think, Jane, that I donât know what theyâre saying all over St. Mary Meadâall over the county! Theyâre saying, one and all, that thereâs no smoke without fire, that if the girl was found in Arthurâs library, then Arthur must know something about it. Theyâre saying that the girl was Arthurâs mistressâthat she was his illegitimate daughterâthat she was blackmailing him. Theyâre saying anything that comes into their damned heads! And it will go on like that! Arthur wonât realize it at firstâhe wonât know whatâs wrong. Heâs such a dear old stupid that heâd never believe people would think things like that about him. Heâll be cold-shouldered and looked at askance (whatever that means!) and it will dawn on him little by little and suddenly heâll be horrified and cut to the soul, and heâll fasten up like a clam and just endure, day after day, in misery.

âItâs because of all thatâs going to happen to him that Iâve come here to ferret out every single thing about it that I can! This murderâs got to be solved! If it isnât, then Arthurâs whole life will be wreckedâand I wonât have that happen. I wonât! I wonât! I wonât!â

She paused for a minute and said:

âI wonât have the dear old boy go through hell for something he didnât do. Thatâs the only reason I came to Danemouth and left him alone at homeâto find out the truth.â

âI know, dear,â said Miss Marple. âThatâs why Iâm here too.â

Fourteen

I

In a quiet hotel room Edwards was listening deferentially to Sir Henry Clithering.

âThere are certain questions I would like to ask you, Edwards, but I want you first to understand quite clearly my position here. I was at one time Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard. I am now retired into private life. Your master sent for me when this tragedy occurred. He begged me to use my skill and experience in order to find out the truth.â

Sir Henry paused.

Edwards, his pale intelligent eyes on the otherâs face, inclined his head. He said: âQuite so, Sir Henry.â

Clithering went on slowly and deliberately:

âIn all police cases there is necessarily a lot of information that is held back. It is held back for various reasonsâbecause it touches on a family skeleton, because it is considered to have no bearing on the case, because it would entail awkwardness and embarrassment to the parties concerned.â

Again Edwards said:

âQuite so, Sir Henry.â

âI expect, Edwards, that by now you appreciate quite clearly the main points of this business. The dead girl was on the point of becoming Mr. Jeffersonâs adopted daughter. Two people had a motive in seeing that this should not happen. Those two people are Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson.â

The valetâs eyes displayed a momentary gleam. He said: âMay I ask if they are under suspicion, sir?â

âThey are in no danger of arrest, if that is what you mean. But the police are bound to be suspicious of them and will continue to be so until the matter is cleared up.â

âAn unpleasant position for them, sir.â

âVery unpleasant. Now to get at the truth one must have all the facts of the case. A lot depends, must depend, on the reactions, the words and gestures, of Mr. Jefferson and his family. How did they feel, what did they show, what things were said? I am asking you, Edwards, for inside informationâthe kind of inside information that only you are likely to have. You know your masterâs moods. From observation of them you probably know what caused them. I am asking this, not as a policeman, but as a friend of Mr. Jeffersonâs. That is to say, if anything you tell me is not, in my opinion, relevant to the case, I shall not pass it on to the police.â

He paused. Edwards said quietly:

âI understand you, sir. You want me to speak quite franklyâto say things that in the ordinary course of events I should not sayâand that, excuse me, sir, you wouldnât dream of listening to.â

Sir Henry said:

âYouâre a very intelligent fellow, Edwards. Thatâs exactly what I do mean.â

Edwards was silent for a minute or two, then he began to speak.

âOf course I know Mr. Jefferson fairly well by now. Iâve been with him quite a number of years. And I see him in his âoff â moments, not only in his âonâ ones. Sometimes, sir, Iâve questioned in my own mind whether itâs good for anyone to fight fate in the way Mr. Jefferson has fought. Itâs taken a terrible toll of him, sir. If, sometimes, he could have given way, been an unhappy, lonely, broken old manâwell, it might have been better for him in the end. But heâs too proud for that! Heâll go down fightingâthatâs his motto.

âBut that sort of thing leads, Sir Henry, to a lot of nervous reaction. He looks a good-tempered gentleman. Iâve seen him in violent rages when he could hardly speak for passion. And the one thing that roused him, sir, was deceitâ¦.â

âAre you saying that for any particular reason, Edwards?â

âYes, sir, I am. You asked me, sir, to speak quite frankly?â

âThat is the idea.â

âWell, then, Sir Henry, in my opinion the young woman that Mr. Jefferson was so taken up with wasnât worth it. She was, to put it bluntly, a common little piece. And she didnât care tuppence for Mr. Jefferson. All that play of affection and gratitude was so much poppycock. I donât say there was any harm in herâbut she wasnât, by a long way, what Mr. Jefferson thought her. It was funny, that, sir, for Mr. Jefferson was a shrewd gentleman; he wasnât often deceived over people. But there, a gentleman isnât himself in his judgment when it comes to a young woman being in question. Young Mrs. Jefferson, you see, whom heâd always depended upon a lot for sympathy, had changed a good deal this summer. He noticed it and he felt it badly. He was fond of her, you see. Mr. Mark he never liked much.â

Sir Henry interjected:

âAnd yet he had him with him constantly?â

âYes, but that was for Miss Rosamundâs sake. Mrs. Gaskell that was. She was the apple of his eye. He adored her. Mr. Mark was Miss Rosamundâs husband. He always thought of him like that.â

âSupposing Mr. Mark had married someone else?â

âMr. Jefferson, sir, would have been furious.â

Sir Henry raised his eyebrows. âAs much as that?â

âHe wouldnât have shown it, but thatâs what it would have been.â

âAnd if Mrs. Jefferson had married again?â

âMr. Jefferson wouldnât have liked that either, sir.â

âPlease go on, Edwards.â

âI was saying, sir, that Mr. Jefferson fell for this young woman. Iâve often seen it happen with the gentlemen Iâve been with. Comes over them like a kind of disease. They want to protect the girl, and shield her, and shower benefits upon herâand nine times out of ten the girl is very well able to look after herself and has a good eye to the main chance.â

âSo you think Ruby Keene was a schemer?â

âWell, Sir Henry, she was quite inexperienced, being so young, but she had the makings of a very fine schemer indeed when sheâd once got well into her swing, so to speak! In another five years sheâd have been an expert at the game!â

Sir Henry said:

âIâm glad to have your opinion of her. Itâs valuable. Now do you recall any incident in which this matter was discussed between Mr. Jefferson and his family?â

âThere was very little discussion, sir. Mr. Jefferson announced what he had in mind and stifled any protests. That is, he shut up Mr. Mark, who was a bit outspoken. Mrs. Jefferson didnât say muchâsheâs a quiet ladyâonly urged him not to do anything in a great hurry.â

Sir Henry nodded.

âAnything else? What was the girlâs attitude?â

With marked distaste the valet said:

âI should describe it, sir, as jubilant.â

âAhâjubilant, you say? You had no reason to believe, Edwards, thatââhe sought about for a phrase suitable to Edwardsââthatâerâher affections were engaged elsewhere?â

âMr. Jefferson was not proposing marriage, sir. He was going to adopt her.â

âCut out the âelsewhereâ and let the question stand.â

The valet said slowly: âThere was one incident, sir. I happened to be a witness of it.â

âThat is gratifying. Tell me.â

âThere is probably nothing in it, sir. It was just that one day the young woman, chancing to open her handbag, a small snapshot fell out. Mr. Jefferson pounced on it and said: âHallo, Kitten, whoâs this, eh?â

âIt was a snapshot, sir, of a young man, a dark young man with rather untidy hair and his tie very badly arranged.

âMiss Keene pretended that she didnât know anything about it. She said: âIâve no idea, Jeffie. No idea at all. I donât know how it could have got into my bag. I didnât put it there!â

âNow, Mr. Jefferson, sir, wasnât quite a fool. That story wasnât good enough. He looked angry, his brows came down heavy, and his voice was gruff when he said:

ââNow then, Kitten, now then. You know who it is right enough.â

âShe changed her tactics quick, sir. Looked frightened. She said: âI do recognize him now. He comes here sometimes and Iâve danced with him. I donât know his name. The silly idiot must have stuffed his photo into my bag one day. These boys are too silly for anything!â She tossed her head and giggled and passed it off. But it wasnât a likely story, was it? And I donât think Mr. Jefferson quite believed it. He looked at her once or twice after that in a sharp way, and sometimes, if sheâd been out, he asked her where sheâd been.â

Sir Henry said: âHave you ever seen the original of the photo about the hotel?â

âNot to my knowledge, sir. Of course, I am not much downstairs in the public departments.â

Sir Henry nodded. He asked a few more questions, but Edwards could tell him nothing more.

II

In the police station at Danemouth, Superintendent Harper was interviewing Jessie Davis, Florence Small, Beatrice Henniker, Mary Price, and Lilian Ridgeway.

They were girls much of an age, differing slightly in mentality. They ranged from âcountyâ to farmersâ and shopkeepersâ daughters. One and all they told the same storyâPamela Reeves had been just the same as usual, she had said nothing to any of them except that she was going to Woolworthâs and would go home by a later bus.

In the corner of Superintendent Harperâs office sat an elderly lady. The girls hardly noticed her. If they did, they may have wondered who she was. She was certainly no police matron. Possibly they assumed that she, like themselves, was a witness to be questioned.

The last girl was shown out. Superintendent Harper wiped his forehead and turned round to look at Miss Marple. His glance was inquiring, but not hopeful.

Miss Marple, however, spoke crisply.

âIâd like to speak to Florence Small.â

The Superintendentâs eyebrows rose, but he nodded and touched a bell. A constable appeared.

Harper said: âFlorence Small.â

The girl reappeared, ushered in by the constable. She was the daughter of a well-to-do farmerâa tall girl with fair hair, a rather foolish mouth, and frightened brown eyes. She was twisting her hands and looked nervous.

Superintendent Harper looked at Miss Marple, who nodded.

The Superintendent got up. He said:

âThis lady will ask you some questions.â

He went out, closing the door behind him.

Florence shot an uneasy glance at Miss Marple. Her eyes looked rather like one of her fatherâs calves.

Miss Marple said: âSit down, Florence.â

Florence Small sat down obediently. Unrecognized by herself, she felt suddenly more at home, less uneasy. The unfamiliar and terrorizing atmosphere of a police station was replaced by something more familiar, the accustomed tone of command of somebody whose business it was to give orders. Miss Marple said:

âYou understand, Florence, that itâs of the utmost importance that everything about poor Pamelaâs doings on the day of her death should be known?â

Florence murmured that she quite understood.

âAnd Iâm sure you want to do your best to help?â

Florenceâs eyes were wary as she said, of course she did.

âTo keep back any piece of information is a very serious offence,â said Miss Marple.

The girlâs fingers twisted nervously in her lap. She swallowed once or twice.

âI can make allowances,â went on Miss Marple, âfor the fact that you are naturally alarmed at being brought into contact with the police. You are afraid, too, that you may be blamed for not having spoken sooner. Possibly you are afraid that you may also be blamed for not stopping Pamela at the time. But youâve got to be a brave girl and make a clean breast of things. If you refuse to tell what you know now, it will be a very serious matter indeedâvery seriousâpractically perjury, and for that, as you know, you can be sent to prison.â

âIâI donâtââ

Miss Marple said sharply:

âNow donât prevaricate, Florence! Tell me all about it at once! Pamela wasnât going to Woolworthâs, was she?â

Florence licked her lips with a dry tongue and gazed imploringly at Miss Marple like a beast about to be slaughtered.

âSomething to do with the films, wasnât it?â asked Miss Marple.

A look of intense relief mingled with awe passed over Florenceâs face. Her inhibitions left her. She gasped:

âOh, yes!â

âI thought so,â said Miss Marple. âNow I want all the details, please.â

Words poured from Florence in a gush.

âOh! Iâve been ever so worried. I promised Pam, you see, Iâd never say a word to a soul. And then when she was found all burnt up in that carâoh! it was horrible and I thought I should dieâI felt it was all my fault. I ought to have stopped her. Only I never thought, not for a minute, that it wasnât all right. And then I was asked if sheâd been quite as usual that day and I said âYesâ before Iâd had time to think. And not having said anything then I didnât see how I could say anything later. And, after all, I didnât know anythingânot reallyâonly what Pam told me.â

âWhat did Pam tell you?â

âIt was as we were walking up the lane to the busâon the way to the rally. She asked me if I could keep a secret, and I said âYes,â and she made me swear not to tell. She was going into Danemouth for a film test after the rally! Sheâd met a film producerâjust back from Hollywood, he was. He wanted a certain type, and he told Pam she was just what he was looking for. He warned her, though, not to build on it. You couldnât tell, he said, not until you saw a person photographed. It might be no good at all. It was a kind of Bergner part, he said. You had to have someone quite young for it. A schoolgirl, it was, who changes places with a revue artist and has a wonderful career. Pamâs acted in plays at school and sheâs awfully good. He said he could see she could act, but sheâd have to have some intensive training. It wouldnât be all beer and skittles, he told her, it would be damned hard work. Did she think she could stick it?â

Florence Small stopped for breath. Miss Marple felt rather sick as she listened to the glib rehash of countless novels and screen stories. Pamela Reeves, like most other girls, would have been warned against talking to strangersâbut the glamour of the films would obliterate all that.

âHe was absolutely businesslike about it all,â continued Florence. âSaid if the test was successful sheâd have a contract, and he said that as she was young and inexperienced she ought to let a lawyer look at it before she signed it. But she wasnât to pass on that heâd said that. He asked her if sheâd have trouble with her parents, and Pam said she probably would, and he said: âWell, of course, thatâs always a difficulty with anyone as young as you are, but I think if it was put to them that this was a wonderful chance that wouldnât happen once in a million times, theyâd see reason.â But, anyway, he said, it wasnât any good going into that until they knew the result of the test. She mustnât be disappointed if it failed. He told her about Hollywood and about Vivien Leighâhow sheâd suddenly taken London by stormâand how these sensational leaps into fame did happen. He himself had come back from America to work with the Lemville Studios and put some pep into the English film companies.â

Miss Marple nodded.

Florence went on:

âSo it was all arranged. Pam was to go into Danemouth after the rally and meet him at his hotel and heâd take her along to the studios (theyâd got a small testing studio in Danemouth, he told her). Sheâd have her test and she could catch the bus home afterwards. She could say sheâd been shopping, and heâd let her know the result of the test in a few days, and if it was favourable Mr. Harmsteiter, the boss, would come along and talk to her parents.

âWell, of course, it sounded too wonderful! I was green with envy! Pam got through the rally without turning a hairâwe always call her a regular poker face. Then, when she said she was going into Danemouth to Woolworthâs she just winked at me.

âI saw her start off down the footpath.â Florence began to cry. âI ought to have stopped her. I ought to have stopped her. I ought to have known a thing like that couldnât be true. I ought to have told someone. Oh dear, I wish I was dead!â

âThere, there.â Miss Marple patted her on the shoulder. âItâs quite all right. No one will blame you. Youâve done the right thing in telling me.â

She devoted some minutes to cheering the child up.

Five minutes later she was telling the story to Superintendent Harper. The latter looked very grim.

âThe clever devil!â he said. âBy God, Iâll cook his goose for him. This puts rather a different aspect on things.â

âYes, it does.â

Harper looked at her sideways.

âIt doesnât surprise you?â

âI expected something of the kind.â

Superintendent Harper said curiously:

âWhat put you on to this particular girl? They all looked scared to death and there wasnât a pin to choose between them as far as I could see.â

Miss Marple said gently:

âYou havenât had as much experience with girls telling lies as I have. Florence looked at you very straight, if you remember, and stood very rigid and just fidgeted with her feet like the others. But you didnât watch her as she went out of the door. I knew at once then that sheâd got something to hide. They nearly always relax too soon. My little maid Janet always did. Sheâd explain quite convincingly that the mice had eaten the end of a cake and give herself away by smirking as she left the room.â

âIâm very grateful to you,â said Harper.

He added thoughtfully: âLemville Studios, eh?â

Miss Marple said nothing. She rose to her feet.

âIâm afraid,â she said, âI must hurry away. So glad to have been able to help you.â

âAre you going back to the hotel?â

âYesâto pack up. I must go back to St. Mary Mead as soon as possible. Thereâs a lot for me to do there.â

Fifteen

I

Miss Marple passed out through the french windows of her drawing room, tripped down her neat garden path, through a garden gate, in through the vicarage garden gate, across the vicarage garden, and up to the drawing room window, where she tapped gently on the pane.

The vicar was busy in his study composing his Sunday sermon, but the vicarâs wife, who was young and pretty, was admiring the progress of her offspring across the hearthrug.

âCan I come in, Griselda?â

âOh, do, Miss Marple. Just look at David! He gets so angry because he can only crawl in reverse. He wants to get to something and the more he tries the more he goes backwards into the coal box!â

âHeâs looking very bonny, Griselda.â

âHeâs not bad, is he?â said the young mother, endeavouring to assume an indifferent manner. âOf course I donât bother with him much. All the books say a child should be left alone as much as possible.â

âVery wise, dear,â said Miss Marple. âAhem, I came to ask if there was anything special you are collecting for at the moment.â

The vicarâs wife turned somewhat astonished eyes upon her.

âOh, heaps of things,â she said cheerfully. âThere always are.â

She ticked them off on her fingers.

âThereâs the Nave Restoration Fund, and St. Gilesâs Mission, and our Sale of Work next Wednesday, and the Unmarried Mothers, and a Boy Scoutsâ Outing, and the Needlework Guild, and the Bishopâs Appeal for Deep Sea Fishermen.â

âAny of them will do,â said Miss Marple. âI thought I might make a little roundâwith a book, you knowâif you would authorize me to do so.â

âAre you up to something? I believe you are. Of course I authorize you. Make it the Sale of Work; it would be lovely to get some real money instead of those awful sachets and comic pen-wipers and depressing childrenâs frocks and dusters all done up to look like dolls.

âI suppose,â continued Griselda, accompanying her guest to the window, âyou wouldnât like to tell me what itâs all about?â

âLater, my dear,â said Miss Marple, hurrying off.

With a sigh the young mother returned to the hearthrug and, by way of carrying out her principles of stern neglect, butted her son three times in the stomach so that he caught hold of her hair and pulled it with gleeful yells. Then they rolled over and over in a grand rough-and-tumble until the door opened and the vicarage maid announced to the most influential parishioner (who didnât like children):

âMissus is in here.â

Whereupon Griselda sat up and tried to look dignified and more what a vicarâs wife should be.

II

Miss Marple, clasping a small black book with pencilled entries in it, walked briskly along the village street until she came to the crossroads. Here she turned to the left and walked past the Blue Boar until she came to Chatsworth, alias âMr. Bookerâs new house.â

She turned in at the gate, walked up to the front door and knocked briskly.

The door was opened by the blonde young woman named Dinah Lee. She was less carefully made-up than usual, and in fact looked slightly dirty. She was wearing grey slacks and an emerald jumper.

âGood morning,â said Miss Marple briskly and cheerfully. âMay I just come in for a minute?â

She pressed forward as she spoke, so that Dinah Lee, who was somewhat taken aback at the call, had no time to make up her mind.

âThank you so much,â said Miss Marple, beaming amiably at her and sitting down rather gingerly on a âperiodâ bamboo chair.

âQuite warm for the time of year, is it not?â went on Miss Marple, still exuding geniality.

âYes, rather. Oh, quite,â said Miss Lee.

At a loss how to deal with the situation, she opened a box and offered it to her guest. âErâhave a cigarette?â

âThank you so much, but I donât smoke. I just called, you know, to see if I could enlist your help for our Sale of Work next week.â

âSale of Work?â said Dinah Lee, as one who repeats a phrase in a foreign language.

âAt the vicarage,â said Miss Marple. âNext Wednesday.â

âOh!â Miss Leeâs mouth fell open. âIâm afraid I couldnâtââ

âNot even a small subscriptionâhalf a crown perhaps?â

Miss Marple exhibited her little book.

âOhâerâwell, yes, I dare say I could manage that.â

The girl looked relieved and turned to hunt in her handbag.

Miss Marpleâs sharp eyes were looking round the room.

She said:

âI see youâve no hearthrug in front of the fire.â

Dinah Lee turned round and stared at her. She could not but be aware of the very keen scrutiny the old lady was giving her, but it aroused in her no other emotion than slight annoyance. Miss Marple recognized that. She said:

âItâs rather dangerous, you know. Sparks fly out and mark the carpet.â

âFunny old Tabby,â thought Dinah, but she said quite amiably if somewhat vaguely:

âThere used to be one. I donât know where itâs got to.â

âI suppose,â said Miss Marple, âit was the fluffy, woolly kind?â

âSheep,â said Dinah. âThatâs what it looked like.â

She was amused now. An eccentric old bean, this.

She held out a half crown. âHere you are,â she said.

âOh, thank you, my dear.â

Miss Marple took it and opened the little book.

âErâwhat name shall I write down?â

Dinahâs eyes grew suddenly hard and contemptuous.

âNosey old cat,â she thought, âthatâs all she came forâprying around for scandal!â

She said clearly and with malicious pleasure:

âMiss Dinah Lee.â

Miss Marple looked at her steadily.

She said:

âThis is Mr. Basil Blakeâs cottage, isnât it?â

âYes, and Iâm Miss Dinah Lee!â

Her voice rang out challengingly, her head went back, her blue eyes flashed.

Very steadily Miss Marple looked at her. She said:

âWill you allow me to give you some advice, even though you may consider it impertinent?â

âI shall consider it impertinent. You had better say nothing.â

âNevertheless,â said Miss Marple, âI am going to speak. I want to advise you, very strongly, not to continue using your maiden name in the village.â

Dinah stared at her. She said:

âWhatâwhat do you mean?â

Miss Marple said earnestly:

âIn a very short time you may need all the sympathy and goodwill you can find. It will be important to your husband, too, that he shall be thought well of. There is a prejudice in old-fashioned country districts against people living together who are not married. It has amused you both, I dare say, to pretend that that is what you are doing. It kept people away, so that you werenât bothered with what I expect you would call âold frumps.â Nevertheless, old frumps have their uses.â

Dinah demanded:

âHow did you know we are married?â

Miss Marple smiled a deprecating smile.

âOh, my dear,â she said.

Dinah persisted.

âNo, but how did you know? You didnâtâyou didnât go to Somerset House?â

A momentary flicker showed in Miss Marpleâs eyes.

âSomerset House? Oh, no. But it was quite easy to guess. Everything, you know, gets round in a village. Theâerâthe kind of quarrels you haveâtypical of early days of marriage. Quiteâquite unlike an illicit relationship. It has been said, you know (and, I think, quite truly), that you can only really get under anybodyâs skin if you are married to them. When there is noâno legal bond, people are much more careful, they have to keep assuring themselves how happy and halcyon everything is. They have, you see, to justify themselves. They dare not quarrel! Married people, I have noticed, quite enjoy their battles and theâerâappropriate reconciliations.â

She paused, twinkling benignly.

âWell, Iââ Dinah stopped and laughed. She sat down and lit a cigarette. âYouâre absolutely marvellous!â she said.

Then she went on:

âBut why do you want us to own up and admit to respectability?â

Miss Marpleâs face was grave. She said:

âBecause, any minute now, your husband may be arrested for murder.â

III

For several moments Dinah stared at her. Then she said incredulously:

âBasil? Murder? Are you joking?â

âNo, indeed. Havenât you seen the papers?â

Dinah caught her breath.

âYou meanâthat girl at the Majestic Hotel. Do you mean they suspect Basil of killing her?â

âYes.â

âBut itâs nonsense!â

There was the whir of a car outside, the bang of a gate. Basil Blake flung open the door and came in, carrying some bottles. He said:

âGot the gin and the vermouth. Did youâ?â

He stopped and turned incredulous eyes on the prim, erect visitor.

Dinah burst out breathlessly:

âIs she mad? She says youâre going to be arrested for the murder of that girl Ruby Keene.â

âOh, God!â said Basil Blake. The bottles dropped from his arms on to the sofa. He reeled to a chair and dropped down in it and buried his face in his hands. He repeated: âOh, my God! Oh, my God!â

Dinah darted over to him. She caught his shoulders.

âBasil, look at me! It isnât true! I know it isnât true! I donât believe it for a moment!â

His hand went up and gripped hers.

âBless you, darling.â

âBut why should they thinkâYou didnât even know her, did you?â

âOh, yes, he knew her,â said Miss Marple.

Basil said fiercely:

âBe quiet, you old hag. Listen, Dinah darling, I hardly knew her at all. Just ran across her once or twice at the Majestic. Thatâs all, I swear thatâs all.â

Dinah said, bewildered:

âI donât understand. Why should anyone suspect you, then?â

Basil groaned. He put his hands over his eyes and rocked to and fro.

Miss Marple said:

âWhat did you do with the hearthrug?â

His reply came mechanically:

âI put it in the dustbin.â

Miss Marple clucked her tongue vexedly.

âThat was stupidâvery stupid. People donât put good hearthrugs in dustbins. It had spangles in it from her dress, I suppose?â

âYes, I couldnât get them out.â

Dinah cried: âBut what are you both talking about?â

Basil said sullenly:

âAsk her. She seems to know all about it.â

âIâll tell you what I think happened, if you like,â said Miss Marple. âYou can correct me, Mr. Blake, if I go wrong. I think that after having had a violent quarrel with your wife at a party and after having had, perhaps, rather too muchâerâto drink, you drove down here. I donât know what time you arrivedââ

Basil Blake said sullenly:

âAbout two in the morning. I meant to go up to town first, then when I got to the suburbs I changed my mind. I thought Dinah might come down here after me. So I drove down here. The place was all dark. I opened the door and turned on the light and I sawâand I sawââ

He gulped and stopped. Miss Marple went on:

âYou saw a girl lying on the hearthrugâa girl in a white evening dressâstrangled. I donât know whether you recognized her thenââ

Basil Blake shook his head violently.

âI couldnât look at her after the first glanceâher face was all blueâswollen. Sheâd been dead some time and she was thereâin my room!â

He shuddered.

Miss Marple said gently:

âYou werenât, of course, quite yourself. You were in a fuddled state and your nerves are not good. You were, I think, panic-stricken. You didnât know what to doââ

âI thought Dinah might turn up any minute. And sheâd find me there with a dead bodyâa girlâs dead bodyâand sheâd think Iâd killed her. Then I got an ideaâit seemed, I donât know why, a good idea at the timeâI thought: Iâll put her in old Bantryâs library. Damned pompous old stick, always looking down his nose, sneering at me as artistic and effeminate. Serve the pompous old brute right, I thought. Heâll look a fool when a dead lovely is found on his hearthrug.â He added, with a pathetic eagerness to explain: âI was a bit drunk, you know, at the time. It really seemed positively amusing to me. Old Bantry with a dead blonde.â

âYes, yes,â said Miss Marple. âLittle Tommy Bond had very much the same idea. Rather a sensitive boy with an inferiority complex, he said teacher was always picking on him. He put a frog in the clock and it jumped out at her.

âYou were just the same,â went on Miss Marple, âonly of course, bodies are more serious matters than frogs.â

Basil groaned again.

âBy the morning Iâd sobered up. I realized what Iâd done. I was scared stiff. And then the police came hereâanother damned pompous ass of a Chief Constable. I was scared of himâand the only way I could hide it was by being abominably rude. In the middle of it all Dinah drove up.â

Dinah looked out of the window.

She said:

âThereâs a car driving up now â¦ there are men in it.â

âThe police, I think,â said Miss Marple.

Basil Blake got up. Suddenly he became quite calm and resolute. He even smiled. He said:

âSo Iâm for it, am I? All right, Dinah sweet, keep your head. Get on to old Simsâheâs the family lawyerâand go to Mother and tell her everything about our marriage. She wonât bite. And donât worry. I didnât do it. So itâs bound to be all right, see, sweetheart?â

There was a tap on the cottage door. Basil called âCome in.â Inspector Slack entered with another man. He said:

âMr. Basil Blake?â

âYes.â

âI have a warrant here for your arrest on the charge of murdering Ruby Keene on the night of September 21st last. I warn you that anything you say may be used at your trial. You will please accompany me now. Full facilities will be given you for communicating with your solicitor.â

Basil nodded.

He looked at Dinah, but did not touch her. He said:

âSo long, Dinah.â

âCool customer,â thought Inspector Slack.

He acknowledged the presence of Miss Marple with a half bow and a âGood morning,â and thought to himself:

âSmart old Pussy, sheâs on to it! Good job weâve got that hearthrug. That and finding out from the car-park man at the studio that he left that party at eleven instead of midnight. Donât think those friends of his meant to commit perjury. They were bottled and Blake told âem firmly the next day it was twelve oâclock when he left and they believed him. Well, his goose is cooked good and proper! Mental, I expect! Broadmoor, not hanging. First the Reeves kid, probably strangled her, drove her out to the quarry, walked back into Danemouth, picked up his own car in some side lane, drove to this party, then back to Danemouth, brought Ruby Keene out here, strangled her, put her in old Bantryâs library, then probably got the wind up about the car in the quarry, drove there, set it on fire, and got back here. Madâsex and blood lustâlucky this girlâs escaped. What they call recurring mania, I expect.â

Alone with Miss Marple, Dinah Blake turned to her. She said:

âI donât know who you are, but youâve got to understand thisâBasil didnât do it.â

Miss Marple said:

âI know he didnât. I know who did do it. But itâs not going to be easy to prove. Iâve an idea that something you saidâjust nowâmay help. It gave me an ideaâthe connection Iâd been trying to findânow what was it?â

Sixteen

I

âIâm home, Arthur!â declared Mrs. Bantry, announcing the fact like a Royal Proclamation as she flung open the study door.

Colonel Bantry immediately jumped up, kissed his wife, and declared heartily: âWell, well, thatâs splendid!â

The words were unimpeachable, the manner very well done, but an affectionate wife of as many yearsâ standing as Mrs. Bantry was not deceived. She said immediately:

âIs anything the matter?â

âNo, of course not, Dolly. What should be the matter?â

âOh, I donât know,â said Mrs. Bantry vaguely. âThings are so queer, arenât they?â

She threw off her coat as she spoke and Colonel Bantry picked it up as carefully and laid it across the back of the sofa.

All exactly as usualâyet not as usual. Her husband, Mrs. Bantry thought, seemed to have shrunk. He looked thinner, stooped more; they were pouches under his eyes and those eyes were not ready to meet hers.

He went on to say, still with that affectation of cheerfulness:

âWell, how did you enjoy your time at Danemouth?â

âOh! it was great fun. You ought to have come, Arthur.â

âCouldnât get away, my dear. Lot of things to attend to here.â

âStill, I think the change would have done you good. And you like the Jeffersons?â

âYes, yes, poor fellow. Nice chap. All very sad.â

âWhat have you been doing with yourself since Iâve been away?â

âOh, nothing much. Been over the farms, you know. Agreed that Anderson shall have a new roofâcanât patch it up any longer.â

âHow did the Radfordshire Council meeting go?â

âIâwellâas a matter of fact I didnât go.â

âDidnât go? But you were taking the chair?â

âWell, as a matter of fact, Dollyâseems there was some mistake about that. Asked me if Iâd mind if Thompson took it instead.â

âI see,â said Mrs. Bantry.

She peeled off a glove and threw it deliberately into the wastepaper basket. Her husband went to retrieve it, and she stopped him, saying sharply:

âLeave it. I hate gloves.â

Colonel Bantry glanced at her uneasily.

Mrs. Bantry said sternly:

âDid you go to dinner with the Duffs on Thursday?â

âOh, that! It was put off. Their cook was ill.â

âStupid people,â said Mrs. Bantry. She went on: âDid you go to the Naylorsâ yesterday?â

âI rang up and said I didnât feel up to it, hoped theyâd excuse me. They quite understood.â

âThey did, did they?â said Mrs. Bantry grimly.

She sat down by the desk and absentmindedly picked up a pair of gardening scissors. With them she cut off the fingers, one by one, of her second glove.

âWhat are you doing, Dolly?â

âFeeling destructive,â said Mrs. Bantry.

She got up. âWhere shall we sit after dinner, Arthur? In the library?â

âWellâerâI donât think soâeh? Very nice in hereâor the drawing room.â

âI think,â said Mrs. Bantry, âthat weâll sit in the library!â

Her steady eye met his. Colonel Bantry drew himself up to his full height. A sparkle came into his eye.

He said:

âYouâre right, my dear. Weâll sit in the library!â

II

Mrs. Bantry put down the telephone receiver with a sigh of annoyance. She had rung up twice, and each time the answer had been the same: Miss Marple was out.

Of a naturally impatient nature, Mrs. Bantry was never one to acquiesce in defeat. She rang up in rapid succession the vicarage, Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Hartnell, Miss Wetherby, and, as a last resource, the fishmonger who, by reason of his advantageous geographical position, usually knew where everybody was in the village.

The fishmonger was sorry, but he had not seen Miss Marple at all in the village that morning. She had not been her usual round.

âWhere can the woman be?â demanded Mrs. Bantry impatiently aloud.

There was a deferential cough behind her. The discreet Lorrimer murmured:

âYou were requiring Miss Marple, madam? I have just observed her approaching the house.â

Mrs. Bantry rushed to the front door, flung it open, and greeted Miss Marple breathlessly:

âIâve been trying to get you everywhere. Where have you been?â She glanced over her shoulder. Lorrimer had discreetly vanished. âEverythingâs too awful! People are beginning to cold-shoulder Arthur. He looks years older. We must do something, Jane. You must do something!â

Miss Marple said:

âYou neednât worry, Dolly,â in a rather peculiar voice.

Colonel Bantry appeared from the study door.

âAh, Miss Marple. Good morning. Glad youâve come. My wifeâs been ringing you up like a lunatic.â

âI thought Iâd better bring you the news,â said Miss Marple, as she followed Mrs. Bantry into the study.

âNews?â

âBasil Blake has just been arrested for the murder of Ruby Keene.â

âBasil Blake?â cried the Colonel.

âBut he didnât do it,â said Miss Marple.

Colonel Bantry took no notice of this statement. It is doubtful if he even heard it.

âDo you mean to say he strangled that girl and then brought her along and put her in my library?â

âHe put her in your library,â said Miss Marple. âBut he didnât kill her.â

âNonsense! If he put her in my library, of course he killed her! The two things go together.â

âNot necessarily. He found her dead in his own cottage.â

âA likely story,â said the Colonel derisively. âIf you find a body, why, you ring up the policeânaturallyâif youâre an honest man.â

âAh,â said Miss Marple, âbut we havenât all got such iron nerves as you have, Colonel Bantry. You belong to the old school. This younger generation is different.â

âGot no stamina,â said the Colonel, repeating a well-worn opinion of his.

âSome of them,â said Miss Marple, âhave been through a bad time. Iâve heard a good deal about Basil. He did A.R.P. work, you know, when he was only eighteen. He went into a burning house and brought out four children, one after another. He went back for a dog, although they told him it wasnât safe. The building fell in on him. They got him out, but his chest was badly crushed and he had to lie in plaster for nearly a year and was ill for a long time after that. Thatâs when he got interested in designing.â

âOh!â The Colonel coughed and blew his nose. âIâerânever knew that.â

âHe doesnât talk about it,â said Miss Marple.

âErâquite right. Proper spirit. Must be more in the young chap than I thought. Always thought heâd shirked the war, you know. Shows you ought to be careful in jumping to conclusions.â

Colonel Bantry looked ashamed.

âBut, all the sameââhis indignation revivedââwhat did he mean trying to fasten a murder on me?â

âI donât think he saw it like that,â said Miss Marple. âHe thought of it more as aâas a joke. You see, he was rather under the influence of alcohol at the time.â

âBottled, was he?â said Colonel Bantry, with an Englishmanâs sympathy for alcoholic excess. âOh, well, canât judge a fellow by what he does when heâs drunk. When I was at Cambridge, I remember I put a certain utensilâwell, well, never mind. Deuce of a row there was about it.â

He chuckled, then checked himself sternly. He looked piercingly at Miss Marple with eyes that were shrewd and appraising. He said: âYou donât think he did the murder, eh?â

âIâm sure he didnât.â

âAnd you think you know who did?â

Miss Marple nodded.

Mrs. Bantry, like an ecstatic Greek chorus, said: âIsnât she wonderful?â to an unhearing world.

âWell, who was it?â

Miss Marple said:

âI was going to ask you to help me. I think, if we went up to Somerset House we should have a very good idea.â

Seventeen

I

Sir Henryâs face was very grave.

He said:

âI donât like it.â

âI am aware,â said Miss Marple, âthat it isnât what you call orthodox. But it is so important, isnât it, to be quite sureââto make assurance doubly sure,â as Shakespeare has it. I think, if Mr. Jefferson would agreeâ?â

âWhat about Harper? Is he to be in on this?â

âIt might be awkward for him to know too much. But there might be a hint from you. To watch certain personsâhave them trailed, you know.â

Sir Henry said slowly:

âYes, that would meet the caseâ¦.â

II

Superintendent Harper looked piercingly at Sir Henry Clithering.

âLetâs get this quite clear, sir. Youâre giving me a hint?â

Sir Henry said:

âIâm informing you of what my friend has just informed meâhe didnât tell me in confidenceâthat he proposes to visit a solicitor in Danemouth tomorrow for the purpose of making a new will.â

The Superintendentâs bushy eyebrows drew downwards over his steady eyes. He said:

âDoes Mr. Conway Jefferson propose to inform his son-in-law and daughter-in-law of that fact?â

âHe intends to tell them about it this evening.â

âI see.â

The Superintendent tapped his desk with a penholder.

He repeated again: âI seeâ¦.â

Then the piercing eyes bored once more into the eyes of the other man. Harper said:

âSo youâre not satisfied with the case against Basil Blake?â

âAre you?â

The Superintendentâs moustaches quivered. He said:

âIs Miss Marple?â

The two men looked at each other.

Then Harper said:

âYou can leave it to me. Iâll have men detailed. There will be no funny business, I can promise you that.â

Sir Henry said:

âThere is one more thing. Youâd better see this.â

He unfolded a slip of paper and pushed it across the table.

This time the Superintendentâs calm deserted him. He whistled:

âSo thatâs it, is it? That puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. How did you come to dig up this?â

âWomen,â said Sir Henry, âare eternally interested in marriages.â

âEspecially,â said the Superintendent, âelderly single women.â

III

Conway Jefferson looked up as his friend entered.

His grim face relaxed into a smile.

He said:

âWell, I told âem. They took it very well.â

âWhat did you say?â

âTold âem that, as Ruby was dead, I felt that the fifty thousand Iâd originally left her should go to something that I could associate with her memory. It was to endow a hostel for young girls working as professional dancers in London. Damned silly way to leave your moneyâsurprised they swallowed it. As though Iâd do a thing like that!â

He added meditatively:

âYou know, I made a fool of myself over that girl. Must be turning into a silly old man. I can see it now. She was a pretty kidâbut most of what I saw in her I put there myself. I pretended she was another Rosamund. Same colouring, you know. But not the same heart or mind. Hand me that paperârather an interesting bridge problem.â

IV

Sir Henry went downstairs. He asked a question of the porter.

âMr. Gaskell, sir? Heâs just gone off in his car. Had to go to London.â

âOh! I see. Is Mrs. Jefferson about?â

âMrs. Jefferson, sir, has just gone up to bed.â

Sir Henry looked into the lounge and through to the ballroom. In the lounge Hugo McLean was doing a crossword puzzle and frowning a good deal over it. In the ballroom Josie was smiling valiantly into the face of a stout, perspiring man as her nimble feet avoided his destructive tread. The stout man was clearly enjoying his dance. Raymond, graceful and weary, was dancing with an anaemic-looking girl with adenoids, dull brown hair, and an expensive and exceedingly unbecoming dress.

Sir Henry said under his breath:

âAnd so to bed,â and went upstairs.

V

It was three oâclock. The wind had fallen, the moon was shining over the quiet sea.

In Conway Jeffersonâs room there was no sound except his own heavy breathing as he lay, half propped up on pillows.

There was no breeze to stir the curtains at the window, but they stirred â¦ For a moment they parted, and a figure was silhouetted against the moonlight. Then they fell back into place. Everything was quiet again, but there was someone else inside the room.

Nearer and nearer to the bed the intruder stole. The deep breathing on the pillow did not relax.

There was no sound, or hardly any sound. A finger and thumb were ready to pick up a fold of skin, in the other hand the hypodermic was ready.

And then, suddenly, out of the shadows a hand came and closed over the hand that held the needle, the other arm held the figure in an iron grasp.

An unemotional voice, the voice of the law, said:

âNo, you donât. I want that needle!â

The light switched on and from his pillows Conway Jefferson looked grimly at the murderer of Ruby Keene.

Eighteen

I

Sir Henry Clithering said:

âSpeaking as Watson, I want to know your methods, Miss Marple.â

Superintendent Harper said:

âIâd like to know what put you on to it first.â

Colonel Melchett said:

âYouâve done it again, by Jove! I want to hear all about it from the beginning.â

Miss Marple smoothed the puce silk of her best evening gown. She flushed and smiled and looked very self-conscious.

She said: âIâm afraid youâll think my âmethods,â as Sir Henry calls them, are terribly amateurish. The truth is, you see, that most peopleâand I donât exclude policemenâare far too trusting for this wicked world. They believe what is told them. I never do. Iâm afraid I always like to prove a thing for myself.â

âThat is the scientific attitude,â said Sir Henry.

âIn this case,â continued Miss Marple, âcertain things were taken for granted from the firstâinstead of just confining oneself to the facts. The facts, as I noted them, were that the victim was quite young and that she bit her nails and that her teeth stuck out a littleâas young girlsâ so often do if not corrected in time with a plateâ(and children are very naughty about their plates and taking them out when their elders arenât looking).

âBut that is wandering from the point. Where was I? Oh, yes, looking down at the dead girl and feeling sorry, because it is always sad to see a young life cut short, and thinking that whoever had done it was a very wicked person. Of course it was all very confusing her being found in Colonel Bantryâs library, altogether too like a book to be true. In fact, it made the wrong pattern. It wasnât, you see, meant, which confused us a lot. The real idea had been to plant the body on poor young Basil Blake (a much more likely person), and his action in putting it in the Colonelâs library delayed things considerably, and must have been a source of great annoyance to the real murderer.

âOriginally, you see, Mr. Blake would have been the first object of suspicion. Theyâd have made inquiries at Danemouth, found he knew the girl, then found he had tied himself up with another girl, and theyâd have assumed that Ruby came to blackmail him, or something like that, and that heâd strangled her in a fit of rage. Just an ordinary, sordid, what I call nightclub type of crime!

âBut that, of course, all went wrong, and interest became focused much too soon on the Jefferson familyâto the great annoyance of a certain person.

âAs Iâve told you, Iâve got a very suspicious mind. My nephew Raymond tells me (in fun, of course, and quite affectionately) that I have a mind like a sink. He says that most Victorians have. All I can say is that the Victorians knew a good deal about human nature.

âAs I say, having this rather insanitaryâor surely sanitary?âmind, I looked at once at the money angle of it. Two people stood to benefit by this girlâs deathâyou couldnât get away from that. Fifty thousand pounds is a lot of moneyâespecially when you are in financial difficulties, as both these people were. Of course they both seemed very nice, agreeable peopleâthey didnât seem likely peopleâbut one never can tell, can one?

âMrs. Jefferson, for instanceâeveryone liked her. But it did seem clear that she had become very restless that summer, and that she was tired of the life she led, completely dependent on her father-in-law. She knew, because the doctor had told her, that he couldnât live longâso that was all rightâto put it callouslyâor it would have been all right if Ruby Keene hadnât come along. Mrs. Jefferson was passionately devoted to her son, and some women have a curious idea that crimes committed for the sake of their offspring are almost morally justified. I have come across that attitude once or twice in the village. âWell, âtwas all for Daisy, you see, miss,â they say, and seem to think that that makes doubtful conduct quite all right. Very lax thinking.

âMr. Mark Gaskell, of course, was a much more likely starter, if I may use such a sporting expression. He was a gambler and had not, I fancied, a very high moral code. But, for certain reasons, I was of the opinion that a woman was concerned in this crime.

âAs I say, with my eye on motive, the money angle seemed very suggestive. It was annoying, therefore, to find that both these people had alibis for the time when Ruby Keene, according to the medical evidence, had met her death.

âBut soon afterwards there came the discovery of the burnt-out car with Pamela Reevesâs body in it, and then the whole thing leaped to the eye. The alibis, of course, were worthless.

âI now had two halves of the case, and both quite convincing, but they did not fit. There must be a connection, but I could not find it. The one person whom I knew to be concerned in the crime hadnât got a motive.

âIt was stupid of me,â said Miss Marple meditatively. âIf it hadnât been for Dinah Lee I shouldnât have thought of itâthe most obvious thing in the world. Somerset House! Marriage! It wasnât a question of only Mr. Gaskell or Mrs. Jeffersonâthere were the further possibilities of marriage. If either of those two was married, or even was likely to marry, then the other party to the marriage contract was involved too. Raymond, for instance, might think he had a pretty good chance of marrying a rich wife. He had been very assiduous to Mrs. Jefferson, and it was his charm, I think, that awoke her from her long widowhood. She had been quite content just being a daughter to Mr. Jeffersonâlike Ruth and Naomiâonly Naomi, if you remember, took a lot of trouble to arrange a suitable marriage for Ruth.

âBesides Raymond there was Mr. McLean. She liked him very much and it seemed highly possible that she would marry him in the end. He wasnât well offâand he was not far from Danemouth on the night in question. So it seemed, didnât it,â said Miss Marple, âas though anyone might have done it?â

âBut, of course, really, in my mind, I knew. You couldnât get away, could you, from those bitten nails?â

âNails?â said Sir Henry. âBut she tore her nail and cut the others.â

âNonsense,â said Miss Marple. âBitten nails and close cut nails are quite different! Nobody could mistake them who knew anything about girlâs nailsâvery ugly, bitten nails, as I always tell the girls in my class. Those nails, you see, were a fact. And they could only mean one thing. The body in Colonel Bantryâs library wasnât Ruby Keene at all.

âAnd that brings you straight to the one person who must be concerned. Josie! Josie identified the body. She knew, she must have known, that it wasnât Ruby Keeneâs body. She said it was. She was puzzled, completely puzzled, at finding that body where it was. She practically betrayed that fact. Why? Because she knew, none better, where it ought to have been found! In Basil Blakeâs cottage. Who directed our attention to Basil? Josie, by saying to Raymond that Ruby might have been with the film man. And before that, by slipping a snapshot of him into Rubyâs handbag. Who cherished such bitter anger against the dead girl that she couldnât hide it even when she looked down at her dead? Josie! Josie, who was shrewd, practical, hard as nails, and all out for money.

âThat is what I meant about believing too readily. Nobody thought of disbelieving Josieâs statement that the body was Ruby Keeneâs. Simply because it didnât seem at the time that she could have any motive for lying. Motive was always the difficultyâJosie was clearly involved, but Rubyâs death seemed, if anything, contrary to her interests. It was not till Dinah Lee mentioned Somerset House that I got the connection.

âMarriage! If Josie and Mark Gaskell were actually marriedâthen the whole thing was clear. As we know now, Mark and Josie were married a year ago. They were keeping it dark until Mr. Jefferson died.

âIt was really quite interesting, you know, tracing out the course of eventsâseeing exactly how the plan had worked out. Complicated and yet simple. First of all the selection of the poor child, Pamela, the approach to her from the film angle. A screen testâof course the poor child couldnât resist it. Not when it was put up to her as plausibly as Mark Gaskell put it. She comes to the hotel, he is waiting for her, he takes her in by the side door and introduces her to Josieâone of their makeup experts! That poor child, it makes me quite sick to think of it! Sitting in Josieâs bathroom while Josie bleaches her hair and makes up her face and varnishes her fingernails and toenails. During all this, the drug was given. In an ice cream soda, very likely. She goes off into a coma. I imagine that they put her into one of the empty rooms oppositeâthey were only cleaned once a week, remember.

âAfter dinner Mark Gaskell went out in his carâto the seafront, he said. That is when he took Pamelaâs body to the cottage dressed in one of Rubyâs old dresses and arranged it on the hearthrug. She was still unconscious, but not dead, when he strangled her with the belt of the frock â¦ Not nice, noâbut I hope and pray she knew nothing about it. Really, I feel quite pleased to think of him being hanged â¦ That must have been just after ten oâclock. Then he drove back at top speed and found the others in the lounge where Ruby Keene, still alive, was dancing her exhibition dance with Raymond.

âI should imagine that Josie had given Ruby instructions beforehand. Ruby was accustomed to doing what Josie told her. She was to change, go into Josieâs room and wait. She, too, was drugged, probably in after-dinner coffee. She was yawning, remember, when she talked to young Bartlett.

âJosie came up later to âlook for herââbut nobody but Josie went into Josieâs room. She probably finished the girl off thenâwith an injection, perhaps, or a blow on the back of the head. She went down, danced with Raymond, debated with the Jeffersons where Ruby could be, and finally went to bed. In the early hours of the morning she dressed the girl in Pamelaâs clothes, carried the body down the side stairsâshe was a strong muscular young womanâfetched George Bartlettâs car, drove two miles to the quarry, poured petrol over the car and set it alight. Then she walked back to the hotel, probably timing her arrival there for eight or nine oâclockâup early in her anxiety about Ruby!â

âAn intricate plot,â said Colonel Melchett.

âNot more intricate than the steps of a dance,â said Miss Marple.

âI suppose not.â

âShe was very thorough,â said Miss Marple. âShe even foresaw the discrepancy of the nails. Thatâs why she managed to break one of Rubyâs nails on her shawl. It made an excuse for pretending that Ruby had clipped her nails close.â

Harper said: âYes, she thought of everything. And the only real proof you had, Miss Marple, was a schoolgirlâs bitten nails.â

âMore than that,â said Miss Marple. âPeople will talk too much. Mark Gaskell talked too much. He was speaking of Ruby and he said âher teeth ran down her throat.â But the dead girl in Colonel Bantryâs library had teeth that stuck out.â

Conway Jefferson said rather grimly:

âAnd was the last dramatic finale your idea, Miss Marple?â

Miss Marple confessed. âWell, it was, as a matter of fact. Itâs so nice to be sure, isnât it?â

âSure is the word,â said Conway Jefferson grimly.

âYou see,â said Miss Marple, âonce Mark and Josie knew that you were going to make a new will, theyâd have to do something. Theyâd already committed two murders on account of the money. So they might as well commit a third. Mark, of course, must be absolutely clear, so he went off to London and established an alibi by dining at a restaurant with friends and going on to a night club. Josie was to do the work. They still wanted Rubyâs death to be put down to Basilâs account, so Mr. Jeffersonâs death must be thought due to his heart failing. There was digitalin, so the Superintendent tells me, in the syringe. Any doctor would think death from heart trouble quite natural in the circumstances. Josie had loosened one of the stone balls on the balcony and she was going to let it crash down afterwards. His death would be put down to the shock of the noise.â

Melchett said: âIngenious devil.â

Sir Henry said: âSo the third death you spoke of was to be Conway Jefferson?â

Miss Marple shook her head.

âOh noâI meant Basil Blake. Theyâd have got him hanged if they could.â

âOr shut up in Broadmoor,â said Sir Henry.

Conway Jefferson grunted. He said:

âAlways knew Rosamund had married a rotter. Tried not to admit it to myself. She was damned fond of him. Fond of a murderer! Well, heâll hang as well as the woman. Iâm glad he went to pieces and gave the show away.â

Miss Marple said:

âShe was always the strong character. It was her plan throughout. The irony of it is that she got the girl down here herself, never dreaming that she would take Mr. Jeffersonâs fancy and ruin all her own prospects.â

Jefferson said:

âPoor lass. Poor little Rubyâ¦.â

Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean came in. Adelaide looked almost beautiful tonight. She came up to Conway Jefferson and laid a hand on his shoulder. She said, with a little catch in her breath:

âI want to tell you something, Jeff. At once. Iâm going to marry Hugo.â

Conway Jefferson looked up at her for a moment. He said gruffly:

âAbout time you married again. Congratulations to you both. By the way, Addie, Iâm making a new will tomorrow.â

She nodded. âOh yes, I know.â

Jefferson said:

âNo, you donât. Iâm settling ten thousand pounds on you. Everything else I have goes to Peter when I die. How does that suit you, my girl?â

âOh, Jeff!â Her voice broke. âYouâre wonderful!â

âHeâs a nice lad. Iâd like to see a good deal of himâin the time Iâve got left.â

âOh, you shall!â

âGot a great feeling for crime, Peter has,â said Conway Jefferson meditatively. âNot only has he got the fingernail of the murdered girlâone of the murdered girls, anywayâbut he was lucky enough to have a bit of Josieâs shawl caught in with the nail. So heâs got a souvenir of the murderess too! That makes him very happy!â

II

Hugo and Adelaide passed by the ballroom. Raymond came up to them.

Adelaide said, rather quickly:

âI must tell you my news. Weâre going to be married.â

The smile on Raymondâs face was perfectâa brave, pensive smile.

âI hope,â he said, ignoring Hugo and gazing into her eyes, âthat you will be very, very happyâ¦.â

They passed on and Raymond stood looking after them.

âA nice woman,â he said to himself. âA very nice woman. And she would have had money too. The trouble I took to mug up that bit about the Devonshire Starrs â¦ Oh well, my luckâs out. Dance, dance, little gentleman!â

And Raymond returned to the ballroom.

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Lord Edgware Dies

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Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

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The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 From Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

THE TOMMY AND TUPPENCE MYSTERIES

Jump on board with the entertaining crime-solving couple from Young Adventurers Ltd.

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

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Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

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About the Author

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She is the author of eighty crime novels and short-story collections, nineteen plays, two memoirs, and six novels written under the name Mary Westmacott.

She first tried her hand at detective fiction while working in a hospital dispensary during World War I, creating the now legendary Hercule Poirot with her debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. With The Murder in the Vicarage, published in 1930, she introduced another beloved sleuth, Miss Jane Marple. Additional series characters include the husband-and-wife crime-fighting team of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, private investigator Parker Pyne, and Scotland Yard detectives Superintendent Battle and Inspector Japp.

Many of Christieâ€™s novels and short stories were adapted into plays, films, and television series. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all, opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history. Among her best-known film adaptations are Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1978), with Albert Finney and Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot, respectively. On the small screen Poirot has been most memorably portrayed by David Suchet, and Miss Marple by Joan Hickson and subsequently Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie.

Christie was first married to Archibald Christie and then to archaeologist Sir Max Mallowan, whom she accompanied on expeditions to countries that would also serve as the settings for many of her novels. In 1971 she achieved one of Britainâ€™s highest honors when she was made a Dame of the British Empire. She died in 1976 at the age of eighty-five. Her one hundred and twentieth anniversary was celebrated around the world in 2010.

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THE AGATHA CHRISTIE COLLECTION

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

The Miss Marple Mysteries

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 from Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

The Tommy and Tuppence Mysteries

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authorâ€™s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AGATHA CHRISTIEÂ® MARPLEÂ® MISS MARPLEÂ® THE BODY IN THE LIBRARYâ„¢. Copyright Â© 2011 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved. The Body in the Library was first published in 1942.

THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY Â© 1942. Published by permission of G.P. Putnamâ€™s Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-06-207361-7

EPub Edition Â© MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-173952-1

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