Also Available in Large Print
by Agatha Christie:
The ABC Murders
The Crooked House
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
The Secret Adversary
Three Blind Mice and Other Stories
AGATHA
CHRISTIE
THE BODY
IN THE UBRRRY
G.K,HALL&CO.
Bostot^ Massachusetts
1988
Another day was K /ining. In the
meantime she must exti^W ^ much pleasure
as possible from th^t ^^er show, for
already its dreamlike qu^l^-was becoming
apparent. ^Y
Below her was the ^ ^e of the big
wooden shutters in the ^^ving room being
opened. She heard it^v^ ^ not hear
it. For quite half an hou^nger the usual
household noises would ^ on, discreet
subdued, not disturbing \^o ^ugg they were
so familiar. They woulq^^^^ate in a
swift, controlled sound ^c^potsteps along
the passage, the rustle of l^nt dress, the
subdued chink of tea t^I^s as the tray was deposited on the taW outside, then
the soft knock and the ^e y ^f f^^y to
draw the curtains. In her ^t^p ^g. Bantrv
frowned. Something disti^^ng was penetrating
through the dream W^e, something
out of its time. Footstep^t^g ^e passage,
footsteps that were ^ hurried and
too soon. Her ears listen^o^^^iously
for the chink of china, b^l there was no
chink of china. The kn^t ^me at the
door. Automatically, fron^k(ie depths of
her dream, Mrs. Bantry s^ v ^Come in."
The door opened; now th^W^ould be the
^a
chink of curtain ring as the curtains were
drawn back.
But there was no chink of curtain rings.
Out of the dim green light Mary's voice
came, breathless, hysterical. "Oh, ma'am,
oh, ma'am, there's a body in the library!"
And then^, with a hysterical burst of sobs, she rushed out of the room again.
Mrs. Bantry sat up in bed. Either her
dream had taken a very odd turn or else--
or else Mary had really rushed into the
room and had said--incredibly fantastic!--
that there was a body in the library. "Impossible,53 said Mrs. Bantry to herself. "I must have been dreaming." 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. "Arthur, Arthur, wake
up." Colonel Bantry grunted, muttered and
rolled over on his side. "Wake up, Arthur.
Did you hear what she said?"
"Very likely," said Colonel Bantry indistinctly.
<<I quite agree with you. Dolly,"
and promptly went to sleep again.
lVAt.0 T)o»-»t»-iT cl-innl^- l-nm "Vnn'vp (rot to
ime in and said that there .Uhe library."
j^i
]iihe library."
i1^?"
i11-. \\'
'^i
.^
y.j^ry collected his scattered
1 1/roceeded to deal with the
ijikaid, "Nonsense, old girl!
1 gaming."
^^n't. I thought so, too, at
l^n't. She really came in and
fl
';( in and said there was a
couldn't be," said Colonel
/j^ suppose not," said Mrs. ^ly. Rallying, she went on, did Mary say there was?"
^VP"
^ve imagined it." pne it." ^y was by now thoroughly
f^red to deal with the situa^s.
He said kindly, "You've
Dolly. It's that detective
story you were reading--The Clue of the
Broken Match. You know, Lord Edgbaston
finds a beautiful blonde dead on the library
hearthrug. Bodies are always being
found in libraries in books. I've never
known a case in real life."
"Perhaps you will now," said Mrs.
Bantry. "Anyway, Arthur, you've got to
get up and see."
"But really. Dolly, it must have been a
dream. Dreams often do seem wonderfully
vivid when you first wake up. You feel
quite sure they're true."
"I was having quite a different sort of
dream--about a flower show and the vicar's
wife in a bathing dress--something
like that." Mrs. Bantry jumped out of bed
and pulled back the curtains. The light of
a fine autumn day flooded the room. "I
did not dream it," said Mrs. Bantry firmly.
"Get up at once, Arthur, and go downstairs
and see about it."
"You want me to go downstairs and ask
if there's a body in the library? I shall look
a fool."
"You needn't ask anything," said Mrs.
Bantry. "If there is a body--and of course
it's just possible that Mary's gone mad and
thinks she sees things that aren't there--
well, somebody will tell you soon enough.
You won't have to say a word."
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. "I'm 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?55
"Ring 'em up about what?"
The butler cast a reproachful glance over
his shoulder at the tall young woman who
was weeping hysterically on the cook's
shoulder. "I understood, sir, that Mary
had already informed you. She said she
had done so.55
Mary gasped out, "I was so upset, I
don't know what I said! It all came over
me again and my legs gave way and my
insides turned over! Finding it like that—
Oh, oh, oh!"
She subsided again onto Mrs. Eccles,
who said, "There, there, my dear," with
some relish.
"Mary is naturally somewhat upset, sir,
having been the one to make the gruesome
discovery," explained the butler. "She went
into the library, as usual, to draw the
curtains, and--and almost stumbled over
the body."
"Do you mean to tell me," demanded
Colonel Bantry, "that there's a dead body
in my library--my library?"
The butler coughed. "Perhaps, sir, you
would like to see for yourself."
"Hullo, 'ullo, 'ullo. Police station here.
Yes, who's speaking?" Police Constable
Palk was buttoning up his tunic with one
hand while the other held the telephone
receiver. "Yes, yes, Gossington Hall. Yes?
. . . Oh, good morning, sir." Police Constable
Palk's 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. "Yes, sir? What can I
do for you? . . . I'm sorry, sir, I didn't
quite catch--A body, did you say? . . .
Yes? . . . Yes, if you please, sir. . . .
That's right, sir. . . . Young woman not
known to you, you say? . . . Quite, sir. . . .
Yes, you can leave it all to me."
Police Constable Palk replaced the receiver,
uttered a long-drawn whistle and
proceeded to dial his superior officer's
number. Mrs. Palk looked in from the
kitchen, whence proceeded an appetizing
smell of frying bacon. "What is it?"
"Rummiest thing you ever heard of,"
replied her husband. "Body of a young
woman found up at the Hall. In the colonel's
library."
"Murdered?"
"Strangled, so he says."
"Who was she?"
"The colonel says he doesn't know her
from Adam."
"Then what was she doing in 'is library?"

Police Constable Palk silenced her with
a reproachful glance and spoke officially
into the telephone. "Inspector Slack? Police
Constable Palk here. A report has just
come in that the body of a young woman
was discovered this morning at sevenfifteen--"
Miss
Marple's 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 spinster's life that unforeseen telephone
calls were a source of vivid coniec-
ture. "Dear me," said Miss Marple, surveying the ringing instrument with perplexity.
"I wonder who that can be?"
Nine o'clock to nine-thirty was the recognized
time for the village to make
friendly calls to neighbors. 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 up after nine-thirty at night.
It was true that Miss Marple's 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 West's eccentricities, early rising was not one of
them. Neither he nor anyone of Miss
Marple's 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. "It must be," Miss
Marple decided, "a wrong number." Having
decided this, she advanced to the impatient
instrument and quelled its clamor
by picking up the receiver. "Yes?" she
said.
"Is that you, Jane?"
Miss Marple was much surprised. "Yes, it's Jane. You're up very early. Dolly."
Mrs. Bantry's voice came, breathless and
agitated, over the wire. "The most awful
thing has happened."
"Oh, my dear!"
"We've just found a body in the library."

For a moment Miss Marple thought her
friend had gone mad. "You've found a
what?"
"I know. One doesn't believe it, does
one? I mean I thought they only happened
in books. I had to argue for hours with
Arthur this morning before he'd even go
down and see."
Miss Marple tried to collect herself. She
demanded breathlessly, "But whose body
is it?"
"It's a blonde."
"A what?"
"A blonde. A beautiful blonde--like
books again. None of us have ever seen
her before. She's just lying there in the
library, dead. That's why you've got to
come ud at once."
"You want me to come up?"
"Yes, I'm sending the car down for you."
Miss Marple said doubtfully, "Of course, dear, if you think I can be of any comfort
to you--"
"Oh, I don't want comfort. But you're
so good at bodies."
"Oh, no, indeed. My little successes have
been mostly theoretical."
"But you're very good at murders. She's
been murdered, you see; strangled. What I
feel is that if one has got to have a murder
actually happening in one's house, one
might as well enjoy it, if you know what I
mean. That's 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, isn't it?"
"Well, of course, my dear, if I can be of
any help."
"Splendid! Arthur's being rather difficult.
He seems to think I shouldn't enjoy
myself about it at all. Of course, I do
know it's very sad and all that, but then I
don't know the girl--and when you've seen
her you'll understand what I mean when I
say she doesn't look real at all."
A little breathless. Miss Marple alighted
from the Bantrys' 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. "Miss Marple?
Er--very pleased to see you."
"Your wife telephoned to me," explained
Miss Marple.
"Capital, capital. She ought to have
someone with her. She'll crack up otherwise.
She's putting a good face on things at
the moment, but you know what it is--"
At this moment Mrs. Bantry appeared
and exclaimed, "Do go back and eat your
breakfast, Arthur. Your bacon will get
cold."
"I thought it might be the inspector
arriving," explained Colonel Bantry.
"He'll be here soon enough," said Mrs.
Bantry. "That's why it's important to get
your breakfast first. You need it."
"So do you. Much better come and eat
something. Dolly."
"I'll come in a minute," said Mrs.
Bantry. "Go on, Arthur." Colonel Bantry
was shooed back into the dining room
rather like a recalcitrant hen. "Now!" said
Mrs. Bantry with an intonation of triumph.
"Come on."
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. "I'm afraid nobody is
allowed in, madam. Inspector's orders."
"Nonsense, Palk," said Mrs. Bantry.
"You know Miss Marple perfectly well."
Constable Palk admitted to knowing Miss
Marple. "It's very important that she
should see the body," said Mrs. Bantry.
"Don't be stupid, Palk. After all, it's my
library, isn't it?"
Constable Palk gave way. His habit of
giving in to the gentry was lifelong. The
inspector, he reflected, need never know
about it. "Nothing must be touched or
handled in any way," he warned the ladies.

"Of course not," said Mrs. Bantry impatiently.
"We know that. You can come
in and watch, if you like." 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,
"There!"
Miss Marple understood then just what
her friend had meant when she said the
dead girl wasn't 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
water colors, and some would-befunny
hunting scenes. There was a big
vase of flowers 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 enameled a deep blood
red, and so were the toenails in their cheap
silver sandal shoes. It was a cheap, tawdry, flamboyant figure, most incongruous
in the solid, old-fashioned comfort of Colonel
Bantry's library. Mrs. Bantry said in a
low voice, "You see what I mean? It just
isn't true?"
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, "She's very young."
"Yes; yes, I suppose she is." Mrs. Bantry
seemed almost surprised, like one making
a discovery.
There was the sound of a car crunching
on the gravel outside. Constable Palk said
with urgency, "That'll be the inspector."
True to his ingrained belief that the
gentry didn't let you down, Mrs. Bantry
immediately moved to the door. Miss
Marple followed her. Mrs. Bantry said, "That'll be all right, Palk." Constable Palk
was immensely relieved.
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
colonel's; Slack he had never very much
taken to--an 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.
"Morning, Bantry," said the chief constable.
"Thought I'd better come along
myself. This seems an extraordinary business."
"It's--it's"--Colonel Bantry struggled to
express himself--"it's incredible--fantastic!"
"No
idea who the woman is?"
"Not in the slightest. Never set eyes on
her in my life."
"Butler know anything?" asked Inspector
Slack.
"Lorrimer is just as taken aback as I
am."
"Ah," said Inspector Slack. "I wonder."
Colonel Bantry said, "There's breakfast
in the dining room, Melchett, if you'd like
anything."
"No, no, better get on with the job.
Haydock ought to be here any minute
now. . . . Ah, here he is." Another car
drew up and big, broad-shouldered Doctor
Havdock, who was also the oolice sureeon,
got out. A second police car had disgorged
two plain-clothes men, one with a camera.
"All set, eh?" said the chief constable.
"Right. We'll go along. In the library,
Slack tells me."
Colonel Bantry groaned. "It's 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 wouldn't believe her."
"No, no, I can quite understand that.
Hope your missus isn't too badly upset by
it all."
"She's been wonderful--really wonderful.
She's got old Miss Marple up here
with her--from the village, you know."
"Miss Marple?" The chief constable
stiffened. "Why did she send for her?"
"Oh, a woman wants another woman--
don't you think so?"
Colonel Melchett said with a slight
chuckle, "If you ask me, your wife's going
to try her hand at a little amateur detecting.
Miss Marple's quite the local sleuth.
Put it over us properly once, didn't she, Slack?"
Inspector Slack said, "That was different."

"Different from what?"
"That was a local case, that was, sir.
The old lady knows everything that goes
on in the village, that's true enough. But
she'll be out of her depth here."
Melchett said dryly, "You don't know
very much about it yourself yet. Slack."
"Ah, you wait, sir. It won't take me
long to get down to it."
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, "Well, Jane?"
Miss Marple looked up at her slightly bewildered.
Mrs. Bantry said hopefully, "Doesn't it remind you of anything?"
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 on the latter.
"No," said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
"I can't say that it does--not at the moment.
I was reminded a little of Mrs.
Chetty's youngest--Edie, you know--but 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," went on Miss Marnle. nursuine
the parallel further, "Edie was fond of
what I call cheap finery too."
"You mean her dress?" said Mrs. Bantry.
I "Yes, very tawdry satin, poor quality."
j Mrs. Bantry said, "I know. One of those
nasty little shops where everything is a
guinea." She went on hopefully, "Let me
see. What happened to Mrs. Chetty's
Edie?"
"She's just gone into her second place, and doing very well, I believe," said Miss
Marple.
Mrs. Bantry felt slightly disappointed.
The village parallel didn't seem to be exactly
hopeful.
"What I an't make out," said Mrs.
Bantry, "is what she could possibly be
doing in Arthur's study. The window was
forced, Palk tells me. She might have come
down here with a burglar, and then they
quarreled--But that seems such nonsense,
doesn't it?"
"She was hardly dressed for burglary,"
said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
"No, she was dressed for dancing or a
party of some kind. But there's nothing of
that kind down here or anywhere near."
"N-no," said Miss Marple doubtfully.
Mrs. Bantry pounced. "Something's in
your mind, Jane."
"Well, I was just wondering--"
"Yes?"
"Basil Blake."
Mrs. Bantry cried impulsively, "Oh, no!" and added as though in explanation, "I know his mother."
The two women looked at each other.
Miss Marple sighed and shook her head.
"I quite understand how you feel about
it."
"Selina Blake is the nicest woman imaginable.
Her herbaceous borders are simply
marvelous; they make me green with envy.
And she's frightfully generous with cuttings."

Miss Marple passing over these claims
to consideration on the part of Mrs. Blake,
said, "All the same, you know, there has
been a lot of talk."
"Oh, I know, I know. And of course
Arthur goes simply livid when he hears
him mentioned. He was really very rude to
Arthur, and since then Arthur won't hear
a good word for him. He's got that silly
slighting way of talking that these boys
have nowadays--sneering at people sticking
up for their school or the Empire or
that sort of thing. And then, of course, the
clothes he wears! People say," continued
Mrs. Bantry, "that it doesn't matter what
you wear in the country. I never heard
such nonsense. It's just in the country that
everyone notices." She paused and added
wistfully, "He was an adorable baby in his
bath."
"There was a lovely picture of the Cheviot
murderer as a baby in the paper last
Sunday," said Miss Marple.
"Oh, but, Jane, you don't think he--"
"No, no, dear, I didn't mean that at all.
That would indeed be jumping to conclusions.
I was just trying to account for the
young woman's 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 come down from London
and from the studios--you remember last
July? Shouting and singing--the most terrible
noise--everyone very drunk, I'm
afraid--and the mess and the broken glass
next morning simply unbelievable--so old
Mrs. Berry told me--and a young woman
asleep in the bath with practically nothing
I"
on!
Mrs. Bantry said indulgently, "I suppose
they were film people."
''Very likely. And then--what I expect
you've heard--several week ends lately he's
brought down a young woman with him--
a platinum blonde."
Mrs. Bantry exclaimed, "You don't think
it's this one?"
"Well) I wondered. Of course, I've never
seen her close to--only just getting in and
out of the car, and once in the cottage
garden when she was sun-bathing with just
some shorts and a brassiere. I never really
saw her face. And all these girls, with
their make-up and their hair and their
nails, look so alike."
"Yes. Still, it might be. It's an idea,
Jane."
Two
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. Colonel
Melchett was an irascible-looking man with
a habit of tugging at his short red mustache.
He did so now, shooting a perplexed
sideways glance at the other man.
Finally he rapped out, "Look here, Bantry;
got to get this off my chest. Is it a fact
that you don't know from Adam who this
woman is?"
The other's answer was explosive, but
the chief constable interrupted him, "Yes, yes, old man, but look at it like this:
Might be deuced awkward for you. Married
man--fond of your missus and all
that. But just between ourselves, if you
yesterday evening 5 or in the drawing room.
I didn't ask her."
"Oh, well 5 we shall soon know all the
details. Of course it's possible one of the
servants may be concerned, eh?"
Colonel Bantry shook his head. "I don't
believe it. They're all a most respectable
lot. We've had 'em for years."
Melchett agreed. "Yes, it doesn't seem
likely that they're mixed up in it. Looks
more as though the girl came down from
town--perhaps with some young fellow.
Though why they wanted to break into
this house--"
Bantry interrupted. "London. That's
more like it. We don't have goings on
down here--at least--"
"Well, what is it?"
"Upon my word!" exploded Colonel
Bantry. "Basil Blake!"
"Who's he?"
"Young 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. He's taken that cottage on
the Lansham Road--you know, ghastly
modern bit of building. He has parties
there--shrieking, noisy crowds--and he
has girls down for the week end."
"Girls?"
"Yes, there was one last week--one of
these platinum blondes." The colonel's jaw
dropped.
"A platinum blonde, eh?" said Melchett
reflectively.
"Yes. I say, Melchett, you don't
think--"
The chief constable said briskly, "It's a
possibility. It accounts for a girl of this
type being in St. Mary Mead. I think I'll
run along and have a word with this young
fellow Braid--Blake--what did you say his
name was?"
"Blake. Basil Blake."
"Will he be at home, do you know?"
asked Melchett.
"Let me see, what's today? Saturday?
Usually gets here some time Saturday
morning."
Melchett said grimly, "We'll see if we
can find him."
Basil Blake's cottage, which consisted of
all modern conveniences enclosed in a hideous
shell of half timbering and sham Todor,
was known to the postal authorities
and to William Booker. Builder, as "Chatsworth"; to Basil and his friends as "The
Period Piece"; and to the village of St.
Mary Mead at large as "Mr. Booker's new
house." 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
unspoiled country lane. Gossington Hall
was about a mile farther on along the same
road.
Lively interest had been aroused in St.
Mary Mead when the news went round
that "Mr. Booker's new house" 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 star, not even a film actor. He was a very junior
person, rejoicing in the position of about
fifteenth in the list of those responsible for
set decorations at Lenville Studios, headquarters
of British New Era Films. The
village maidens lost interest and the ruling
^.Inoo f\f r>^r><?rtfir»Tic! crMnct^rc tnnk" PYfPntlOn
to Basil Blake's way of life. Only the landlord
of the Blue Boar continued to be
enthusiastic about Basil and Basil's friends.
The revenues of the Blue Boar had increased
since the young man's arrival in
the place.
The police car stopped outside the distorted
rustic gate of Mr. Booker's 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 royalblue
shirt, snapped out, "Well, what do
you want?"
"Are you Mr. Basil Blake?"
"Of course I am."
"I should be glad to have a few words
with you if I may, Mr. Blake."
"Who are you?"
"I am Colonel Melchett, the chief constable
of the county."
Mr. Blake said insolently, "You don't
say so. How amusing."
And Colonel Melchett, following the
other in, understood precisely what Colo-
nel Bantry's reactions had been. The toe
of his own boot itched. Containing himself, however, he said, with an attempt to
speak pleasantly, "You're an early riser, Mr. Blake."
"Not at all. I haven't been to bed yet."
"Indeed?"
"But I don't suppose you've come here
to inquire into my hours of bed-going, or
if you have it's rather a waste of the
county's time and money. What is it you
want to speak to me about?"
Colonel Melchett cleared his throat. "I
understand, Mr. Blake, that last week end
you had a visitor--a--er--fair-haired
young lady."
Basil Blake stared, threw back his head
and roared with laughter. "Have the old
cats been on to you from the village? About
my morals? Damn it all, morals aren't a
police matter. You know that."
"As you say," said Melchett dryly, "your
morals are no concern of mine. I have
come to you because the body of a fairhaired
young woman of slightly--er--exotic
appearance has been found--murdered."

"'Smith'" Blake stared at him.
"XY/^^rp^"
"In the library at Gossington Hall."
"At Gossington? At old Bantry's? I say,
that's pretty rich—old Bantry! The dirty
old man!"
Colonel Melchett went very red in the
face. He said sharply through the renewed
mirth of the young man opposite him,
"Kindly control your tongue, sir. I came
to ask you if you can throw any light on
this business."
"You've come round to ask me if I've
missed a blonde? Is that it? Why should—
Hullo, 'ullo, 'ullo! What's this?"
A car had drawn up outside with a
scream of brakes. Out of it tumbled a
young woman dressed in flapping blackand-white
pajamas. She had scarlet lips,
blackened eyelashes and a platinum-blond
head. She strode up to the door, flung it
open, and exclaimed angrily, "Why did
you run out on me?"
Basil Blake had risen. "So there you
are. Why shouldn't I leave you? I told you
to clear out, and you wouldn't."
"Why should I because you told me to?
I was enjoying myself."
"Yes, with that filthy brute, Rosenberg.
You know what he's like."
"You were jealous, that's all."
"Don't flatter yourself. I hate to see a
girl I like who can't hold her drink and
lets a disgusting Central European paw her
about."
"That's a lie. You were drinking pretty
hard yourself and going on with the blackhaired
Spanish girl."
"If I take you to a party 5 I expect you
to be able to behave yourself."
"And I refuse to be dictated to, and
that's that. You said we'd go to the party
and come on down here afterwards. I'm
not going to leave a party before I'm ready
to leave it."
"No, and that's why I left you flat. I
was ready to come down here and I came.
I don't hang round waiting for any fool of
a woman."
"Sweet, polite person you are."
"You seem to have followed me down,
all right."
"I wanted to tell you what I thought of
you."
"If you think you can boss me, my girl,
you're wrong."
"And if you think you can order me
about, you can think again."
They glared at each other. It was at this
»T-«r»m^nt that Colonel Melchett seized his
opportunity and cleared his throat loudly.
Basil Blake swung round on him. "Hullo, I forgot you were here. About time you
took yourself off, isn't it? Let me introduce
you--Dinah Lee--Colonel Blimp, of
the county police. . . . And now, colonel, that you've seen that my blonde is alive
and in good condition, perhaps you'll get
on with the good work concerning Bantry's
little bit of fluff. Good morning!"
Colonel Melchett said, "I advise you to
keep a civil tongue in your head, young
man, or you'll let yourself in for trouble,"
and stumped out, his face red and wrathful.
Three
In his office at Much Benham, Colonel
Melchett received and scrutinized the reports
of his subordinates. <(. . . so it all
seems clear enough, sir," Inspector Slack
was concluding. "Mrs. 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 afterward. 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 bloodcurdling yell and sinister
footsteps and I don't know what. The
second housemaid, who shares a room with
her, says the other girl slept all night
through without a sound. It's those ones
that make up things that cause us all the
trouble."
"What about the forced window?"
"Amateur job, Simmons says, done with
a common chisel, ordinary pattern;
wouldn't have made much noise. Ought to
be a chisel about the house, but nobody
can find it. Still, that's common enough
where tools are concerned."
"Think any of the servants know anything?"

Rather unwillingly Inspector Slack replied, "No, sir. I don't think they do.
They all seemed very shocked and upset. I
had my suspicions of Lorrimer--reticent, he was, if you know what I mean--but I
don't think there's anything in it."
Melchett nodded. He attached no importance
to Lorrimer's reticence. The energetic
Inspector Slack often produced that
effect on the people he interrogated. The
door opened and Doctor Haydock came
in. "Thought I'd look in and give you the
rough gist of things."
"Yes, yes, glad to see you. Well?"
"Nothing much. Just what you'd 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.
Wouldn't have needed great strength--that
is, if the girl was taken by surprise. There
are no signs of a struggle.55
"What about time of death?55
"Say between ten o^lock and midnight.'5
"You can't get nearer than that?55
Haydock shook his head with a slight
grin. "I won5! risk my professional reputation.
Not earlier than ten and not later
than midnight.55
"And your own fancy inclines to which
time?55
"Depends. There was a fire in the grate, the room was warm--all that would delay
rigor and cadaveric stiffening.55
"Anything more you can say about her?55
"Nothing much. She was young--about
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.55 And with a
nod of his head the doctor left the room.
Melchett said to the inspector, "You5 re
quite sure she^ never been seen before at
Gossington?55
"The servants are positive of that. Quite
indignant about it. They^ have remembered
if they'd ever seen her about in the
neighborhood, they say.55
"t ov»^^ tii^v wnnirL" said Melchett.
"Anyone of that type sticks out a mile
round here. Look at that young woman of
Blake's."
"Pity it wasn't her," said Slack. "Then
we should be able to get on a bit."
"It seems to me this girl must have
come down from London," said the chief
constable thoughtfully. "Don't believe
there will be any local leads. In that case, I suppose, we should do well to call in the
Yard. It's a case for them, not for us."
"Something must have brought her down
here, though," said Slack. He added tentatively, "Seems to me. Colonel and Mrs.
Bantry must know something. Of course I
know they're friends of yours, sir--"
Colonel Melchett treated him to a cold
stare. He said stiffly, "You may rest assured
that I'm taking every possibility into
account. Every possibility." He went on, "You've looked through the list of persons
reported missing, I suppose?"
Slack nodded. He produced a typed
sheet. "Got 'em here. Mrs. Saunders, reported
missing a week ago, dark-haired, blue-eyed, thirty-six. 'Tisn't her. And anyway, everyone knows, except her husband,
that she's gone off with a fellow from
Leeds--commercial. Mrs. Barnard--she's
sixty-five. Pamela Reeves, sixteen, missing
from her home last night, had attended
Girl Guide rally, dark brown hair in pigtails,
five feet five--"
Melchett said irritably, "Don't go on
reading idiotic details. Slack. This wasn't a
schoolgirl. In my opinion--" He broke off
as the telephone rang. "Hullo. . . . Yes, yes. Much Benham police headquarters.
. . . What? . . . Just a minute." He
listened and wrote rapidly. Then he spoke
again, a new tone in his voice. "Ruby
Keene, eighteen, occupation, professional
dancer, five feet four inches, slender, platinum-blond
hair, blue eyes, retrousse nose, believed to be wearing white diamante
evening dress, silver sandal shoes. Is that
right? . . . What? . . . Yes, not a doubt of
it, I should say. I'll send Slack over at
once." He rang off and looked at his subordinate
with rising excitement. "We've
got it, I think. That was the Glenshire
police." Glenshire was the adjoining
county. "Girl reported missing from the
Majestic Hotel, Danemouth."
"Danemouth," said Inspector Slack.
"That's more like it." Danemouth was a
large and fashionable watering place on the
^/-»oct nr»t far- axi^av
"It's only a matter of eighteen miles or
so from here," said the chief constable. "The girl was a dance hostess or something
at the Majestic. Didn't come on to
do her turn last night and the management
was 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. You'd
better go over to Danemouth at once,
Slack. Report there to Superintendent
Harper and cooperate with him."
Four
Activity was always to Inspector Slack's
taste. To rush 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 Inspector 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 of "Got to make sure it is the girl
first, before we start raising the wind,"
was driving back to Much Benham in company
with Ruby Keene's 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 "This is Josie, sir."
Colonel Melchett stared at his subordi-
nate 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. "That's what I'm
known as professionally," she explained
with a momentary flash of large, handsome
white teeth. "Raymond and Josie, my partner and I call ourselves, and of
course all the hotel know me as Josie.
Josephine Turner's my real name."
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 goodlooking
young woman of perhaps nearer
thirty than twenty; her looks depending
more on skillful grooming than actual features.
She looked competent and goodtempered,
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 tailormade
suit. She looked anxious and upset, but
not, the colonel decided, particularly griefstricken.
As she sat down she said, "It
seems too awful to be true. Do you really
think it's Ruby?"
"That, I'm afraid, is what we've got to
ask you to tell us. I'm afraid it may be
rather unpleasant for you."
Miss Turner said apprehensively, "Does
she—does she look very terrible?"
"Well, I'm afraid it may be rather a
shock to you."
"Do—do you want me to look at her
right away?"
"It would be best, I think. Miss Turner.
You see, it's not much good asking you
questions until we're sure. Best get it over,
don't you think?"
"All right."
They drove down to the mortuary. When
Josie came out after a brief visit she looked
rather sick. "It's Ruby, all right," she said
shakily. "Poor kid! Goodness, I do feel
queer! There isn't"—she looked round
wistfully—"any gin?"
Gin was not available, but brandy was
and, after gulping a little down. Miss
Turner regained her composure. She said
frankly, "It gives you a turn, doesn't it,
seeing anything like that? Poor little Ruby!
What swine men are, aren't they?"
"You believe it was a man?"
Josie looked slightly taken aback.
"Wasn't it? Well, I mean—1 naturally
thought—"
"Any special man you were thinking
of?"
She shook her head vigorously. "No, not me. I haven't the least idea. Naturally, Ruby wouldn't have let on to me if--"
"If what?"
Josie hesitated. "Well, if she'd been--
going about with anyone."
Melchett shot her a keen glance. He said
no more until they were back at his office.
Then he began, "Now, Miss Turner, I
want all the information you can give me."
"Yes, of course. Where shall I begin?"
"I'd like the girl's full name and address, her relationship to you and all that
you know about her."
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. "Her name was Ruby Keene--her
professional name, that is. Her real name
was Rosy Legge. Her mother was my
mother's cousin. I've known her all my
life, but not particularly well, if you know
what I mean. I've got a lot of cousins, some 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 she's been engaged as one of
the dancing partners at the Palais de Danse
in Brixwell, South London. It's a nice,
respectable place and they look after the
girls well, but there isn't a great deal of
money in it." She paused. Colonel Melchett
nodded.
"Now this is where I come in. I've been
dance and bridge hostess at the Majestic in
Danemouth for three years. It's a good
job, well paid and pleasant to do. You
look after people when they arrive. Size
them up, of course—some like to be left
alone and others are lonely and want to get
into the swing of things. You try and get
the right people together for bridge and all
that, and get the young people dancing
with one another. It needs a bit of tact and
experience."
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.
"Besides that," continued Josie, "I do a
couple of exhibition dances every evening
.,T^i-i povrt-rt/M-tri "Ravmnnd Starr—he's 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." Melchett had noticed that she
walked with a slight limp.
"Naturally, that put the stop to dancing
for a bit and it was rather awkward. I
didn't want the hotel to get someone else
in my place. There's always a danger"--
for a minute her good-natured blue eyes
were hard and sharp; she was the female
fighting for existence--"that they may
queer your pitch, you see. So I thought of
Ruby and suggested to the manager that I
should get her down. I'd carry on with the
hostess business and bridge and all that.
Ruby would just take on the dancing. Keep
it in the family, if you see what I mean."
Melchett said he saw.
"Well, they agreed, and I wired to Ruby
and she came down. Rather a chance for
her. Much better class than anything she'd
ever done before. That was about a month
ago."
Colonel Melchett said, "I understand.
And she was a success?"
"Oh, yes," Josie said carelessly. "She
went down quite well. She doesn't dance
as well as I do, but Raymond's clever and
carried her through, and she was quite
nice-looking, you know--slim and fair and
baby-looking. Overdid the makeup a bit--
I was always 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 doesn't do for a good-class
place like the Majestic. I was always ticking
her off about it and getting her to tone
it down."
Melchett asked, "People liked her?"
"Oh, yes. Mind you. Ruby hadn't got
much comeback. She was a bit dumb. She
went down better with the older men than
with the young ones."
"Had she got any special friend?"
The girl's eyes met his with complete
understanding. "Not in the way you mean. Or, at any rate, not that I knew about.
But then, you see, she wouldn't tell me."
Just for a moment Melchett wondered
why not. Josie did not give the impression
of being a strict disciplinarian. But he only
said, "Will you describe to me now when
you last saw your cousin."
"Last night. She and Raymond do two
exhibition dances. One at ten-thirty and
the other at midnight. They finished the
Aft-^r- it t notippd Rnbv dancine
with one of the young men staying at the
hotel. I was playing bridge with some people
in the lounge. There's a glass panel
between the lounge and the ballroom.
That's the last time I saw her. Just after
midnight Raymond came up in a terrible
taking; said where was Ruby; she hadn't
turned up and it was time to begin. I was
vexed, I can tell you! That's the sort of
silly things girls do and get the management's
back up, and then they get the
sack! I went up with him to her room, but
she wasn't there. I noticed that she'd
changed; the dress she'd been dancing in--
a sort of pink, foamy thing with full
skirts--was lying over a chair. Usually she
kept the same dress on, unless it was the
special dance night--Wednesdays, that is.
"I'd no idea where she'd got to. We got
the band to play one more fox trot. Still
no Ruby, so I said to Raymond I'd do the
exhibition dance with him. We chose one
that was easy on my ankle and made it
short, but it played up my ankle pretty
badly all the same. It's all swollen this
morning. Still Ruby didn't show up. We
sat about waiting up for her until two
o'clock. Furious with her, I was."
Her voice vibrated sliglitly. Melchett
caught the note of real anger in it. Just for
a moment, he wondered. He had a feeling
of something deliberately left unsaid. He
said, "And this morning, when Ruby
Keene had not returned and her bed had
not been slept in, you went to the police?"
He knew, from Slack's 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, "No, I
didn't."
"Why not, Miss Turner?"
Her eyes met his frankly. She said, "You
wouldn't—in my place!"
"You think not?"
Josie said, "I've got my job to think
about! The one thing a hotel doesn't want
is scandal—especially anything that brings
in the police. I didn't think anything had
happened to Ruby. Not for a minute! I
thought she'd just made a fool of herself
about some young man. I thought she'd
turn up all right, and I was going to give
her a good dressing down when she did!
Girls of eighteen are such fools."
Melchett pretended to glance through
his notes. "Ah, ves, I see it was a Mr.
Jefferson who went to the police. One of
the guests staying at the hotel?"
Josephine Turner said shortly, "Yes."
Colonel Melchett asked, "What made
this Mr. Jefferson do that?"
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, "He's an invalid.
He--he gets all het up rather easily.
Being an invalid, I mean."
Melchett passed from that. He asked, "Who was the young man with whom you
last saw your cousin dancing?"
"His name's Bartlett. He's been there
about ten days."
"Were they on very friendly terms?"
"Not specially, I should say. Not that I
knew, anyway." Again a curious note of
anger in her voice.
"What does he have to say?"
"Said that after their dance Ruby went
upstairs to powder her nose."
"That was when she changed her dress?"
"I suppose so."
"And that is the last thing you know?
After that, she just--"
"Vanished," said Josie. "That's right."
"Did Miss Keene know anybody in St.
Mary Mead? Or in this neighborhood?"
"I don't know. She may have. You see, quite a lot of young men come in to
Danemouth to the Majestic, from all round
about. I wouldn't know where they lived
unless they happened to mention it."
"Did you ever hear your cousin mention
Gossington?"
"Gossington?" Josie looked patently puzzled.

"Gossington Hall."
She shook her head. "Never heard of
it." Her tone carried conviction. There
was curiosity in it too.
"Gossington Hall," explained Colonel
Melchett, "is where her body was found."
"Gossington Hall?" She stared. "How
extraordinary!"
Melchett thought to himself. Extraordinary's
the word. Aloud he said, "Do you
know a Colonel or Mrs. Bantry?"
Again Josie shook her head.
"Or a Mr. Basil Blake?"
She frowned slightly. "I think I've heard
that name. Yes, I'm sure I have, but I
don't remember anything about him."
The diligent Inspector Slack slid across to his superior officer a page torn from his
notebook. On it was penciled: "Col. Bantry
dined at Majestic last week." Melchett
looked up and met the inspector's 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 favoring
his own class--of shielding an "old
school tie." He turned to Josie. "Miss
Turner, I should like you, if you do not
mind, to accompany me to Gossington
Hall." Coldly, defiantly, almost ignoring
Josie's murmur of assent, Melchett's eyes
met Slack's.
FR1;Five
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 neighbor. Miss Hartnell.
"Forgive me coming by so early, dear, but
I thought perhaps you mightn't have heard
the news."
"What news?" demanded Miss Hartnell.
She had a deep bass voice and visited the
poor indefatigably, however hard they tried
to avoid her ministrations.
"About the body of a young woman that
was found this morning in Colonel Bantry's
library."
"In Colonel Bantry's library?"
"Yes. Isn't it terrible?"
"His poor wife!" Miss Hartnell tried to /-i^ormic!<a l-i^y dp^t-t and ardent nieasure.
"Yes, indeed. I don't suppose she had
any idea."
Miss Hartnell observed censoriously, "She thought too much about her garden
and not enough about her husband. You've
got to keep an eye on a man all the time--
all the time," repeated Miss Hartnell
fiercely.
"I know. I know. It's really too dreadful."

"I wonder what Jane Marple will say?
Do you think she knew anything about it?
She's so sharp about these things."
"Jane Marple has gone up to Gossington."

"What? This morning?"
"Very early. Before breakfast."
"But 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
things, but I call this indecent!"
"Oh, but Mrs. Bantry sent for her."
"Mrs. Bantry sent for her?"
"Well, the car came. With Muswell driv-
«
ing it."
"Dear me. How very peculiar."
They were silent a minute or two, digesting
the news. "Whose body?" demanded
Miss Hartnell.
"You know that dreadful woman who
comes down with Basil Blake?"
"That terrible peroxide blonde?" Miss
Hartnell was slightly behind the times. She
had not yet advanced from peroxide to
platinum. "The one who lies about in the
garden with practically nothing on?"
"Yes, my dear. There she was on the
hearthrug, strangled!"
"But what do you mean--at Gossington?"
Miss Wetherby nodded with infinite
meaning. "Then Colonel Bantry
too--" Again Miss Wetherby nodded.
"Oh!"
There was a pause as the ladies savored
this new addition to village scandal. "What
a wicked woman!" trumpeted Miss Hartnell
with righteous wrath.
"Quite, quite abandoned, I'm afraid!"
"And Colonel Bantry--such a nice quiet
man--"
Miss Wetherby said zestfully, "Those
quiet ones are often the worst. Jane Marple
always says so."
Mrs. Price Ridley was among the last to
hear the news. A rich and dictatorial
widow, she lived in a large house next
rinnr tn rbp viraraee. Her informant was
her little maid, Clara. "A woman, you say,
Clara? Found dead on Colonel Bantry's
hearthrug?"
"Yes, mum. And they say, mum, as she
hadn't anything on at all, mum—not a
stitch!"
"That will do, Clara. It is not necessary
to go into details."
"No, mum, and they say, mum, that at
first they thought it was Mr. Blake's young
lady what comes down for weekends with
'im to Mr. Booker's new 'ouse. But now
they say it's quite a different young lady.
And the fishmonger's young man, he says
he'd never have believed it of Colonel
Bantry—not with him handing round the
plate on Sundays and all."
"There is a lot of wickedness in the
world, Clara," said Mrs. Price Ridley. "Let
this be a warning to you."
"Yes, mum. Mother, she never will let
me take a place where there's a gentleman
in the 'ouse."
"That will do, Clara," said Mrs. Price
Ridley.
It was only a step from Mrs. Price Ridley's
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.
"Such a terrible thing," said Mrs. Price
Ridley, panting a little because she had
come rather fast. "I felt I must have your
advice, your counsel about it, dear vicar."
Mr. Clement looked mildly alarmed. He
said, "Has anything happened?"
"Has anything happened!" Mrs. Price
Ridley repeated the question dramatically.
"The most terrible scandal! None of us
had any idea of it. An abandoned woman, completely unclothed, strangled on Colonel
Bantry's hearthrug."
The vicar stared. He said, "You--you
are feeling quite well?"
"No wonder you can't believe it! I
couldn't at first! The hypocrisy of the man!
All these years."
"Please tell me exactly what all this is
about."
Mrs. Price Ridley plunged into a fullswing
narrative. When she had finished, the Reverend Mr. Clement said mildly, "But there is nothing, is there, to point to
Colonel Bantry's being involved in this?"
"Oh, dear vicar, you are so unworldly!
But I must tell you a little story. Last
Thursday--or was it the Thursday before—well, it doesn't matter—I 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 didn't want to talk." The vicar nodded
his head with complete comprehension and
possible sympathy.
"At Paddington I said good-by. He had
offered to get me a taxi, but I was taking
the bus down to Oxford Street; but he got
into one, and I distinctly heard him tell
the driver to go to—Where do you think?"
Mr. Clement looked inquiring.
"An address in St. John's Wood!" Mrs.
Price Ridley paused triumphantly. The
vicar remained completely unenlightened.
"That, I consider, proves it," said Mrs.
Price Ridley.
At Gossington, Mrs. Bantry and Miss
Marple were sitting in the drawing room.
"You know," said Mrs. Bantry, "I can't
help feeling glad they've taken the body
away. It's not nice to have a body in one's
house."
Miss Marple nodded. "I know, dear. I
know just how you feel."
"You can't," said Mrs. Bantry. "Not
until you've had one. I know you had one
next door once, but that's not the same
thing. I only hope," she went on, "that
Arthur won't take a dislike to the library.
We sit there so much. What are you doing, Jane?" For Miss Marple, with a glance
at her watch, was rising to her feet.
"Well, I was thinking I'd go home, if
there's nothing more I can do for you."
"Don't go yet," said Mrs. Bantry. "The
fingerprint men and the photographers and
most of the police have gone, I know, but
I still feel something might happen. You
don't want to miss anything."
The telephone rang and she went off to
answer. She returned with a beaming face.
"I told you more things would happen.
That was Colonel Melchett. He's bringing
the poor girl's cousin along."
"I wonder why?" said Miss Marple.
"Oh, I suppose to see where it happened, and all that."
"More than that, I expect," said Miss
Marple.
"What do you mean, Jane?"
"Well, I think, perhaps, he might want
her to meet Colonel Bantry."
Mrs. Bantrv said sharply, "To see if she
recognizes him? I suppose--oh, yes, I suppose
they're bound to suspect Arthur."
"I'm afraid so."
"As though Arthur could have anything
to do with it!"
Miss Marple was silent. Mrs. Bantry
turned on her accusingly. "And don't tell
me about some frightful old man who kept
his housemaid. Arthur isn't like that."
"No, no, of course not."
"No, but he really isn't. He's just, sometimes, a little bit silly about pretty girls
who come to tennis. You know, rather
fatuous and avuncular. There's no harm in
it. And why shouldn't he? After all," finished
Mrs. Bantry rather obscurely, "I've
got the garden."
Miss Marple smiled. "You must not
worry. Dolly," she said.
"No, I don't mean to. But all the same
I do, a little. So does Arthur. It's upset
him. All these policemen looking about.
He's gone down to the farm. Looking at
pigs and things always soothes him if he's
been upset. . . . Hullo, there they are."
The chief constable's car drew up outside.
Colonel Melchett came in, accompanied
by a smartly dressed young woman.
"This is Miss Turner, Mrs. Bantry. The
cousin of the--er--victim."
"How do you do," said Mrs. Bantry, advancing with outstretched hand. "All this
must be rather awful for you."
Josephine Turner said frankly, "Oh, it
is. None of it seems real, somehow. It's
like a bad dream."
Mrs. Bantry introduced Miss Marple.
Melchett said casually, "Your good man
about?"
"He had to go down to one of the
farms. He'll be back soon."
"Oh." Melchett seemed rather at a loss.
Mrs. Bantry said to Josie, "Would you
like to see where--where it happened? Or
would you rather not?"
Josephine said, after a moment's pause, "I think I'd like to see."
Mrs. Bantry led her to the library, with
Miss Marple and Melchett following behind.
"She was there," said Mrs. Bantry, pointing dramatically. "On the hearthrug."
"Oh!" Josie shuddered. But she also
looked perplexed. She said, her brow
creased, "I just can't understand it! I
can't!"
"Well, we certainly can't," said Mrs.
Rantrv.
Josie said slowly, "It isn't the sort of
place--" and broke off.
Miss Marple nodded her head gently in
agreement with the unfinished sentiment.
"That," she murmured, "is what makes it
so very interesting."
"Come now. Miss Marple," said Colonel
Melchett good-humoredly, "haven't you
got an explanation?"
"Oh, yes, I've got an explanation," said
Miss Marple. "Quite a feasible one. But of
course it's only my own idea. Tommy
Bond," she continued, "and Mrs. Martin, our new schoolmistress. She went to wind
up the clock and a frog jumped out."
Josephine Turner looked puzzled. As
they all went out of the room she murmured
to Mrs. Bantry, "Is the old lady a
bit funny in the head?"
"Not at all," said Mrs. Bantry indignantly.

Josie said, "Sorry. I thought perhaps
she thought she was a frog or something."
Colonel Bantry was just coming in
through the side door. Melchett hailed him
and watched Josephine Turner as he introduced
them. 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. Bantry's
questions, Josie was pouring out the story
of Ruby Keene's disappearance. "Frightfully
worrying for you, my dear," said
Mrs. Bantry.
"I was more angry than worried," said
Josie. "You see, I didn't know then."
"And yet," said Miss Marple, "you went
to the police. Wasn't that--excuse me--
rather premature?"
Josie said eagerly, "Oh, but I didn't.
That was Mr. Jefferson."
Mrs. Bantry said, "Jefferson?"
"Yes, he's an invalid."
"Not Conway Jefferson? But I know
him well. He's an old friend of ours. . . .
Arthur, listen. Conway Jefferson, he's staying
at the Majestic, and it was he who
notified the police! Isn't that a coincidence?"

Josephine Turner said, "Mr. Jefferson
was there last summer too."
"Fancy! And we never knew. I haven't
seen him for a long time." She turned to
Josie. "How--how is he nowadays?"
Josie considered. "I think he's wonderful, really--quite wonderful. Considering, I mean. He's always cheerful--always got
"Are the family there with him?"
"Mr. Gaskell, you mean? And young
Mrs. Jefferson? And Peter? Oh, yes."
There was something inhibiting in
Josephine Turner's rather attractive frankness
of manner. When she spoke of the
Jeffersons there was something not quite
natural in her voice. Mrs. Bantry said, "They're both very nice, aren't they? The
young ones, I mean."
Josie said rather uncertainly, "Oh, yes;
yes, they are. I--we--yes, they are really."

"And what," demanded Mrs. Bantry as
she looked through the window at the retreating
car of the chief constable, "did
she mean by that? 'They are really.' Don't
you think, Jane, that there's something--"
Miss Marple fell upon the words eagerly.
"Oh, I do; indeed I do. It's quite
unmistakable! Her manner changed at once
when the Jeffersons were mentioned. She
had seemed quite natural up to then."
"But what do you think it is, Jane?"
"Well, 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 wasn't
anxious about the girl being missing, she
said that she was angry? And she looked
angry--really angry! That strikes me as
interesting, you know. I have a feeling--
perhaps I'm wrong--that that's her main
reaction to the fact of the girl's death.
She didn't care for her, I'm sure. She's
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 is: Why?"
"We'll find out!" said Mrs. Bantry.
"We'll go over to Danemouth and stay at
the Majestic--yes, Jane, you too. I need a
change for my nerves after what has happened
here. A few days at the Majestic--
that's what we need. And you'll meet
Conway Jefferson. He's a dear--a perfect
dear. It's the saddest story imaginable. He
had a son and a 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. Conwav had both legs so badly
injured they had to be amputated. And
he's been wonderful--his courage, his
pluck. He was a very active man, and now
he's a helpless cripple, but he never complains.
His daughter-in-law lives with him;
she was a widow when Frank Jefferson
married her, and she had a son by her first
marriage--Peter Carmody. They both live
with Conway. And Mark Gaskell, Rosamund's husband, is there, too, most
of the time. The whole thing was the most
awful tragedy."
"And now," said Miss Marple, "there's
another tragedy."
Mrs. Bantry said, "Oh yes, yes, but it's
nothing to do with the Jeffersons."
"Isn't it?" said Miss Marple. "It was
Mr. Jefferson who reported to the police."
"So he did. You know, Jane, that is
curious."
Six
Colonel Melchett was facing a much annoyed
hotel manager. With him was Superintendent
Harper, of the Glenshire
police, and the inevitable Inspector Slack--
the latter rather disgruntled at the chief
constable's willful usurpation of the case.
Superintendent Harper was inclined to be
soothing with the almost tearful Mr.
Prestcott, Colonel Melchett tended toward
a blunt brutality. "No good crying over
spilt milk," he said sharply. "The girl's
dead--strangled. You're lucky that she
wasn't 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, exQ<-t1v.
do you know about the girl?"
"I know nothing of her--nothing at all.
Josie brought her here."
"Josie's been here some time?"
"Two years--no, three."
"And you like her?"
"Yes, Josie's a good girl--a nice girl.
Competent. She gets on with people and
smooths over the differences. Bridge, you
know, is a touchy sort of game." Colonel
Melchett nodded feelingly. His wife was a
keen but an extremely bad bridge player.
Mr. Prestcott went on, "Josie was very
good at calming down unpleasantness. She
could handle people well--sort of bright
and firm, if you know what I mean."
Again Melchett nodded. He knew now
what it was that 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.
"I depend upon her," went on Mr.
Prestcott. His manner became aggrieved.
"What does she want to go playing about
on slippery rocks in that damn-fool way
for? We've got a nice beach here. Why
couldn't she bathe from that? Slipping and
falling and breaking her ankle! It wasn't
fair to me! I pay her to dance and play
bridge and keep people happy and amused,
not to go bathing off rocks and breaking
her ankle. Dancers ought to be careful of
their ankles, not take risks. I was very
annoyed about it. It wasn't fair to the
hotel."
Melchett cut the recital short. "And then
she suggested that this girl—her cousin—
come down?"
Prestcott assented grudgingly. "That's
right. It sounded quite a good idea. Mind
you, I wasn't 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. That's the way it
was arranged. I didn't know anything about
the girl."
"But she turned out all right?"
"Oh, yes, there wasn't anything wrong
with her—not to look at, anyway. She was
very young, of course; rather cheap in
style, perhaps, for a place of this kind, but
nice manners—quiet and well-behaved.
Danced well. People liked her."
"Pretty?"
It had been a question hard to answer
from a view of the blue, swollen face. Mr.
Prestcott considered. "Fair to middling.
r»:^ w^oc^ixr if vrm know what I mean.
Wouldn't have been much without makeup.
As it was, she managed to look quite
attractive."
"Many young men hanging about after
her?"
"I know what you're trying to get at, sir." Mr. Prestcott became excited. "I
never saw anything! Nothing special. One
or two of the boys hung around a bit, but
all in the day's work, so to speak. Nothing
in the strangling line, I'd say. She got on
well with the older people, too; had a kind
of prattling way with her. Seemed quite a
kid, if you know what I mean. It amused
them."
Superintendent Harper said in a deep, melancholy voice, "Mr. Jefferson, for instance?"

The manager agreed. "Yes, 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. Jefferson's very fond of young people
and very good to them. I don't want to
have any misunderstanding. Mr. Jefferson's
a cripple. He can't get about much--only
where his wheel chair will take him. But
he's always keen on seeing young people
enjoy themselves; watches the tennis and
the bathing, and all that, and gives parties
for young people here. He likes youth, and there's nothing bitter about him, as
there well might be. A very popular gentleman
and, I'd say, a very fine character."

Melchett asked, "And he took an interest
in Ruby Keene?"
"Her talk amused him, I think." "Did his family share his liking for her?"
"They were always very pleasant to her."
Harper said, "And it was he who reported
the fact of her being missing to the
police?"
He contrived to put into the words a
significance and a reproach to which the
manager instantly responded, "Put yourself
in my place, Mr. Harper. I didn't
dream for a minute anything was wrong.
Mr. Jefferson came along to my office, storming and all worked up. The girl
hadn't slept in her room. She hadn't 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 highhanded. He rang up the
police station then and there."
"Without consulting Miss Turner?"
"Josie didn't like it much. I could see
that. She was very annoyed about the whole
thing--annoyed with Ruby, I mean. But
what could she say?"
"I think," said Melchett, "we'd better
see Mr. Jefferson. . . . Eh, Harper?"
Superintendent Harper agreed. Mr. Prestcott
went up with them to Conway
Jefferson's suite. It was on the first floor, overlooking the sea. Melchett said carelessly,
"Does himself pretty well, eh? Rich
man?"
"Very well off indeed, I believe. Nothing's
ever stinted when he comes here.
Best rooms reserved, food usually a la carte, expensive wines--best of everything."
Melchett nodded. Mr. Prestcott tapped
on the outer door and a woman's voice
said, "Come in."
The manager entered, the others behind
him. Mr. Prestcott's manner was apolo- 1 getic as he spoke to the woman who turned
her head, at their entrance, from her seat
by the window. "I am so sorry to disturb
you, Mrs. Jefferson, but these gentlemen
I are from the police. They are very anxious
to have a word with Mr. Jefferson. Er--
Colonel Melchett, Superintendent Harper, Inspector--er--Slack, Mrs. Jefferson!"
A^r^. Jefferson acknowledged the introduction by bending her head.
A plain woman, was Melchett's first imp^e^ssion.
Then, as a slight smile came to
h-er lips and she spoke, he changed his
opinion. She had a singularly charming
axict sympathetic voice, and her eyes--clear
h^a^el eyes--were beautiful. She was quietly
but not unbecomingly dressed and was, h.e judged, about thirty-five years of age. §h^ said, "My father-in-law is asleep. He
i$ riot 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
l^n^w, want to see you. In the meantime, perhaps I can help you? Won't you sit
ckywn?"
Mr. Prestcott, anxious to escape, said to
Colonel Melchett, "Well--er--if that's all
I can do for you--" and thankfully received
permission to depart.
With his closing of the door behind him, th^ 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 suc-eded
in stimulating other people to talk
r"<=»t
and in setting them at their ease. She
struck, now, the right note when she said,
"This 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."
Colonel Melchett said, "It was Mr.
Jefferson, I understand, who reported her
disappearance to the police."
He wanted to see exactly how she would
react to that. There was a flicker—just a
flicker—of—annoyance?—concern?—he
could not say what exactly, but there was
something, and it seemed to him that she
had definitely to brace herself, as though to
an unpleasant task, before going on. She
said, "Yes, 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. Well"—she made a
slight gesture—"he was right and we were
wrong!"
Melchett asked, "Exactly how well did
you know Ruby Keene, Mrs. Jefferson?"
She considered. "It's 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 him; he 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."
Her voice was quite noncommittal.
Melchett thought: She could say more if she
chose. He said, "Will you tell me what you
can of the course of events last night?"
"Certainly, but there is very little that
will be useful, I'm 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-inlaw--he
married Mr. Jefferson's daughter, you
know--who had some important letters to
write, and also for Josie. She was going to
make a fourth with us."
"Did that often happen?"
"Quite frequently. She's a first-class
player, of course, and very nice. My fatherin-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,
' ---I- ,,„ Kni- olt^ rinps
whenever she can, and as"--her eyes
smiled a little--"my father-in-law spends a
lot of money in the hotel, the management
is quite pleased for Josie to favor us."
Melchett asked, "You like Josie?"
"Yes, I do. She's always good-humored
and cheerful, works hard and seems to
enjoy her job. She's shrewd without being
at all intellectual and--well, never pretends
about anything. She's natural and unaffected."

"Please go on, Mrs. Jefferson."
"As 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 Raymond--he's the dance and tennis
professional. She came back to us afterward,
just as Mark joined us. Then she
went off to dance with a young man and
we four started our bridge." She stopped
and made a slight, significant gesture of
helplessness. "And that's 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, but--"
Superintendent Harper interrupted. He
said in his quiet voice, "Why 'naturally,5 Mrs. Jefferson?"
"Well--" She hesitated; looked, Melchett
thought, a little put out. "Josie didn't
want the girl's 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 earlier. I don't
think that was true, by the way; Josie said
it by way of excuse. Raymond went off
and telephoned up to Ruby's room, but
apparently there was no answer, and he
came back in rather a state--temperamental, 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 afterward 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 they'd had a puncture. He
w^ni in hpd worried and this morning he
began to agitate at once." She paused.
"The rest you know."
"Thank you, Mrs. Jefferson. Now I'm
going to ask you if you've any idea who
could have done this thing?"
She said immediately, "No idea whatever.
I'm afraid I can't help you in the
slightest."
He pressed her. "The girl never said
anything? Nothing about jealousy? About
some man she was afraid of? Or intimate
with?"
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. "Nice
woman," said the colonel, as they closed
the door behind them.
"A very nice lady indeed," said Superintendent
Harper.
Seven
George Bartlett was a thin, lanky youth
with a prominent Adam's 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. "I say, it is awful, isn't it? Sort
of thing one reads about in the Sunday
papers, but one doesn't feel it really happens, don't you know?"
"Unfortunately there is no doubt about
it, Mr. Bartlett," said the superintendent.
"No, no, of course not. But it seems so
rum somehow. And miles from here and
everything--in some country house, wasn't
it? Awfully county and all that. Created a
bit of a stir in the neighborhood, what?"
Colonel Melchett took charge. "How well
did you know the dead girl, Mr. Bartlett?"
George Bartlett looked alarmed. "Oh,
n-n-not well at all, s-s-sir. No, hardly, if i-__., ,,,i,^+ t w^cm Danced with her
once or twice, passed the time of day, bit
of tennis--you know!"
"You were, I think, the last person to
see her alive last night?"
"I suppose I was. Doesn't it sound awful?
I mean she was perfectly all right
when I saw her--absolutely."
"What time was that, Mr. Bartlett?"
"Well, you know, I never know about
time. Wasn't very late, if you know what I
mean."
"You danced with her?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact--well, 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 don't know."
"Never mind the time. We can fix that.
Please tell us exactly what happened."
"Well, we danced, don't you know. Not
that I'm much of a dancer."
"How you dance is not really relevant,
Mr. Bartlett."
George Bartlett cast an alarmed eye on
the colonel and stammered, "No--er--
n-n-no, I suppose it isn't. Well, as I say, we danced round and round, and I talked,
but Ruby didn't say very much, and she
yawned a bit. As I say, I don't dance
awfully well, and so girls--well, inclined
to give it a miss, if you know what I mean
too. I know where I get off, so I said 'righty ho,' and that was that."
"What was the last you saw of her?"
"She went off upstairs."
"She said nothing about meeting anyone?
Or going for a drive? Or--or having
a date?" The colonel used the colloquial
expression with a slight effort.
Bartlett shook his head. "Not to me."
He looked rather mournful. "Just gave me
the push."
"What was her manner? Did she seem
anxious, abstracted, anything on her
mind?"
George Bartlett considered. Then he
shook his head. "Seemed a bit bored.
Yawned, as I said. Nothing more."
Colonel Melchett said, "And what did
you do, Mr. Bartlett?"
"Eh?"
"What did you do when Ruby Keene
left you?"
George Bartlett gaped at him. "Let's see
now. What did I do?"
"We're waiting for you to tell us."
"Yes, yes, of course. Jolly difficult, re- wowi^rinCT tbin&s. what? Let me see.
Shouldn't be surprised if I went into the
bar and had a drink."
"Did you go into the bar and have a
drink?"
"That's just it. I did have a drink. Don't
think it was just then. Have an idea I
wandered out, don't you know. Bit of air.
Rather stuffy for September. Very nice
outside. Yes, that's it. I strolled around a
bit, then I came in and had a drink, and
then I strolled back to the ballroom. Wasn't
much doing. Noticed what'ser-name--
Josie--was dancing again. With the tennis
fellow. She'd been on the sick list--twisted
ankle or something."
"That fixes the time of your return at
midnight. Do you intend us to understand
that you spent over an hour walking about
outside?"
"Well, I had a drink, you know. I was--
well, I was thinking of things."
This statement received more incredulity
than any other. Colonel Melchett said
sharply, "What were you thinking about?"
"Oh, I don't know. Things," said Mr.
Bartlett vaguely.
"You have a car, Mr. Bartlett?"
"Oh, yes, I've got a car."
"Where was it--in the hotel garage?"
"No, it was in the courtyard, as a matter
of fact. Thought I might go for a spin,
you see."
"Perhaps you did go for a spin?"
"No, no, I didn't. Swear I didn't."
"You didn't, for instance, take Miss
Keene for a spin?"
"Oh, I say, look here. What are you
getting at? I didn't, I swear I didn't. Really, now."
"Thank you, Mr. Bartlett. I don't think
there is anything more at the present. At
present," 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. "Brainless young ass,"
said Colonel Melchett. "Or isn't he?"
Superintendent Harper shook his head.
"We've got a long way to go," he said.
Eight
Neither the night porter nor the barman
proved helpful. The night porter remembered
ringing up Miss Keene's 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 onto the side terrace. She
could have gone out of that, unseen, easily
enough. It was not locked until the dancing
was over at two o'clock.
The barman remembered Mr. Bartlett
being in the bar the preceding evening, but could not saw 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 in there. There
were a lot of outside guests coming and
going in the bar. He had noticed Mr.
Bartlett, but he couldn't fix the time in
any way.
As they left the bar they were accosted
by a small boy about nine years old. He
burst immediately into excited speech. "I
say, are you the detectives? I'm Peter
Carmody. It was my grandfather, Mr.
Jefferson, who rang up the police about
Ruby. Are you from Scotland Yard? You
don't mind my speaking to you, do you?"
Colonel Melchett looked as though he
were about to return a short answer, but
Superintendent Harper intervened. He
spoke benignly and heartily. "That's all
right, my son. Naturally interests you, I
expect?"
"You bet it does. Do you like detective
stories? I do. I read them all and I've got
autographs from Dorothy Sayers and
Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr and H.
C. Bailey. Will the murder be in the pa"It'll be in the papers all right," said
Superintendent Harper grimly.
"You see, I'm going back to school next
week and I shall tell them all that I knew
her--really knew her well."
"What did you think of her, eh?"
Peter considered. "Well, I didn't like
her very much. I think she was rather a
stupid sort of girl. Mum and Uncle Mark
didn't like her much, either. Only grandfather.
Grandfather wants to see you, by
the way. Edwards is looking for you."
Superintendent Harper murmured encouragingly.
"So your mother and your
Uncle Mark didn't like Ruby Keene much?
Why was that?"
"Oh, I don't know. She was always butting
in. And they didn't like grandfather
making such a fuss of her. I expect," said
Peter cheerfully, "that they're glad she's
dead."
Superintendent Harper looked at him
thoughtfully. He said, "Did you hear
them--er--say so?"
"Well, not exactly. Uncle Mark said,
'Well, it's one way out anyway,' and mum
said, 'Yes, but such a horrible one,' and
Uncle Mark said it was no good being
hypocritical."
The men exchanged glances. At that moment
a clean-shaven man neatly dressed in
blue serge came up to them. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I am Mr. Jefferson's valet. He
is awake now and sent me to find you, as
he is very anxious to see you."
Once more they went up to Conway
Jefferson's suite. In the sitting room Adelaide
Jefferson was talking to a tall, restless
man who was prowling nervously about
the room. He swung around sharply to
view the newcomers. "Oh, yes. Glad you've
come. My father-in-law's been asking for
you. He's awake now. Keep him as calm
as you can, won't you? His health's not
too good. It's a wonder, really, that this
shock didn't do for him."
Harper said, "I'd no idea his health was
as bad as that."
"He doesn't know it himself," said Mark
Gaskell. "It's his heart, you see. The doctor
warned Addie that he mustn't be overexcited
or startled. He more or less hinted
that the end might come any time, didn't
he, Addie?"
Mrs. Jefferson nodded. She said, "It's
incredible that he's rallied the way he has."
Melchett said dryly, "Murder isn't ex- --<-i,» „ o/^i-kit-KT inmdpnt We'll be as careful as we can." He was sizing up Mark
Gaskell as he spoke. He didn't much care
for the fellow. A bold, unscrupulous, hawklike face. One of those men who usually
get their own way and whom women
frequently admire. But not the sort of fellow Pd trust, the colonel thought to himself.
Unscrupulous--that was the word for him.
The sort of fellow who wouldn't stick at
anything.
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 sun-tanned, 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, "I'm glad
you've come." His quick eyes took them
in. He said to Melchett, "You're the chief
constable of Radfordshire? Right. And
you're Superintendent Harper? Sit down.
Cigarettes on the table beside you."
They thanked him and sat down.
Melchett said, "I understand, Mr. Jefferson,
that you were interested in the dead
girl?"
A quick, twisted smile flashed across
the lined face. "Yes, they'll all have told
you that! Well, it's no secret. How much
has my family said to you?" He looked
quickly from one to the other as he asked
the question.
It was Melchett who answered. "Mrs.
Jefferson told us very little beyond the fact
that the girl's chatter amused you and that
she was by way of being a protegee. We
,have only exchanged half a dozen words
with Mr. Gaskell."
Conway Jefferson smiled. "Addie's a discreet
creature, bless her. Mark would
probably have been more outspoken. I
think, Melchett, that I'd better tell you
some facts rather fully. It's necessary, in
order that you should understand my attitude.
And to begin with, it's necessary --i--,<- t ^^ ^o^ir tr» tl-i^ T-ncr traeedv of my
life. Eight years ago I lost my wife, my
son and my daughter in an aeroplane accident.
Since then I've been like a man
who's lost half himself--and I'm not speaking
of my physical plight. I was a family
man. My daughter-in-law and my sonin-law
have been very good to me. They've
done all they can to take the place of my
flesh and blood. But I've realized--especially
of late--that they have, after all, their own lives to live. So you must understand
that, essentially, I'm a lonely man. I
like young people. I enjoy them. Once or
twice I've played with the idea of adopting
some girl or boy. During this last month I
got very friendly with the child who's been
killed. She was absolutely natural--completely
na'ive. She chattered on about her
life and her experiences--in pantomime, with touring companies, with mum and
dad as a child in cheap lodgings. Such a
different life from any I've 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
nor--abominable word--ladylike. I got
more and more fond of Ruby. I decided, gentlemen, to adopt her legally. She would
become, by law, my daughter. That, I
hope, explains my concern for her and the
steps I took when I heard of her unaccountable
disappearance.''
There was a pause. Then Superintendent
Harper, his unemotional voice robbing
the question of any offense, asked, "May I ask what your son-in-law and daughter-in-law
said to that?"
Jefferson's answer came back very quickly.
"What could they say? They didn't,
perhaps, like it very much. It's the sort of
thing that arouses prejudice. But they behaved
very well--yes, very well. It's 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. Don't let your
children wait until you're dead. They want
the money when they're young, not when
they're 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."
"I see, Mr. Jefferson," said Superintendent
Harper.
12 n+ i-k^f^ wac a pertain reserve in his
tone. Conway Jefferson pounced upon it.
"But you don't agree, eh?"
"It's not for me to say, sir, but families, in my experience, don't always act reasonable."

"I dare say you're right, superintendent,
but you must remember that Mr. Gaskell
and Mrs. Jefferson aren't, strictly speaking,
my family. They're not blood relations."

"That, of course, makes a difference,"
admitted the superintendent.
For a moment Conway Jefferson's eyes
twinkled. He said, "That's not to say that
they didn't think me an old fool! That
would be the average person's reaction.
But I wasn't being a fool! I know character.
With education and polishing. Ruby
Keene could have taken her place anywhere."

Melchett said, "I'm afraid we're being
rather impertinent and inquisitive, but it's
important that we should get at all the
facts. You proposed to make full provision
for the girl--that is, settle money upon
her--but you hadn't already done so?"
Jefferson said, "I understand what you're
driving at--the possibility of someone's
benefiting by the girl's death. But nobody
could. The necessary formalities for legal
adoption were under way, but they hadn't
yet been completed."
Melchett said slowly, "Then, if anything
happened to you?" He left the sentence
unfinished, as a query.
Conway Jefferson was quick to respond, "Nothing's likely to happen to me! I'm a
cripple, but I'm not an invalid. Although
doctors do like to pull long faces and give
advice about not overdoing things. Not
overdoing things! I'm as strong as a horse!
Still, I'm quite aware of the fatalities of
life. I've good reason to be! Sudden death
comes to the strongest man--especially in
these days of road casualties. But I'd provided
for that. I made a new will about
ten days ago."
"Yes?" Superintendent Harper leaned
forward.
"I 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."
Superintendent Harper's eyes opened. So
did Colonel Melchett's. Harper said in an
almost awed voice, "That's a very large
sum of money, Mr. Jefferson."
"Tn tl-i^sp davs vps, it is; "
"And you were leaving it to a girl you
had only known a few weeks?"
Anger flashed into the vivid blue eyes. "Must I go on repeating the same thing
over and over again? I've no flesh and
blood of my own--no nieces or nephews
or distant cousins, even! I might have left
it to charity. I prefer to leave it to an
individual." He laughed. "Cinderella
turned into a princess overnight! A fairy
godfather instead of a fairy godmother.
Why not? It's my money. I made it."
Colonel Melchett asked, "Any other bequests?"

"A small legacy to Edwards, my valet, and the remainder to Mark and Addie in
equal shares."
"Would--excuse me--the residue
amount to a large sum?"
"Probably not. It's 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."
"I see."
"And you needn't 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
after--after the tragedy I 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 hard; it
helped me not to think, and it made me
feel that my--my mutilation had not vanquished
me. I threw myself into work"--
his voice took on a deeper note; he spoke
more to himself than to his audience--
"and by some subtle irony, everything I
did prospered! My wildest speculations
succeeded. If I gambled, I won. Everything
I touched turned to gold. Fate's
ironic way of righting the balance, I suppose."

The lines of suffering stood out on his
face again. Recollecting himself, he smiled
wryly at them.
"So, you see, the sum of money I left
Ruby was indisputably mine, to do with as
my fancy dictated."
Melchett said quickly, "Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. We are not questioning
that for a moment."
Conway Jefferson said, "Good. Now I
want to ask some questions in my turn, if
I may. I want to hear more about this
terrible business. All I know is that she--
that little Ruby was found strangled in a
house some twenty miles from here."
"That is correct. At Gossington Hall."
Jefferson frowned. "Gossington? But
that's--'
"Colonel Bantry's house."
"Bantry! Arthur Bantry? But I know
him. Know him and his wife! Met them
abroad some years ago. I didn't realize
they lived in this part of the world. Why, it's--" He broke off.
Superintendent Harper slipped in smoothly, "Colonel Bantry was dining in the hotel
here Tuesday of last week. You didn't
see him?"
"Tuesday? Tuesday? No, we were back
late. Went over to Harden Head and had
dinner on the way back."
Melchett said, "Ruby Keene never mentioned
the Bantrys to you?"
Jefferson shook his head. "Never. Don't
believe she knew them. Sure she didn't.
She didn't know anybody but theatrical
folk and that sort of thing." He paused,
and then asked abruptly, "What's Bantry
got to say about it?"
"He can't account for it in the least. He was out at a Conservative meeting last
night. The body was discovered this morning.
He says he's never seen the girl in his
life."
Jefferson nodded. He said, "It certainly
seems fantastic."
Superintendent Harper cleared his
throat. He said, "Have you any idea at all, sir, who can have done this?"
"Good God, I wish I had!" The veins
stood out on his forehead. "It's incredible, unimaginable! I'd say it couldn't have happened, if it hadn't happened!"
"There's no friend of hers from her past
life, no man hanging about or threatening
her?"
"I'm sure there isn't. She'd have told
me if so. She's never had a regular boy
friend. She told me so herself." Superintendent
Harper thought. Yes, I dare say
that's what she told you. But thafs as may
be. Conway Jefferson went on, "Josie
would know better than anyone if there
had been some man hanging about Ruby
or pestering her. Can't she help?"
"She says not."
Jefferson said, frowning, "I can't help
feeling it must be the work of some maniac--the
brutality of the method, breaking into a country house, the whole thing
so unconnected and senseless. There are
men of that type, men outwardly sane, but
who decoy girls, sometimes children, away
and kill them."
Harper said, "Oh, yes, there are such
cases, but we've no knowledge of anyone
of that kind operating in this neighborhood."

Jefferson went on, "I've thought over all
the various men I've seen with Ruby.
Guests here and outsiders--men she'd
danced with. They all seem harmless
enough--the usual type. She had no special
friend of any kind."
Superintendent Harper's 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, "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. That's all we need for the present."
Jefferson said, "You'll keep me informed
of your progress?"
"Yes, yes, we'll keep in touch with you."
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, "Edwards?"
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.
"Yes, sir?"
Jefferson said, "Get on to Sir Henry
dithering. He's at Melbourne Abbas. Ask
him, from me, to get here today if he can, instead of tomorrow. Tell him it's very
urgent."
Nine
When they were outside Jefferson's door,
Superintendent Harper said, "Well, for
what it's worth, we've got a motive, sir.'5
"H'm," said Melchett. "Fifty thousand
pounds, eh?"
"Yes, sir. Murder's been done for a
good deal less than that."
"Yes, but--"
Colonel Melchett left the sentence unfinished.
Harper, however, understood
him. "You don't think it's likely in his
case? Well, I don't either, as far as that goes.
But it's got to be gone into, all the same."
"Oh, of course."
Harper went on, "If, as Mr. Jefferson
says, Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson are
already well provided for and in receipt of
a comfortable income, well, it's not likely
they'd set out to do a brutal murder."
"Quite so. Their financial standing will
have to be investigated, of course. Can't
say I like the appearance of Gaskell much—
looks a sharp, unscrupulous sort of fellow—but
that's a long way from making
him out a murderer."
"Oh, yes, sir, as I say, I don't think it's
likely to be either of them, and from what
Josie said I don't see how it would have
been humanly possible. They were both
playing bridge from twenty minutes to
eleven until midnight. No, to my mind,
there's another possibility much more
likely."
Melchett said, "Boy friend of Ruby
Keene's?"
"That's it, sir. Some disgruntled young
fellow, not too strong in the head perhaps.
Someone, I'd 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."
"And how did she come to be in Bantry's
library?"
"I think that's feasible. They were out,
say, in his car at the time. He came to
himself, realized what he'd 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 she's found there the hue and
cry will center round the house and its
occupants and will leave him comfortably
out of it. She's a little bit of a thing. He
could easily carry her. He's got a chisel in
the car. He forces a window and plops her
down on the hearthrug. Being a strangling
case, there's no blood or mess to give him
away in the car. See what I mean, sir?"
"Oh, yes, Harper, it's all perfectly possible.
But there's still one thing to be
done. Cherchez Fhomme."
"What? Oh, very good, sir." Superintendent
Harper tactfully applauded Melchett's
joke, although, owing to the
excellence of the colonel's French accent, he almost missed the sense of the words.
"Oh--er--I say--er--c-c-could I speak to
you a minute?" It was George Bartlett who
thus waylaid the two men.
Colonel Melchett, who was not attracted
to Mr. Bartlett, and who was eager to see
how Slack had got on with the investiga-
tion of the girl's room and the questioning
of the chambermaids, barked sharply, "Well, what is it--what is it?"
Young Mr. Bartlett retreated a step or
two, opening and shutting his mouth and
giving an unconscious imitation of a fish in
a tank. "Well--er--probably isn't important, don't you know. Thought I ought to
tell you. Matter of fact, can't find my
car."
"What do you mean, can't find your
car?" Stammering a good deal, Mr. Bartlett
explained that what he meant was that he
couldn't find his car.
Superintendent Harper said, "Do you
mean it's been stolen?"
George Bartlett turned gratefully to the
more placid voice. "Well, that's just it, you know. I mean, one can't tell, can one?
I mean someone may just have buzzed off
in it, not meaning any harm, if you know
what I mean."
"When did you last see it, Mr. Bartlett?"
"Well, I was tryin' to remember. Funny
how difficult it is to remember anything, isn't it?"
Colonel Melchett said coldly, "Not, I
-T-^,,1^ <-l-»^»,1y -t-^, n r»r»rmg1 intpl licence. I
understood you to say that it was in the
courtyard of the hotel last night."
Mr. Bartlett was bold enough to interrupt.
He said, "That's just it--was it?"
"What do you mean by 'was it5? You
said it was."
"Well, I mean I thought it was. I mean--
well, I didn't go out and look, don't you
see?"
Colonel Melchett sighed. He summoned
all his patience. He said, "Let's get this
quite clear. When was the last time you
saw--actually saw--your car? What make
is it, by the way?"
"Minoan Fourteen."
"And you last saw it when?"
George Bartlett's Adam's apple jerked convulsively up and down. "Been 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 bath afterward."

"And the car was then in the courtyard
of the hotel?"
"Suppose so. I mean, that's where I'd
put it. Thought, you see, I'd take someone
for a spin. After dinner, I mean. But it
FR1;wasn't my lucky evening. Nothing doing.
Never took the old bus out after all."
Harper said, "But as far as you knew, the car was still in the courtyard?"
"Well, naturally. I mean, I'd put it there, what?"
"Would you have noticed if it had not
been there?"
Mr. Bartlett shook his head. "Don't
think so, you know. Lots of cars going
and coming and all that. Plenty of
Minoans."
Superintendent Harper nodded. He had
just cast a casual glance out of the window.
There were at that moment no fewer
than eight Minoan 14's in the courtyard--
it was the popular cheap car of the year.
"Aren't you in the habit of putting your
car away at night?" asked Colonel
Melchett.
"Don't usually bother," said Mr. Bartlett.
"Fine weather and all that, you know.
Such a fag putting a car away in a garage."

Glancing at Colonel Melchett, Superintendent
Harper said, "I'll join you upstairs, sir. I'll just get hold of Sergeant
Higgins and he can take down particulars
4^/wt Mr Rartlett "
'Right, Harper."
"Dirri^	Uo^^^^ "
Mr. Bartlett murmured wistfully, "Thought I ought to let you know, you
know. Might be important, what?"
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 onto a portion of the cliff that backed
the hotel, and were furnished with the
odds and ends of suites that had once
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 hotel's resident staff, or given
to guests in the height of the season when
all the rest of the hotel was full.
As Melchett and Harper saw at once, the position of Ruby Keene's 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 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. Its surface being
bad, it was seldom used.
Inspector Slack had been busy harrying
chambermaids and examining Ruby's room
for clues. They 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 opened and dusted only
once a week. "That's all to the good, as
far as it goes," Slack explained. "It means
that if there were anything to find, we'd
find it, but there isn't anything."
The Glenshire police had already been
over the room for fingerprints, but there
were none unaccounted for. Ruby's own, Josie's, and the two chambermaids'--one
on the morning and one on the evening
shift. There were also a couple of prints
made by Raymond Starr, but those 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, theater
programs, cinema stubs, newspaper
cuttings, beauty hints torn from magazines.
Of the letters, there were some from Lil, apparently a friend from the Palais de
Danse, recounting various affairs and gossip, saying they "missed Rube a lot. Mr.
Findeison asked after you ever so often!
Quite put out, he is! Young Reg has taken
up with May now you've gone. Barney
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."
Slack had carefully noted all the names
mentioned. Inquiries would be made, and
it was possible some useful information
might come to light. 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
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 legs. This, Slack learned, was her custom. She used
make-up 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
rouse and nail polish in the wastepaper
basket--in fact 5 nothing out of the ordinary.
The facts seemed plain to read. Ruby
had hurried upstairs, changed her clothes, and hurried off again--where?
Josephine Turner, who might be supposed
to know most about Ruby's life and
friends, had proved unable to help. But
this, as Inspector Slack pointed out, might
be natural. "If what you tell me is true, sir--about this adoption business, I mean--
well, 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 Ruby's got a tough
boy friend--that won't go down so well
with the old boy. So it's Ruby's business
to keep that dark. Josie doesn't know much
about the girl, anyway--not about her
friends and all that. But one thing she
wouldn't stand for--Ruby's 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 wouldn't let on to
Josie anything about it; otherwise Josie
would say, 'No, you don't, my girl.5 But
you know what girls are--especially young ones--always 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
her neck."
"I expect you're right, Slack," said Colonel
Melchett, disguising his usual repugnance
for the unpleasant way Slack had of
putting things. "If so, we ought to be able
to discover this tough friend's identity fairly
easily."
"You leave it to me, sir," said Slack
with his usual confidence. "I'll get hold of
this Lil girl at that Palais de Danse place
and turn her right inside out. We'll soon
get at the truth." Colonel Melchett wondered
if they would. Slack's energy and
activity always made him feel tired.
"There's one other person you might be
able to get a tip from, sir," went on Slack.
"And that's the dance-and-tennis-pro fellow.
He must have seen a lot of her, and
he'd know more than Josie would. Likely
enough she'd loosen her tongue a bit to
him."
"I have already discussed that point with
Sunerinr^ndpnt Haroer."
"Good, sir. I've done the chambermaids
pretty thoroughly. They don't 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 o'clock last night, when
she turned down the bed and drew the
curtains and cleared up a bit. There's a
bathroom next door, if you'd like to see
it."
The bathroom was situated between
Ruby's room and the slightly larger room
occupied by Josie. It was unilluminating.
Colonel Melchett silently marveled 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 brightening 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 lotions--astringent, tonic, soothing, and so on. "Do you mean to
say," he murmured feebly, "that women
use all these things?"
Inspector Slack, who always knew ev-
erything, kindly enlightened him. "In 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 it's 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."
"Good Lord," said the colonel. "No
wonder the people who turn out these
creams and messes make a fortune."
"Easy money, that's what it is," said
Slack. "Easy money. Got to spend a bit in
advertisement, of course."
Colonel Melchett jerked his mind away
from the fascinating and age-long problem
of woman's adornments. He said, "There's
still this dancing fellow. Your pigeon, superintendent."

"I suppose so, sir."
As they went downstairs Harper asked, "What did you think of Mr. Bartlett's
story, sir?"
"About his car? I think. Harper, that
thai vrmn? man wants watching. It's a
fishy story. Supposing that he did take
Ruby Keene out in that car last night,
after all?"
Ten
Superintendent Harper's 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
Harper's 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.
"I'm afraid I can't help you much, superintendent. I knew Ruby quite well, of
course. She'd been here over a month and
we had practiced our dances together, and
all that. But there's really very little to
say. She was quite a pleasant and rather
stupid girl."
"It's her friendships we're particularly
anxious to know about. Her friendships
with men."
"So I suppose. Well, I don't know anything.
She'd got a few young men in tow
in the hotel, but nothing special. You see, she was nearly always monopolized by the
Jefferson family."
"Yes, the Jefferson family." Harper
paused meditatively. He shot a shrewd
glance at the young man. "What did you
think of that business, Mr. Starr?"
Raymond Starr said coolly, "What business?"

Harper said, "Did you know that Mr.
Jefferson was proposing to adopt Ruby
Keene legally?"
This appeared to be news to Starr. He
pursed up his lips and whistled. He said, "The clever little devil! Oh, well, there's
no fool like an old fool."
"Well, what else can one say? If the old
boy wanted to adopt someone 5 why didn't
he pick upon a girl of his own class?"
"Ruby never mentioned the matter to
you?"
"No, she didn't. I knew she was elated
about something, but I didn't know what
it was."
"And Josie?"
"Oh, I think Josie must have known
what was in the wind. Probably she was
the one who planned the whole thing. Josie's
no fool. She's got a head on her, that
girl."
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, "Could Ruby keep a secret, do you think?"
"As well as most. She didn't talk about
her own affairs much."
"Did she ever say anything--anything at
all--about some friend of hers--someone
from her former life--who was coming to see her here or whom she had had diffi-
culty with? You know the sort of thing I
mean, no doubt."
"I know perfectly. Well, as far as I'm
aware, there was no one of the kind. Not
by anything she ever said."
"Thank you. Now will you just tell me
in your own words exactly what happened
last night?"
"Certainly. Ruby and I did our tenthirty
dance together."
"No signs of anything unusual about
her then?"
Raymond considered. "I don't think so.
I didn't notice what happened afterward. I
had my own partners to look after. I do
remember noticing she was not in the ballroom.
At midnight she hadn't turned up. I
was very annoyed and went to Josie about
it. Josie was playing bridge with the
Jeffersons. She hadn't 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 Ruby's room.
There wasn't 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 we'd go up together."
"Yes, Mr. Starr. And what did she say
when she was alone with you?"
"As far as I can remember, she looked
very angry and said, 'Damned little fool.
She can't do this sort of thing. It will ruin
all her chances. Who's she with? Do you
know?'
"I said that I hadn't the least idea. The
last I'd seen of her was dancing with young
Bartlett. Josie said, 'She wouldn't be with
him. What can she be up to? She isn't
with that film man, is she?'"
Harper said sharply, "Film man? Who
was he?"
Raymond said, "I don't know his name.
He's never stayed here. Rather an unusuallooking
chap--black hair and theatricallooking.
He has something to do with the
film industry, I believe--or so he told
Ruby. He came over to dine here once or
twice and danced with Ruby afterward, but I don't think she knew him at all well.
That's why I was surprised when Josie
mentioned him. I said I didn't think he'd
been here tonight. Josie said, 'Well, she
must be out with someone. What on earth
am T (yninff to saw to the Teffersons?' I said
what did it matter to the Jeffersons? And
Josie said it did matter. And she said, too, that she'd never forgive Ruby if she went
and messed things up.
"We'd got to Ruby's room by then. She
wasn't there, of course, but she'd been
there, because the dress she had been wearing
was lying across a chair. Josie looked
in the wardrobe and said she thought she'd
put on her old white dress. Normally she'd
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 she'd dance herself, so that old
Prestcott shouldn't get after us all. She
went away and changed her dress, and we
went down and did a tango--exaggerated
style and quite showy, but not really too
exhausting upon the ankles. Josie was very
plucky about it, for 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."
Superintendent Harper nodded. He said,
"Thank you, Mr. Starr." To himself he
thought. It was important all right. Fifty
thousand pounds. 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
racket on the way. Mrs. Jefferson, also
carrying a racket, joined him, and they
went toward the tennis courts.
"Excuse me, sir," Sergeant Higgins, rather breathless, was standing at Superintendent
Harper's side. The superintendent,
jerked from the train of thought he was
following, looked startled. "Message just
come through for you from headquarters, sir. Laborer reported this morning saw
glare as of fire. Half an hour ago they
found a burnt-out car near a quarry--
Venn's Quarry--about two miles from
here. Traces of a charred body inside."
A flush came over Harper's heavy features.
He said, "What's come to Glenshire?
An epidemic of violence?" He asked, "Could they get the number of the car?"
"No, sir. But we'll be able to identify it, of course, by the engine number. A Minoan
Fourteen, they think it is."
Eleven
Sir Henry dithering, 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 friend's 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, "Glad you've come. . . .
Edwards, get Sir Henry a drink. ... Sit
down, man. You've not heard anything, I
suppose? Nothing in the papers yet?"
Sir Henry shook his head, his curiosity
aroused. "What's the matter?"
"Murder's the matter. I'm concerned in
it, and so are your friends, the Bantrys."
"Arthur and Dolly Bantry?" dithering
sounded incredulous.
"Yes; you see, the body was found in
their house."
Clearly and succinctly, Conway Jefferson
ran through the facts. Sir Henry listened
without interrupting. Both men were accustomed
to grasping the gist of the matter.
Sir Henry, during his term as commissioner
of the Metropolitan Police, had
been renowned for his quick grip on
essentials. "It's an extraordinary business,"
he commented when the other had finished.
"How do the Bantrys come into it, do you think?"
"That's 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. That's the only connection
I can find. Neither of them, I
gather, ever saw the girl before. That's
what they say, and there's no reason to
disbelieve them. It's most unlikely they
should know her. Then isn't it possible
that she was decoyed away and her body
deliberately left in the house of friends of
Tffltt^'?55
dithering said, "I think that's farfetched."

"It's possible, though," persisted the
other.
"Yes, but unlikely. What do you want
me to do?"
Conway Jefferson said bitterly, "I'm an
invalid. I disguise the fact--refuse to face
it--but now it comes home to me. I can't
go about as I'd like to, asking questions, looking into things. I've 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?"
"Yes, I've met him." Something stirred
in Sir Henry's 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, "Do you mean you want me to be a kind
of amateur sleuth? That's not my line."
Jefferson said, "You're not an amateur, that's just it."
"I'm not a professional any more. I'm
on the retired list now."
Jefferson said, "That simplifies matters."
"You mean that if I were still at Scotland
Yard I couldn't butt in? That's perfectly
true."
"As it is," said Jefferson, "your experience
qualifies you to take an interest in the
case, and any co-operation you offer will
be welcomed."
dithering said slowly, "Etiquette permits, I agree. But what do you really want, Conway? To find out who killed this girl?"
"Just that."
"You've no idea yourself?"
"None whatever."
Sir Henry said slowly, "You probably
won't believe me, but you've got an expert
at solving mysteries sitting downstairs in
the lounge at this minute. Someone who's
better than I am at it, and who, in all
probability, may have some local dope."
"What are you talking about?"
"Downstairs 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
day's work. Her name's Miss Marple. She
comes from the village of St. Mary Mead, which is a mile and a half from Goscirxrtnnshp's
a friend of the Bantrys and,
where crime is concerned, she's the goods, Conway."
Jefferson stared at him with thick puckered
brows. He said heavily, "You're joking."

"No, I'm 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 wasn't suicide
but murder. They thought they knew who
did it. Along to me comes old Miss Marple, fluttering and dithering. She's afraid, she
says, they'll hang the wrong person. She's
got no evidence, but she knows who did
do it. Hands me a piece of paper with a
name written on it. And, Jefferson, she was
right!"
Conway Jefferson's brows came down
lower than ever. He grunted disbelievingly.
"Woman's intuition, I suppose," he said
skeptically.
"No, she doesn't call it that. Specialized
knowledge is her claim."
"And what does that mean?"
"Well, you know, Jefferson, we use it in
police work. We get a burglary and we
usually know pretty well who did it--of
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."
Jefferson said skeptically, "What is she
likely to know about a girl who's been
brought up in a theatrical milieu and probably
never been in a village in her life?"
"I think," said Sir Henry dithering
firmly, "that she might have ideas."
Miss Marple flushed with pleasure as Sir Henry bore down upon her. "Oh, Sir
Henry, this is indeed a great piece of luck,
meeting you here."
Sir Henry was gallant. He said, "To
me, it is a great pleasure."
Miss Marple murmured, flushing, "So
kind of you."
"Are you staying here?"
"Well, as a matter of fact we are."
"We?"
"Mrs. Bantry's here too." She looked at
him sharply. "Have you heard yet--Yes, I
can see you have. It is terrible, is it not?"
"What's Dolly Bantry doing here? Is
her husband here too?"
"No. Naturally, they both reacted quite
rliff^r^ntiv Colonel Rantrv. noor 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."
"Dolly, in fact," said Sir Henry, who
knew his old friend fairly well, "is almost
enjoying herself, eh?"
"Well--er--yes. Poor dear."
"And she's brought you along to produce
the rabbits out of the hat for her?"
Miss Marple said composedly, "Dolly
thought that a change of scene would be a
good thing and she didn't want to come
alone." She met his eye and her own gently
twinkled. "But of course your way of
describing it is quite true. It's rather embarrassing
for me, because, of course, I
am no use at all."
"No ideas? No village parallels?"
"I don't know much about it all yet."
"I can remedy that, I think. I'm going
to call you into consultation. Miss Marple."
He gave a brief recital of the course of
events. Miss Marple listened with keen
interest. "Poor Mr. Jefferson," she said.
"What a very sad story. These terrible
accidents. To leave him alive, crippled,
seems more cruel than if he had been
killed too."
"Yes, indeed. That's why all his friends
admire him so much for the resolute way
he's gone on, conquering pain and grief
and physical disabilities."
"Yes, it is splendid."
"The only thing I can't understand is
this sudden outpouring of affection for this
girl. She may, of course, have had some
remarkable qualities."
"Probably not," said Miss Marple placidly.

"You don't think so?"
"I don't think her qualities entered into
it."
Sir Henry said, "He isn't just a nasty
old man, you know."
"Oh, no, no!" Miss Marple got quite
pink. "I wasn't implying that for a minute.
What I was trying to say was--very badly, I know--that he was just looking for a
nice bright girl to take his dead daughter's
place, and 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 maidservant at Mr.
T-Tarhnttle's. 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 dumfounded
by saying that he thought she had kept
house for him long enough and that he
was making other arrangements.
"Such 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 kind. It 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."

There was a moment's pause and then
Miss Marple resumed, "And there was Mr.
Badger, who had the chemist's shop. Made
a lot of fuss over the young lady who
worked in his cosmetics section. Told his
wife they must look on her as a daughter
and have her to live in the house. Mrs.
Badger didn't see it that way at all."
Sir Henry said, "If she'd only been a
girl in his own rank of life--a friend's
child--"
Miss Marple interrupted him. "Oh, but
that wouldn't have been nearly as satisfactory
from his point of view. It's like King
Cophetua and the beggar maid. If you're
really rather a lonely tired old man, and if, perhaps, your own family have been neglecting
you"--she paused for a second--
"well, to befriend someone who will be
overwhelmed with your magnificence--to
put it rather melodramatically, but I hope
you see what I mean--well, that's much
more interesting. It makes you feel a much
greater person--a beneficent monarch! The
recipient is more likely to be dazzled, and
that, of course, is a pleasant feeling for
you." She paused and said, "Mr. Badger, you know, bought the girl in his shop
some really fantastic presents--a diamond
bracelet and a most expensive radiogramophone.
Took out a lot of his savings
to do it. However, Mrs. Badger, who was
a much more astute woman than poor Miss
Harbnttle--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 money--well, he
was completely disgusted and the affair
passed over quite safely. And he gave Mrs.
Badger a diamond ring the following
Christmas.95
Her plea-sant, shrewd eyes met Sir Henry's.
He wondered if what she had been
saying was intended as a hint. He said, "Are you suggesting that if there had been
a young man in Ruby Keene's life, my
friend's attitude towards her might have
altered?"
"It probably would, you know. I dare
say in a year or two he might have liked to
arrange for her marriage himself; though
more likely he wouldn't--gentlemen are
usually rather selfish. But I certainly think
that if Ruby Keene had had a young man
she'd have been careful to keep very quiet
about it."
"And the young man might have resented
that?"
"I 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 you've told
me explains why. No doubt she was looking
forward to doing very well out of the
business."
"Rather a cold-blooded character, in
fact?"
"That's too harsh a judgment, perhaps.
The poor thing has had to earn her living, and you can't expect her to sentimentalize
because a well-to-do man and woman--as
you have described Mr. Gaskell and Mrs.
Jefferson--are 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 hardheaded, ambitious young woman with a
good temper and considerable joie de vivre. A little," added Miss Marple, "like Jessie
Golden, the baker's daughter."
"What happened to her?" asked Sir
Henry.
"She 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."
Sir Henry pulled himself clear of these
fascinatine side issues. He said, "Is there
any reason, do you think, why my friend
Conway Jefferson should suddenly have developed
this 'Cophetua complex,' if you
like to call it that?"
"There might have been."
"In what way?"
Miss Marple said, hesitating a little, "I
should think--it's only a suggestion, of
course--that perhaps his son-in-law and
daughter-in-law might have wanted to get
married again."
"Surely he couldn't have objected to
that?"
"Oh, no, not objected. But, you see, you must look at it from his point of view.
He has a terrible shock and loss; so have
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. It's 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 seances."
"I must say," said Sir Henry ruefully, "that I do dislike the way you reduce us
all to a general common denominator."
Miss Marple shook her head sadly. "Human
nature is very much the same anywhere, Sir Henry."
Sir Henry said distastefully, "Mr.
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?"
"Well, of course, there is Briggs."
"Who's Briggs?"
"He was the head gardner up at Old
Hall. Quite the best man they ever had.
Knew exactly when the under-gardeners
were slacking off--quite 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. He's retired now."
"Like me," said Sir Henry.
"But he still does a little jobbing, if he
likes the people."
"Ah," said Sir Henry. "Again like me.
11A
That's what I'm doing now. Jobbing. To
help an old friend."
"Two old friends."
"Two?" Sir Henry looked a little puzzled.

Miss Marple said, "I suppose you meant
Mr. Jefferson. But I wasn't thinking of
him. I was thinking of Colonel and Mrs.
Bantry."
"Yes, yes, I see." He asked sharply, "Was that why you alluded to Dolly Bantry
as 'poor dear' at the beginning of our
conversation?"
"Yes. She hasn't begun to realize things
yet. I know, because I've had more experience.
You see, Sir Henry, it seems to me
that there's 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 won't
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 made, and
then, little by little, it will dawn upon
i^
him, and he'll retire into his shell and get
terribly morbid and miserable."
"Let 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?"
"Of course they will! I've no doubt
they're saying so already. They'll say so
more and more. And people will coldshoulder
the Bantrys and avoid them.
That's 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 thing and quite easy for a soldier to
meet. He's indignant and he has a chance
of fighting. But this other whispering business
will break him--will break them both.
So, you see. Sir Henry, we've got to find
out the truth."
Sir Henry said, "Any ideas as to why
the body should have been found in his
house? There must be an explanation of
that. Some connection."
"Oh, of course."
"The girl was last seen here about twenty
minutes to eleven. By midnight, according
to the medical evidence, she was dead.
Gossington's about twenty 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 thirtyfive.
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 don't know."
"Of course you don't, because it didn't
happen."
"Do 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 neighborhood?"
"I don't think anything of the kind. I
think there was a very careful plan made.
What happened was that the plan went
wrong."
Sir Henry stared at her. "Why did the
plan go wrong?"
Miss Marple said rather apologetically, "Such curious things happen, don't 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 wouldn't sound sensible,
would it? But that's what I believe and--"
She broke off. "Here's Mrs. Bantry now."
Twelve
Mrs. Bantry was with Adelaide Jefferson.
The former came up to Sir Henry and
exclaimed, "You!"
"I, myself." He took both her hands
and pressed them warmly. "I can't tell you
how distressed I am at all this, Mrs. B."
Mrs. Bantry said mechanically, "Don't
call me Mrs. B!" and went on, "Arthur
isn't here. He's taking it all rather seriously.
Miss Marple and I have come here
to sleuth. Do you know Mrs. Jefferson?"
"Yes, of course."
He shook hands. Adelaide Jefferson said, "Have you seen my father-in-law?"
"Yes, I have."
"I'm glad. We're anxious about him. It
was a terrible shock."
Mrs. Bantry said, "Let's go out on the
terrace and have drinks and talk about it
all." The four of them went out and joined
Mark Gaskell, who was sitting at the extreme 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. "We can talk about it, can't
we?" she said. "I mean we're all old
friends--except Miss Marple, and she
knows all about crime. And she wants to
help."
Mark Gaskell looked at Miss Marple in
a somewhat puzzled fashion. He said
doubtfully, "Do you--er--write detective
stories?" The most unlikely people, he
knew, wrote detective stories. And Miss
Marple, in her old-fashioned spinster's
clothes, looked a singularly unlikely person.

"Oh, no, I'm not clever enough for
that."
"She's wonderful," said Mrs. Bantry impatiently.
"I can't explain now, but she
is. ... Now, Addie, I want to know all
about things. What was she really like, this girl?"
"Well--" Adelaide Jefferson paused, glanced across at Mark and half laughed.
She said, "You're so direct."
"Did you like her?"
"No, of course I didn't."
"What was she really like?" Mrs. Bantry
shifted her inquiry to Mark Gaskell.
Mark said deliberately 5 "Common or
garden gold digger. And she knew her
stuff. She's got her hooks into Jeff all
right." Both of them called their fatherin-law
"Jeff."
Sir Henry thought, looking disapprovingly
at Mark, Indiscreet fellow. Shouldn't
be so outspoken. He had always disapproved
a little of Mark Gaskell. The man had
charm, but he was unreliable--talked too
much, was occasionally boastful--not quite
to be trusted. Sir Henry thought. He had
sometimes wondered if Conway Jefferson
thought so too.
"But couldn't you do something about
it?" demanded Mrs. Bantry.
Mark said dryly, "We might have, if
we'd realized it in time."
He shot a glance at Adelaide and she
colored faintly. There had been reproach
in that glance.
She said, "Mark thinks I ought to have
seen what was coming."
"You left the old boy alone too much,
Addie. Tennis lessons and all the rest of
it."
"Well, I had to have some exercise."
She spoke apologetically. "Anyway, I never
dreamed--"
"No," said Mark, "neither of us ever
dreamed. Jeff has always been such a sensible, levelheaded old boy."
Miss Marple made a contribution- to the
conversation. "Gentlemen," she said with
her old maid's way of referring to the
opposite sex as though it were a species of
wild animal, "are frequently not so levelheaded
as they seem."
"I'll say you're right," said Mark. "Unfortunately, Miss Marple, we didn't 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 I'd wrung her neck."
"Mark," said Addie, "you really must
be careful what you say."
He grinned at her engagingly. "I suppose
I must. Otherwise people will think I
actually did wring her neck. Oh, well, I
suppose I'm under suspicion anyway. If
anyone had an interest in seeing that girl
dead, it was Addie and myself."
"Mark," cried Mrs. Jefferson, half
laughing and half angry, "you really
mustn't!"
"All right, all right," said Mark Gaskell
pacifically. "But 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."
"Mark, you mustn't! She's dead!"
"Yes, she's dead, poor little devil. And
after all, why shouldn't she use the weapons
that Nature gave her? Who am I to
judge? Done plenty of rotten things myself
in my life. No, let's say Ruby was entitled
to plot and scheme, and we were mugs not
to have tumbled to her game sooner."
Sir Henry said, "What did you say when
Conway told you he proposed to adopt the
girl?"
Mark thrust out his hands. "What could
we say? Addie, always the little lady, retained
her self-control admirably. Put a
brave face upon it. I endeavored to follow
her example."
"I should have made a fuss!" said Mrs.
Bantry.
"Well, frankly speaking, we weren't entitled
to make a fuss. It was Jeff's money.
We weren't his flesh and blood. He'd always
been damned good to us. There was
142
nothing for it but to bite on the bullet." He added reflectively, "But we didn't love
little Ruby."
Adelaide Jefferson said, "If only it had
been some other kind of girl. Jeff had two
godchildren, you know. If it had been one
of them--well, one would have understood
it." She added with a shade of resentment,
"And Jeff's always seemed so fond of Peter."
"Of course," said Mrs. Bantry. "I always
have known Peter was your first husband's
child, but I'd quite forgotten it.
I've always thought of him as Mr.
Jefferson's grandson."
"So have I," said Adelaide. Her voice
held a note that made Miss Marple turn in
her chair and look at her.
"It was Josie's fault," said Mark. "Josie
brought her here."
Adelaide said, "Oh, but surely you don't
think it was deliberate, do you? Why, you've always liked Josie so much."
"Yes, I did like her. I thought she was a
good sport."
"It was sheer accident, her bringing the
girl down."
"Josie's got a good head on her shoulders, my girl."
"Yes, but she couldn't foresee--"
Mark said, "No, she couldn't. I admit
it. I'm not really accusing her of planning
the whole thing. But I've no doubt she
saw which way the wind was blowing long
before we did, and kept very quiet about
it."
Adelaide said with a sigh, "I suppose
one can't blame her for that."
Mark said, "Oh, we can't blame anyone
for anything!"
Mrs. Bantry asked, "Was Ruby Keene
very pretty?"
Mark stared at her. "I thought you'd

seen55


Mrs. Bantry said hastily, "Oh, yes, I
saw her--her body. But she'd been strangled,
you know, and one couldn't tell--"
She shivered.
Mark said thoughtfully, "I don't think
she was really pretty at all. She certainly
wouldn't have been without any makeup.
A thin ferrety little face, not much chin, teeth running down her throat, nondescript
sort of nose--"
"It sounds revolting," said Mrs. Bantry.
"Oh, no, she wasn't. As I say, with
make-up she managed to give quite an
effect of good looks. . . . Don't you think
so, Addie?"
"Yes, rather chocolate-box, pink-andwhite
business. She had nice blue eyes."
"Yes, innocent-baby stare, and the heavily
blacked lashes brought out the blueness.
Her hair was bleached, of course.
It's true, when I come to think of it, that
in coloring--artificial coloring, anyway, she
had a kind of spurious resemblance to
Rosamund--my wife, you know. I dare
say that's what attracted the old man's
attention to her." He sighed. "Well, it's a
bad business. The awful thing is that Addie
and I can't help being glad, really, that
she's dead." He quelled a protest from his
sister-in-law, "It's no good, Addie. I know
what you feel. I feel the same. And I'm
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. It's hit him very hard.
I--" He stopped and stared toward the
doors leading out of the lounge onto the
terrace. "Well, well. See who's here. . . .
What an unscrupulous woman you are, Addie."
Mrs. Jefferson looked over her shoulder, uttered an exclamation and got up, a slight
color 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, "Isn't that Hugo
McLean?"
Mark Gaskell said, "Hugo McLean it is.
Alias William Dobbin."
Mrs. Bantry murmured, "He's very
faithful, isn't he?"
"Doglike devotion," said Mark. "Addie's
only got to whistle and Hugo comes
trotting along from any odd corner of the
globe. Always hopes that someday she'll
marry him. I dare say she will."
Miss Marple looked beamingly after
them. She said, "I see. A romance?"
"One of the good old-fashioned kind,"
Mark assured her. "It's been going on for
years. Addie's that kind of woman." He
added meditatively, "I suppose Addie telephoned
him this morning. She didn't tell
me she had."
Edwards came discreetly along the terrace
and paused at Mark's elbow. "Excuse
me, sir. Mr. Jefferson would like you to
come up."
"T'H come at once." Mark sprang up.
He nodded to them, said, "See you later,"
and went off.
Sir Henry leaned forward to Miss
Marple. He said, "Well, what do you think
of the principal beneficiaries of the crime?"
Miss Marple said thoughtfully, looking
at Adelaide Jefferson as she stood talking
to her old friend, "I should think, you
know, that she was a very devoted
mother."
"Oh, she is," said Mrs. Bantry. "She's
simply devoted to Peter."
"She's the kind of woman," said Miss
Marple, "that everyone likes. The kind of
woman that could go on getting married
again and again. I don't mean a man's
woman—that's quite different."
"I know what you mean," said Sir
Henry.
"What you both mean," said Mrs.
Bantry, "is that she's a good listener."
Sir Henry laughed. He said, "And Mark
Gaskell?"
"Ah," said Miss Marple. "He's a downy
fellow."
"Village parallel, please?"
"Mr. 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 bill away plausibly. A
downy fellow. He married money. So did
Mr. Gaskell, I understand."
"You don't like him."
"Yes, I do. Most women would. But he
can't take me in. He's a very attractive
person, I think. But a little unwise, perhaps, to talk as much as he does."
" 'Unwise' is the word," said Sir Henry.
"Mark will get himself into trouble if he
doesn't look out." A tall dark young man
in white flannels came up the steps to the
terrace and paused just for a moment, watching Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo
McLean. "And that," said Sir Henry
obligingly, "is X, whom we might describe
as an interested party. He is the
tennis and dancing pro, Raymond Starr.
Ruby Keene's partner."
Miss Marple looked at him with interest.
She said, "He's very nice-looking, isn't
he?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't be absurd. Sir Henry," said Mrs.
Bantry. "There's no supposing about it.
He is good-looking."
Miss Mamie murmured, "Mrs. Jefferson
has been taking tennis lessons, I think she
said."
"Do you mean anything by that, Jane, or don't you?"
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.
"I say, are you a detective too? I saw you
talking to the superintendent--the fat one
is a superintendent, isn't he?"
"Quite right, my son."
"And somebody told me you were a
frightfully important detective from London.
The head of Scotland Yard or something
like that."
"The head of Scotland Yard is usually a
complete dud in books, isn't he?"
"Oh, no; not nowadays. Making fun of
the police is very old-fashioned. Do you
know who did the murder yet?"
"Not yet, I'm afraid."
"Are you enjoying this very much, Peter?"
asked Mrs. Bantry.
"Well, I am rather. It makes a change, doesn't it? I've been hunting round to see
if I could find any clues, but I haven't
been lucky. I've got a souvenir though.
Would you like to see it? Fancy, mother
wanted me to throw it away. I do think
one's parents are rather trying sometimes."
He produced from his pocket a small match
box. Pushing it open, he disclosed the
precious contents. "See, it's a fingernail.
Her fingernail! I'm going to label it Fingernail
of the Murdered Woman and take
it back to school. It's a good souvenir, don't you think?"
"Where did you get it?" asked Miss
Marple.
"Well, it was a bit of luck, really. Because
of course I didn't know she was
going to be murdered then. It was before
dinner last night. Ruby caught her nail in
Josie's 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, and
now I've got it as a souvenir."
"Disgusting," said Mrs. Bantry.
Peter said politely, "Oh, do you think
so?"
"Got any other souvenirs?" asked Sir
Henry.
"Well, I don't know. I've got something
that might be."
"Explain yourself, young man."
Peter looked at him thoughtfully. Then
he pulled out an envelope. From the inside
of it he extracted a piece of brown
tape-like substance. "It's a bit of that chap
George Bartlett's shoelace," he explained.
"I saw his shoes outside the door this
morning and I bagged a bit just in case."
"In case what?"
"In case he should be the murderer, of
course. He was the last person to see her, and that's always frightfully suspicious, you
know. ... Is it nearly dinnertime, do you
think? I'm frightfully hungry. It always
seems such a long time between tea and
dinner. . . . Hullo, there's Uncle Hugo. I
didn't know mums had asked him to come
down. I suppose she sent for him. She
always does if she's in a jam. Here's Josie
coming. . . . Hi, Josie!"
Josephine Turner, coming along the terrace, stopped and looked rather startled to
see Mrs. Bantry and Miss Marple. Mrs.
Bantry said pleasantly, "How d'you do, Miss Turner. We've come to do a bit of
sleuthing."
Josie cast a guilty glance round. She
said, lowering her voice, "It's awful. Nobody
knows yet. I meant it isn't in the
papers yet. I suppose everyone will be
asking me questions, and it's so awkward.
I don't know what I ought to say."
Her glance went rather wistfully toward
Miss Marple, who said, "Yes, it will be a
very difficult situation for you, I'm afraid."
Josie warmed to this sympathy. "You
see, Mr. Prestcott said to me, 'Don't talk
about it.' And that's all very well, but
everyone is sure to ask me and you can't
offend people, can you? Mr. Prestcott said
he hoped I'd feel able to carry on as usual, and he wasn't very nice about it, so, of
course, I want to do my best. And I really
don't see why it should all be blamed on
me."
Sir Henry said, "Do you mind me asking
you a frank question?"
"Oh, do ask me anything you like,"
said Josie a little insincerely.
"Has there been any unpleasantness between
you and Mrs. Jefferson and Mr.
Gaskell over all this?"
"Over the murder, do you mean?"
"No, I don't mean the murder."
Josie stood twisting her fingers together.
She said rather sullenly, "Well, there has
and there hasn't, if you know what I mean.
Neither of them has said anything. But I
think they blame it on me--Mr. Jefferson
taking such a fancy to Ruby, I mean. It
wasn't my fault, though, was it? These
things happen, and I never dreamt of such
a thing happening beforehand, not for a
moment. I--I was quite dumfounded." Her
words rang out with what seemed undeniable
sincerity.
Sir Henry said kindly, "I'm sure you
were. But once it had happened?"
Josie's chin went up. "Well, it was a
piece of luck, wasn't it? Everyone's got the
right to have a piece of luck sometimes."
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, "I don't think she
did it."
Miss Marple murmured, "It's interesting, that piece of fingernail. It had been
worrying me, you know--how to account
for her nails."
"Nails?" asked Sir Henry.
"The dead girl's nails," explained Mrs.
Bantry. "They were quite short and, now
that Jane says so, of course it was a little
unlikely. A girl like that usually has absolute
talons!"
Miss Marple said, "But 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?"
Sir Henry looked at her curiously. He
said, "I'll ask Superintendent Harper when
he gets back."
"Back from where?" asked Mrs. Bantry.
"He hasn't gone over to Gossington, has
he?"
Sir Henry said gravely, "No. There's
been another tragedy. Blazing car in a
quarry."
Miss Marple caught her breath. "Was
there someone in the car?"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
Miss Marple said thoughtfully, "I expect
that will be the Girl Guide who's
missing--Patience--no, Pamela Reeves."
Sir Henry stared at her. "Now why on
earth do you think that?"
Miss Marple got rather pink. "Well, it
was given out on the wireless that she was
missing from her home since last night.
And her home was Daneleigh Vale--that's
not very far from here--and she was last
seen at the Girl Guide rally up on Danebury
Downs. That's very close indeed. In fact, she'd have to pass through Danemouth to
get home. So it does rather fit in, doesn't
it? I mean it looks as though she might
have seen--or perhaps heard--something
that no one was supposed to see or hear. If
so, of course, she'd be a source of danger
to the murderer and she'd have to be removed.
Two things like that must be connected, don't you think?"
Sir Henry said, his voice dropping a
little, "You think a second murder?"
"Why not?" Her quiet, placid gaze met
his. "When anyone has committed one
murder he doesn't shrink from another, does he? Not even from a third."
"A third? You don't think there will be
a third murder?"
"I think it's just possible. Yes, I think
it's highly possible."
"Miss Marple," said Sir Henry, "you
frighten me. Do you know who is going to
be murdered?"
Miss Marple said, "I've a very good
idea."
FR1;Thirteen
Colonel Melchett and Superintendent
Harper looked at each other. Harper had
come over to Much Benham for a consultation.
Melchett said gloomily, "Well, we
know where we are--or rather where we
aren't!"
"Where we aren't expresses it better,
sir."
"We've got two deaths to take into account," said Melchett. "Two murders.
Ruby Keene and the child, Pamela Reeves.
Not much to identify her by, poor kid, but enough. One shoe escaped burning
and has been identified as hers, and a
button from her Girl Guide uniform. A
fiendish business, superintendent."
Superintendent Harper said very quietly, "I'll say you're right, sir."
"I'm glad to say Hay dock is quite certain
she was dead before the car was set on ^i^ Tl-i^ way slip was Ivins thrown across
the seat shows that. Probably knocked on
the head, poor kid."
"Or strangled, perhaps."
"You think so?"
"Well, sir, there are murderers like
that."
"I know. I've seen the parents--the poor
girl's mother's beside herself. Damned painful, the whole thing. The point for us to
settle is: are the two murders connected?"
The superintendent ticked off the points
on his fingers. "Attended rally of Girl
Guides on Danebury Downs. Stated by
companion to be normal and cheerful. Did
not return with three companions by the
bus to Medchester. Said to them that she
was going to Danemouth to Woolworth's
and would take the bus home from there.
That's likely enough--Woolworth's in
Danemouth is a big affair--the girl lived
in the back country and didn't get many
chances of going into town. The main road
into Danemouth from the downs does a
big round inland, Pamela Reeves took a
short cut 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. It's possible, therefore, that
she overheard or saw something--something
concerning Ruby Keene--which
would have proved dangerous to the murderer--say, 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."
Colonel Melchett said, "That's presuming, Harper, that the Ruby Keene crime
was premeditated, not spontaneous."
Superintendent Harper agreed. "I believe
it was, sir. It looks as though it
would be the other way--sudden violence, a fit of passion or jealousy--but I'm beginning
to think that that's not so. I don't
see, otherwise, how you can account for
the death of the 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 the Majestic
Hotel at that time of night? Why, at nine
o'clock her parents were getting anxious
because she hadn't returned."
"The 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."
"Yes, sir, and I don't believe that's so.
Look how even the old lady 5 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
Girl Guide. Very smart old lady, that.
These old ladies are, sometimes. Shrewd, you know. Put their fingers on the vital
spot."
"Miss Marple has done that more than
once," said Colonel Melchett dryly.
"And besides, sir, there's the car. That
seems to me to link up her death definitely
with the Majestic Hotel. It was Mr. George
Bartlett's car."
Again the eyes of the two men met.
Melchett said, "George Bartlett? Could be!
What do you think?"
Again Harper methodically recited various
points. "Ruby 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 earlier--discussed it, say, before
dinner--and did Pamela Reeves happen to
overhear?"
Colonel Melchett said, "He didn't report
the loss of his car until the following
morning, and he was extremely vague
about it then; pretended that he couldn't
remember exactly when he had last noticed
it."
"That might be cleverness, sir. As I see
it, he's either a very clever gentleman pretending
to be a silly ass, or else--well, he
is a silly ass."
"What we want," said Melchett, "is motive.
As it stands, he had no motive whatever
for killing Ruby Keene."
"Yes, that's where we're stuck every
time. Motive. All the reports from--the
Palais de Danse at Brixwell are negative, I
understand."
"Absolutely! Ruby Keene had no special
boy friend. Slack's been into the matter
thoroughly. Give Slack his due; he is thorough."

"That's right, sir. 'Thorough' is the
word."
"If there was anything to ferret out he'd
have ferreted it out. But there's nothing
there. He got a list of her most frequent
dancing partners--all vetted and found
correct. Harmless fellows, and all to produce
alibis for that night."
"Ah," said Superintendent Harper. "Alibis.
That's what we're up against."
Melchett looked at him sharply. "Think
so? I've left that side of the investigation
to you."
"Yes, sir. It's been gone into--very thoroughly.
We applied to London for help
over it."
"Well?"
"Mr. Conway Jefferson may think that
Mr. Gaskell and young Mrs. Jefferson are
comfortably off, but that is not the case.
They're both extremely hard up."
"Is that true?"
"Quite true, sir. It's as Mr. Conway
Jefferson said; he made over considerable
sums of money to his son and daughter
when they married. That was a number of
years ago though. Mr. Frank Jefferson fancied
himself as knowing good investments.
He didn't invest in anything absolutely
wildcat, but he was unlucky and showed
poor judgment more than once. His holdings
have gone steadily down. I should say
that Mrs. Jefferson found it very difficult
to make both ends meet and send her son
to a good school."
"But she hasn't applied to her fatherin-law
for help?"
"No, sir. As far as I can make out she
lives with him and, consequently, has no
household expenses."
"And his health is such that he wasn't
expected to live long?"
"That's right, sir. Now for Mr. Mark
Gaskell. He's a gambler, pure and simple.
Got through his wife's money very soon.
Has got himself tangled up rather badly
just at present. He needs money badly, and a good deal of it."
"Can't say I like the looks of him much,"
said Colonel Melchett. "Wild-looking sort
of fellow, what? And he's got the motive, all right. Twenty-five thousand pounds it
meant to him, getting that girl out of the
way. Yes, it's a motive all right."
"They both had a motive."
"I'm not considering Mrs. Jefferson."
"No, sir, I know you're not. And, anyway, the alibi holds for both of them.
They couldn't have done it. Just that."
"You've got a detailed statement of their
movements that evening?"
"Yes, I have. Take Mr. Gaskell first. He
dined with his father-in-law and Mrs.
Jefferson, had coffee with them afterward
when Ruby Keene joined them. Then 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 couldn't stick playing bridge for a whole
evening. The old boy's 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
eleven, and he didn't leave the table until
after midnight. That's quite certain, sir.
Everyone says so--the family, the waiters, everyone. Therefore, he couldn't have done
it. And Mrs. Jefferson's alibi is the same.
She, too, didn't leave the table. They're
out, both of them--out." Colonel Melchett
leaned back, tapping the table with a paper
cutter.
Superintendent Harper said, "That is, assuming the girl was killed before midnight."

"Hay dock said she was. He's a very
sound fellow in police work. If he says a
thing, it's so."
"There might be reasons--health, physical
idiosyncrasy or something."
"I'll put it to him." Melchett elanred at
his watch, picked up the telephone receiver
and asked for a number. He said, "Haydock ought to be in now. Now, assuming
that she was killed after midnight--"

Harper said, "Then there might be a
chance. There was some coming and going
afterward. Let's assume that Gaskell had
asked the girl to meet him outside somewhere--say
at twenty past twelve. He slips
away for a minute or two, strangles her, comes back, and disposes of the body
later--in the early hours of the morning."
Melchett said, "Take her by car twenty
miles to put her in Bantry's library? Dash
it all, it's not a likely story."
"No, it isn't," the superintendent admitted
at once.
The telephone rang. Melchett picked up
the receiver. "Hello, Haydock, is that you?
Ruby Keene. Would it be possible for her
to have been killed after midnight?"
"I told you she was killed between ten
and midnight."
"Yes, I know, but one could stretch it a
bit, what?"
"No, you couldn't stretch it. When I
say she was killed before midnight I mean
midnight, and don't try and tamper with
the medical evidence."
"Yes, but couldn't there be some physiological
what not? You know what I
mean?"
"I know that you don't know what you're
talking about. The girl was perfectly
healthy and not abnormal in any way, and
I'm 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, don't protest.
I know your ways. And, by the way, the girl wasn't strangled willingly--that is
to say, she was drugged first. Powerful
narcotic. She died of strangulation, but
she was drugged first." Hay dock rang off.
Melchett said gloomily, "Well, that's
that."
Harper said, "Thought I'd found another
likely starter, but it petered out."
"What's that? Who?"
"Strictly speaking, he's your pigeon, sir.
Name of Basil Blake. Lives near Gossington
Hall."
"Impudent young jackanapes!" The
colonel's brow darkened as he remembered
Basil Blake's outrageous rudeness. "How's
he mixed up in it?"
"Seems he knew Ruby Keene. Dined
over at the Majestic quite often, danced
with the girl. Do you remember what Josie
said to Raymond when Ruby was discovered
to be missing, 'She isn't with that
film man, is she?" I've found out it was
Blake she meant. He's employed with the
Lenville Studios, you know. Josie has
nothing to go upon except a belief that
Ruby was rather keen on him."
"Very promising, Harper, very promising."

"Not 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 air's too thick to see through and
everyone passes out. According to Inspector
Slack, who's questioned him, he left
the show round about midnight. At midnight
Ruby Keene was dead."
"Anyone bear out his statement?"
"Most of them, I gather, sir, were
rather--er--far gone. The--er--young
woman now at the bungalow. Miss Dinah
Lee, says that statement is correct."
"Doesn't mean a thing."
"No, sir, probably not. Statements taken
from other members of the party bear Mr.
Blake's statement out, on the whole,
though ideas as to time are somewhat
vague."
"Where are these studios?"
"Lenville, sir, thirty miles southwest of
London."
"H'm—about the same distance from
here?"
"Yes, sir."
Colonel Melchett rubbed his nose. He
said in a rather dissatisfied tone, "Well, it
looks as though we could wash him out."
"I think so, sir. There is no evidence
that he was seriously attracted by Ruby
Keene. In fact"—Superintendent Harper
coughed primly—"he seems fully occupied
with his own young lady."
Melchett said, "Well, we are left with
X, an unknown murderer—so unknown
Slack can't find a trace of him. Or
Jefferson's son-in-law, who might have
wanted to kill the girl, but didn't have a
chance to do so. Daughter-in-law ditto. Or
George Bartlett, who has an alibi, but,
unfortunately, no motive either. Or with
young Blake, who has an alibi and no
motive. And that's the lot! No, stop. I
suppose we ought to consider the dancing
fellow, Raymond Starr. After all, he saw a
lot of the girl."
Harper said slowly, "Can't believe he
took much interest in her--or else he's a
thundering good actor. And, for all practical
purposes, he's got an alibi too. He was
more or less in view from twenty minutes
to eleven until midnight, dancing with various
partners. I don't see that we can make
a case against him."
"In fact," said Colonel Melchett, "we
can't make a case against anybody."
"George Bartlett's our best hope,"
Harper said. "If we could only hit on a
motive."
"You've had him looked up?"
"Yes, 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."
"May be mental," said Melchett hopefully.

Superintendent Harper nodded. He said, "Has it struck you, sir, that that may be
the explanation of the whole case?"
"Criminal lunatic, you mean?"
"Yes, sir. One of those fellows who go
about strangling young girls. Doctors have
a lone name for it."
"That would solve all our difficulties,"
said Melchett.
"There's only one thing I don't like
about it," said Superintendent Harper.
"What?"
"It's too easy."
"H'm—yes, perhaps. So, as I said at the
beginning, where are we?"
"Nowhere, sir," said Superintendent
Harper.
Addie nodded. "I don't want to be horrid
about her. There wasn't any harm in
her. Poor little rat, she had to fight for
what she wanted. She wasn't bad. Common
and rather silly and quite goodnatured,
but a decided little gold digger. I
don't think she schemed or planned. It
was just that she was quick to take advantage
of a possibility. And she knew how to
appeal to an elderly man who was lonely."
"I suppose," said Mrs. Bantry thoughtfully, "that Conway was lonely."
Addie moved restlessly. She said, "He
was this summer." She paused and then
burst out, "Mark will have it that it was
all my fault! Perhaps it was; I don't know."
She was silent for a minute, then, impelled
by some need to talk, she went on speaking
in a difficult, almost reluctant way.
"I--I've had such an odd sort of life.
Mike Carmody, my first husband, died so
soon after we were married it--it knocked
me out. Peter, as you know, was born
after his death. Frank Jefferson was Mike's
great friend. So I came to see a lot of him.
He was Peter's god-father--Mike had
wanted that. I got very fond of him and--
oh. sorrv for him too."
"Sorry?" queried Mrs. Bantry with interest.

"Yes, just that. It sounds odd. Frank
had always had everything he wanted. His
father and mother couldn't have been nicer
to him. And yet--how can I say it?--you
see, old Mr. Jefferson's personality is so
strong. If you live with it you can't somehow
have a personality of your own. Frank
felt that.
"When we were married he was very
happy--wonderfully so. Mr. Jefferson was
very generous. He settled a large sum of
money on Frank; said he wanted his children
to be independent and not have to
wait for his death. It was so nice of him--
so generous. But it was much too sudden.
He ought really to have accustomed Frank
to independence little by little.
"It went to Frank's head. He wanted to
be as good a man as his father, as clever
about money and business, as farseeing
and successful. And of course he wasn't.
He didn't exactly speculate with the money, but he invested in the wrong things at the
wrong time. It's frightening, you know, how soon money goes if you're 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."
"But, my dear," said Mrs. Bantry,
"couldn't Conway have advised him?"
"He didn't want to be advised. The one
thing he wanted was to do well on his
own. That's why we never let Mr. Jefferson
know. When Frank died there was very
little left; only a tiny income for me. And
I—I didn't let his father know either. You
see"—she turned abruptly—"it would have
seemed 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.
I've never undeceived him. It's been a
point of honor. He knows I'm very careful
about money, but he just approves of that,
thinks I'm a thrifty sort of woman. And of
course Peter and I have lived with him
practically ever since, and he's paid for all
our living expenses. So I've never had to
worry." She said slowly, "We've been like
a family all these years, only—only, you
see—or don't you see?—I've never been
Frank's widow to him; I've been Frank's
wife."
Mrs. Bantry grasped the implications.
"You mean he's never accepted their
deaths?"
"No. He's been wonderful. But he's
conquered his own terrible tragedy by
refusing to recognize death. Mark is
Rosamund's husband and I'm Frank's wife, and though Frank and Rosamund aren't
exactly here with us they are still existent."
Mrs. Bantry said softly, "It's a wonderful
triumph of faith."
"I know. We've gone on, year after year.
But suddenly, this summer, something
went wrong in me. I felt--felt rebellious.
It's an awful thing to say, but I didn't
want to think of Frank any more! All that
was over--my love and companionship with
him, and my grief when he died. It was
something that had been and wasn't any
longer.
"It's awfully hard to describe. It's like
wanting to wipe the slate clean and start
again. I wanted to be me--Addie, still
reasonably young and strong and able to
play games and swim and dance--just a
person. Even Hugo--you know Hugo
McLean?--he's a dear and wants to marry
me, but of course I've never really thought
of it, but this summer I did begin to think
of it--not seriously, only vaguely." She
stopped and shook her head. "And so I
suppose it's true. I neglected Jeff. I don't
mean really neglected him, but my mind
and thoughts weren't 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 dreamed--of course I never
dreamed--that he would be so--so infatuated
with her!"
Mrs. Bantry asked, "And when did you
find out?"
"I was dumfounded--absolutely dumfounded!
And, I'm afraid, angry too."
"I'd have been angry," said Mrs. Bantry.
"There was Peter, you see. Peter's whole
future depends on Jeff. Jeff practically
looked on him as a grandson, or so I
thought, but of course he wasn't a grandson.
He was no relation at all. And to
think that he was going to be disinherited!"
Her firm, well-shaped hands shook
a little where they lay in her lap. "For
that's what it felt like. And for a vulgar
golddigging little simpleton! Oh, I could
have killed her!"
She stopped, stricken. Her beautiful ha7e1
eves met Mrs. Bantry's in a pleading
horror. She said, "What an awful thing to
say!"
Hugo McLean, coming quietly up behind
them, asked, "What's an awful thing
to say?"
"Sit down, Hugo. You know Mrs.
Bantry, don't you?"
McLean had already greeted the older
lady. He said, now, in a slow, persevering
way, "What was an awful thing to say?"
Addie Jefferson said, "That I'd like to
have killed Ruby Keene."
Hugo McLean reflected a minute or two.
Then he said, "No, wouldn't say that if I
were you. Might be misunderstood." His
eyes, steady, reflective gray eyes, looked at
her meaningly. He said, "You've got to
watch your step, Addie." There was a
warning in his voice.
When Miss Marple came out of the hotel
and joined Mrs. Bantry a few minutes
ago, Hugo McLean and Adelaide Jefferson
were walking down the path to the sea
together. Seating herself. Miss Marple remarked,
"He seems very devoted."
"He's been devoted for years! One of
those men."
"I 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 in, but, 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."
"People do do very odd things," agreed
Mrs. Bantry. "I wish you'd been here just
now, Jane. Addie Jefferson was telling me
all about herself--how her husband went
through all his money, but they never let
Mr. Jefferson know. And then, this summer, things felt different to her--"
Miss Marple nodded. "Yes. She rebelled, I suppose, against being made to live in
the past. After all, there's a time for everything.
You can't sit in the house with the
blinds down forever. I suppose Mrs.
Jefferson just pulled them up and took off
her widow's weeds, and her father-in-law, of course, didn't like it. Felt left out in the
cold, though I don't suppose for a minute he realized who put her up to it. Still, he
certainly wouldn't 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
dnnp."
"Do you think," said Mrs. Bantry, "that
that cousin, Josie, got her down deliberately--that
it was a family plot?"
Miss Marple shook her head. "No, I
don't think so at all. I don't think Josie
has the kind of mind that could foresee
people's reactions. She's rather dense in
that way. She's got one of those shrewd, limited, practical minds that never do foresee
the future and are usually astonished
by it."
"It seems to have taken everyone by
surprise," said Mrs. Bantry. "Addie--and
Mark Gaskell, too, apparently."
Miss Marple smiled. "I 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. Jefferson's yoke of perpetual remembrance.
Only," added Miss Marple
cynically, "it's easier for gentlemen, of
course."
At that very moment Mark was confirming
this judgment on himself in a talk with Sir
Henry dithering. With characteristic candor
Mark had gone straight to the heart of
time I resent him. I'll try and explain.
Conway Jefferson is a man who likes to
control his surroundings. He's a benevolent
despot, kind, generous, and affectionate, but his is the tune and the others
dance to his piping."
Mark Gaskell paused.
"I 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 who's had a knockout blow. But the
referee's been counting a good long time
now. I'm a man, after all. I like women. I
don't want to marry again--not in the
least. Well, that's all right. I've had to be
discreet, but I've had my good times all
right. Poor Addie hasn't. Addie's a really
nice woman. She's the kind of woman
men want to marry. Give her half a chance
and she would marry again, and be happy
and make the chap happy too.
"But old Jeff saw her always as Frank's
wife and hypnotized her into seeing herself
like that. He doesn't know it, but we've
been in prison. I broke out, on the quiet, a long time ago. Addie broke out this
summer, and it &ave him a shock. It broke
up his world. Result, Ruby Keene." Irrepressibly
he sang:
"But she is in her grave, and oh!
The difference to me!
"Come and have a drink, dithering."
It was hardly surprising. Sir Henry reflected, that Mark Gaskell should be an
object of suspicion to the police.
FR1;Fifteen
Doctor Metcalf was one of the best-known
physicians in Danemouth. He had no aggressive
bedside manner, but his presence
in the sickroom 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, "Then I can take it. Doctor Metcalf, that what I was told by Mrs. Jefferson was
substantially correct?"
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson's 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 slow, or
any of the other phrases with which I and
his other medical advisers have tendered
nnr nmmnn. The result is that the man is
an over-worked engine. Heart, lungs, bloodpressure--they're
all overstrained."
"You say Mr. Jefferson has resolutely
refused to listen?"
"Yes. I don't know that I blame him.
It's 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, it's not a bad way. In
a place like Danemouth one sees most of
the other thing. Invalids clinging to life, terrified of overexerting themselves, terrified
of a breath of drafty air, of a stray
germ, of an injudicious meal."
"I expect that's true enough," said Superintendent Harper. "What it amounts
to, then, is this: Conway Jefferson is strong
enough, physically speaking--or I suppose
I mean muscularly speaking. Just what can
he do in the active line, by the way?"
"He has immense strength in his arms
and shoulders. He was a very 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 room--from his bed
to the chair, for instance."
"Isn't it possible for a man injured as Mr. Jefferson was to have artificial legs?"
"Not in his case. There was a spine
injury."
"I see. Let me sum up again. Jefferson
is strong and fit in the muscular sense. He
feels well and all that?"
Metcalf nodded.
"But 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?"
"More or less. Overexertion is killing
him slowly because he won't 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."
Superintendent Harper said slowly, "But
in actual fact a shock didn't kill him. I
mean, doctor, that there couldn't have been
a much worse shock than this business, and he's still alive."
Doctor Metcalf shrugged his shoulders.
"I know. But if you'd had my experience, superintendent, you'd know that case history
shows the impossibility of prognosticating
accurately. People who ought to die
of shock and exposure don't die of shock
and ^Ynnsnrp. et cetera, et cetera. 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."
"Why is that, I wonder?"
"The breaking of bad news nearly always
sets up a defense reaction. It numbs
the recipient. They are unable, at first, to
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 road--all
those things are immediate in their action.
The heart gives a terrified leap--to put it
in layman's language."
Superintendent Harper said slowly, "But
as far as anyone would know, Mr. Jefferson's
death might easily have been caused
by the shock of the girl's death?"
"Oh, easily." The doctor looked curiously
at the other. "You don't think--"
"I don't know what I think," said Superintendent
Harper vexedly.
"But you'll admit sir, that the two things
would fit in very prettily together," he
said a little later to Sir Henry dithering.
"Kill two birds with one stone. First the
girl, and the fact of her death takes off
Mr. Jefferson, too, before he's had any
opportunity of altering his will."
"Do you think he will alter it?"
"You'd be more likely to know that, sir, than I would. What do you say?"
"I don't 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 don't see why he should
now change his mind about that. But of
course he might do so."
Superintendent Harper agreed.
"You never know what bee a man is
going to get in his bonnet; especially when
he doesn't feel there's any moral obligation
in the disposal of his fortune. No blood
relations in this case."
Sir Henry said, "He is fond of the boy--
of young Peter."
"D'you think he regards him as a grandson?
You'd know that better than I would,
sir."
Sir Henry said slowly, "No, I don't
think so."
"Th^r^c another rhine I'd like to ask
you, sir. It's a thing I can't judge for
myself. But they're friends of yours, and
so you'd know. I'd like very much to
know just how fond Mr. Jefferson is of
Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson. Nobody
doubts that he was much attached to them
both, but he was attached to them, as I
see it, because they were, respectively, the
husband and wife of his daughter and his
son. But supposing, for instance, one of
them had married again?"
Sir Henry reflected. He said, "It's an
interesting point you raise there. I don't
know. I'm inclined to suspect--this is a
mere opinion--that it would have altered
his attitude a good deal. He would have
wished them both well, borne no rancor, but I think--yes, I rather think that he
would have taken very little more interest
in them."
Superintendent Harper nodded. "In both
cases, sir?"
<<I think so, yes. In Mr. Gaskell's, almost
certainly, and I rather think in Mrs.
Jefferson's also, but that's not nearly so
certain. I think he was fond of her for her
own sake."
"Sex would have something to do with
that," said Superintendent Harper sapi-
ently. "Easier 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 aren't many times when
a woman looks on her son's wife as a
daughter." Superintendent Harper went
on, "Mind if we walk along this path, sir, to the tennis court? I see Miss Marple
sitting there. I want to ask her to do
something for me. As a matter of fact, I
want to rope you both in."
"In what way, superintendent?"
"To get at stuff that I can't get at myself.
I want you to tackle Edwards for me,
sir."
"Edwards? What do you want from
him?"
"Everything 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 affairs. And he
wouldn't tell me. But he'll tell you. Because
you're a gentleman and a friend of
Mr. Jefferson's."
Sir Henry said grimly, "I've been sent
for. urgently, to eet at the truth. I mean
to do my utmost." He added, "Where do
you want Miss Marple to help you?"
"With some girls. Some of those Girl
Guides. We've rounded up half a dozen or
so--the ones who were most friendly with
Pamela Reeves. It's possible that they may
know something. You see, I've been thinking.
It seems to me that if that girl was
going to Woolworth's she would have tried
to persuade one of the other girls to go
with her. So I think it's possible that
Woolworth's was only an excuse. If so, I'd
like to know where the girl was really
going. She may have let slip something. If
so, I feel Miss Marple's the person to get
it out of those girls. I'd say she knows a
thing or two about girls."
"It sounds to me the kind of village
domestic problem that is right up Miss
Marple's street. She's very sharp, you
know."
The superintendent smiled. He said, "I'll
say you're right. Nothing much gets past
her."
Miss Marple looked up at their approach
and welcomed them eagerly. She listened
to the superintendent's request and at once
acquiesced. "I 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
Brownies and our Guides, and the orphanage
quite near--I'm on the committee, you
know, and often run in to have a little talk
with the matron--and then servants--I
usually have very young maids. Oh, yes, I've got quite a lot of experience in when a
girl is speaking the truth and when she's
holding something back."
"In fact, you're an expert," said Sir
Henry.
Miss Marple flashed him a reproachful
glance and said, "Oh, please don't laugh
at me, Sir Henry."
"I shouldn't dream of laughing at you.
You've had the laugh on me too many
times."
"One does see so much evil in a village,"
murmured Miss Marple in an explanatory
voice.
"By the way," said Sir Henry, "I've
cleared up one point you asked me about.
The superintendent tells me that there were
nail clippings in Ruby's wastepaper basket."

Miss Marple said thoughtfully, "There
w^rf^ Thpn that's that--"
"Why did you want to know 5 Miss
Marple?" asked the superintendent.
Miss Marple said, "It was one of the
things that--well 5 that seemed wrong when
I looked at the body. The hands were
wrong somehow, and I couldn't at first
think why. Then I realized that girls who
are very much made up, and all that, usually have long fingernails. Of course, I
know that girls everywhere do bite their
nails, it's one of those habits that are very
hard to break oneself of. But vanity often
does a lot to help. Still, I presumed this
girl hadn't cured herself. And then the
little boy--Peter, you know--he 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 he'd find out."
Sir Henry remarked, "You said just now 'one of the things that seemed wrong when
I looked at the body.' Was there something
else?"
Miss Marple nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes!" she said. "There was the dress. The
dress was all wrong."
Both men looked at her curiously. "Now, why?" said Sir Henry.
''Well, 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, that's all wrong."
"I don't see why."
Miss Marple got a little pink. "Well, the
idea is, isn't it, that Ruby Keene changed
her dress and went off to meet someone on
whom she presumably had what my young
nephews call a 'crush'?"
The superintendent's eyes twinkled a little.
"That's the theory. She'd got a date
with someone--a boy friend, as the saying
goes."
"Then, why," demanded Miss Marple, "was she wearing an old dress?"
The superintendent scratched his head
thoughtfully. He said, "I see your point.
You think she'd wear a new one?"
"I think she'd wear her best dress. Girls
do."
Sir Henry interposed, "Yes, but look
here. Miss Marple. Suppose she was going
outside to this rendezvous. Going in an
open car, perhaps, or walking in some
i^irrii crmnCT Then she'd not want to risk
messing a new frock and she'd put on an
old one."
"That would be the sensible thing to
do," agreed the superintendent.
Miss Marple turned on him. She spoke
with animation, "The sensible thing to do
would be to change into trousers and a
pullover, or into tweeds. That, of course--
I don't want to be snobbish, but I'm afraid
it's unavoidable--that's what a girl of--of
our class would do."
"A well-bred girl," continued Miss
Marple, warming to her subject, "is 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."
"And the correct wear to meet a lover?"
demanded Sir Henry.
"If she were meeting him inside the
hotel or somewhere where evening dress
was worn, she'd wear her best evening
frock, of course, but outside she'd feel
she'd look ridiculous in evening dress and
she'd wear her most attractive sports wear."
"Granted, Fashion Queen, but the girl
Ruby--"
Miss Marple said, "Ruby, of course,
wasn't--well, to put it bluntly. Ruby
wasn't 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. You'd be surprised at the unsuitable
clothes the girls wore. Foulard dresses
and patent-leather 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, hiking's different again. That's
practically a uniform, and girls don't seem
to realize that shorts are very unbecoming
unless they are very slender."
The superintendent said slowly, "And
you think that Ruby Keene--"
"I think that she'd have kept on the
frock she was wearing--her best pink one.
She'd only have changed if she'd had something
newer still."
Superintendent Harper said, "And
what's your explanation, Miss Marple?"
Miss Marple said, "I haven't got one--
yet. But I can't help feeling that it's important."

FR1;Sixteen
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 skyblue
cardigan and went off toward the
hotel. Raymond called out a few gay words
after her. Then he turned toward the bench
where the three onlookers were sitting.
The balls dangled in a net in his hand, his
racket 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 toward them he
said, "That's over." 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, thirtyfive?
It was impossible to say. Raymond
said, shaking his head a little, "She'll never
be able to play, you know."
"All this must," said Miss Marple, "be
very boring for you."
Raymond said simply, "It is sometimes.
Especially at the end of the summer. For a
time the thought of the pay buoys one up, but even that fails to stimulate imagination
in the end."
Superintendent Harper got up. He said
abruptly, "I'll call for you in half an hour's
time. Miss Marple, if that will be all right?"
"Perfectly, thank you. I shall be ready."
Harper went off. Raymond stood looking
after him. Then he said, "Mind if I sit
for a bit?"
"Do," said Sir Henry. "Have a cigarette?"
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 wasn't the
tennis, it 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. Ramon--
Raymond--which was his name? Abruptly, he asked the question.
"n^ orlipr spemed amused. "Ramon was
my original professional name. Ramon and
Josie--Spanish effect 5 you know. Then
there was rather a prejudice against foreigners, so I became Raymond--very British."

Miss Marple said, "And is your real
name something quite different?"
He smiled at her. "Actually my real
name is Ramon. I had an Argentine grandmother, you see." And that accounts/or that
swing from the hips, thought Sir Henry
parenthetically. "But my first name is
Thomas. Painfully prosaic." He turned to
Sir Henry. "You come from Devonshire, don't you, sir? From Stane? My people
lived down that way. At Alsmonston."
Sir Henry's face lit up. "Are you one of
the Alsmonston Starrs? I didn't realize
that."
"No, I don't suppose you would." There
was a slight bitterness in his voice.
Sir Henry said, "Bad luck--er--all
that."
"The 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! We've outlived our usefulness.
My elder brother went to New York.
He's in publishing--doing well. The rest
of us are scattered up and down the earth.
I'll say it's hard to get a job nowadays 5
when you've nothing to say for yourself
except that you've had a public-school education.
Sometimes, if you're lucky, you
get taken on as a reception clerk at a
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 colored porcelain
baths. Enormous showrooms, but as I
never knew the price of the damned things
or how soon we could deliver them, I got
fired.
"The only things I could do were dance
and play tennis. I got taken on at a 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: 'Where's 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? It's the
gigolo I want.'" Raymond said, "Silly to
mind. But I did. I chucked it. Came here.
t ^oo ^.iiy T^m r»lpasanter. Mostly teaching
tennis to rotund women who will never, never be able to play. That and dancing
with the wallflower daughters of rich clients!
Oh, well, it's life, I suppose. Excuse
today's hard-luck story." 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, "I'm glad to have a chat
with you. I've been wanting to talk with
you."
"About Ruby Keene? I can't help you,
you know. I don't know who killed her. I
knew very little about her. She didn't confide
in me."
Miss Marple said, "Did you like her?"
"Not particularly. I didn't dislike her."
His voice was careless, uninterested.
Sir Henry said, "So you've no suggestions?"

"I'm afraid not. I'd have told Harper if
I had. It just seems to me one of those
things! Petty, sordid little crime, no clues,
no motive."
"Two people had a motive," said Miss
Marple.
Sir Henry looked at her sharply.
"Really?" Raymond looked surprised.
Miss Marple looked insistently at Sir
Henry, and he said rather unwillingly, "Her death probably benefits Mrs.
Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell to the amount
of fifty thousand pounds."
"What?" Raymond looked really startled--more
than startled, upset. "Oh, but
that's absurd--absolutely absurd. Mrs.
Jefferson--neither of them--could have
had anything to do with it. It would be
incredible to think of such a thing."
Miss Marple coughed. She said gently, "I'm afraid, you know, you're rather an
idealist."
"I?" He laughed. "Not me! I'm a hardboiled
cynic."
"Money," said Miss Marple, "is a very
powerful motive."
"Perhaps," Raymond said hotly. "But
that either of those two would strangle a
girl in cold blood--" He shook his head.
Then he got up. "Here's Mrs. Jefferson
now. Come for her lesson. She's late." His
voice sounded amused. "Ten minutes late!"
Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean
were walking rapidly down the path toward
them. With a smiling apology for her
lateness, Addie Jefferson went onto the
court. McLean sat down on the bench.
Afipr a nolite inauirv 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, "Can't see what
Addie wants to have lessons for. Have a
game, yes. No one enjoys it better than I
do. But why lessons?"
"Wants to improve her game," said Sir
Henry.
"She's not a bad player," said Hugo.
"Good enough, at all events. Dash it all, she isn't aiming to play at Wimbledon."
He was silent for a minute or two. Then
he said, "Who is this Raymond fellow?
Where do they come from, these pros?
Fellow looks like a Dago to me."
"He's one of the Devonshire Starrs,"
said Sir Henry.
"What? Not really?"
Sir Henry nodded. It was clear that this
news was unpleasing to Hugo McLean. He
scowled more than ever. He said, "Don't
know why Addie sent for me. She seems
not to have turned a hair over this business.
Never looked better. Why send for
me?"
Sir Henry asked with some curiosity, "When did she send for you?"
"Oh--er--when all this happened."
"How did you hear? Telephone or telegram?"

"Telegram."
"As a matter of curiosity, when was it
sent off?"
"Well, I don't know exactly."
"What time did you receive it?"
"I didn't exactly receive it. It was telephoned
on to me, as a matter of fact."
"Why, where were you?"
"Fact is, I'd left London the afternoon
before. I was staying at Danebury Head."
"What? Quite near here?"
"Yes, rather funny, wasn't it? Got the
message when I got in from a round of
golf and came over here at once."
Miss Marple gazed at him thoughtfully.
He looked hot and uncomfortable. She
said, "I've heard it's very pleasant at
Danebury Head and not very expensive."
"No, it's not expensive. I couldn't afford
it if it was. It's a nice little place."
"We must drive over there one day,"
said Miss Marple.
"Eh? What? Oh--er--yes, I should."
He got up. "Better take some exercise, get
an appetite. He walked away stiffly.
"Women," said Sir Henry, "treat their
devoted admirers very badly." Miss Marple
smiled, but made no answer. "Does he
strike you as rather a dull dog?" asked Sir
Henry. "I'd be interested to know."
"A little limited in his ideas, perhaps,"
said Miss Marple. "But with possibilities, I think--oh, definitely possibilities."
Sir Henry, in his turn, got up. "It's
time for me to go and do my stuff. I see
Mrs. Bantry is on her way to keep you
company."
Mrs. Bantry arrived breathless and sat
down with a gasp. She said, "I've been
talking to chambermaids. But it isn't any
good. I haven't 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?"
"That's a very interesting point, dear. I
should say definitely not. Somebody
knows, depend upon it, if it's true. But
she must have been very clever about it."
Mrs. Bantry's attention had strayed to
the tennis court. She said approvingly, "Addie's tennis is coming on a lot. Attractive
young man, that tennis pro. Addie's
quite nice-looking. She's still an attractive
woman. I shouldn't be at all surprised if
she married again."
"She'll be quite a rich woman, too, when
Mr. Jefferson dies," said Miss Marple.
"Oh, don't always have such a nasty
mind, Jane. Why haven't you solved this
mystery yet? We don't seem to be getting
on at all. I thought you'd know at once."
Mrs. Bantry's tone held reproach.
"No, no, dear, I didn't know at once--
not for some time."
Mrs. Bantry turned startled and incredulous
eyes on her. "You mean you know
now who killed Ruby Keene?"
"Oh, yes," said Miss Marple. "I know
that!"
"But, Jane, who is it? Tell me at once."
Miss Marple shook her head very firmly
and pursed up her lips. "I'm sorry, Dolly, but that wouldn't do at all."
"Why wouldn't it do?"
"Because you're so indiscreet. You would
go round telling everyone--or if you didn't
tell, you'd hint."
"No, indeed, I wouldn't. I wouldn't tell
a soul."
"People who use that phrase are always
the last to live up to it. It's no good, dear.
There's a long way to go yet. A great
many things are quite obscure. You rein ^mKer when I was so against letting Mrs.
Partridge collect for the Red Cross and I
couldn't 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 accounts.
Always paid them a shilling or so short and
said it could go on to next week, which, of
course, was exactly what Mrs. Partridge
did, only on a much larger scale. Seventyfive
pounds it was she embezzled."
"Never mind Mrs. Partridge," said Mrs.
Bantry.
"But I had to explain to you. And if
you care, I'll 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 there's anything
fishy about, I never believe anyone
at all. You see, I know human nature so
well."
Mrs. Bantry was silent for a minute or
two. Then she said in a different tone of
voice, "I told you, didn't I, that I didn't
see why I shouldn't enjoy myself over this
case? A real murder in my own house!
The sort of thing that will never happen
again."
"I hope not," said Miss Marple.
"Well, so do I really. Once is enough.
But it's my murder, Jane. I want to enjoy
myself over it."
Miss Marple shot a glance at her. Mrs.
Bantry said belligerently, "Don't you believe
that?"
Miss Marple said sweetly, "Of course, Dolly, if you tell me so."
"Yes, but you never believe what people
tell you, do you? You've just said so. Well, you're quite right." Mrs. Bantry's voice
took on a sudden bitter note. She said, "I'm not altogether a fool. You may think, Jane, that I don't know what they're saying
all over St. Mary Mead--all over the
county! They're saying, one and all, that
there's no smoke without fire; that if the
girl was found in Arthur's library, then
Arthur must know something about it.
They're saying that the girl was Arthur's
mistress; that she was his illegitimate
daughter; that she was blackmailing him;
they're saying anything that comes into
their heads. And it will go on like that!
Arthur won't realize it at first; he won't
know what's wrong. He's such a dear old
stupid that he'd never believe people would
think things like that about him. He'll be /^iri_c'i-trkniri^r^d and looked at askance--
whatever that means!—and it will dawn on
him little by little, and suddenly he'll be
horrified and cut to the soul, and he'll
fasten up like a clam and just endure, day
after day. It's because of all that's going to
happen to him that I've come here to
ferret out every single thing about it that I
can! This murder's got to be solved! If it
isn't, then Arthur's whole life will be
wrecked, and I won't have that happen. I
won't! I won't! I won't!" She paused for a
minute and said, "I won't have the dear
old boy go through hell for something he
didn't do. That's the only reason I came to
Danemouth and left him alone at home—
to find the truth."
"I know, dear," said Miss Marple.
"That's why I'm here too."
FR1;Seventeen
In a quiet hotel room Edwards was listening
deferentially to Sir Henry dithering.
"There are certain questions I would like
to ask you, Edward, but I want you first
to understand quite clearly my position
here. I was at one time commissioner of
the 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." Sir Henry
paused. Edwards, his pale, intelligent eyes
on the other's face, inclined his head. He
said, "Quite so. Sir Henry."
dithering went on slowly and deliberately, "In all police cases there is necessarily
a lot of information that is held
back. It is held back for various reasons--
because it touches on a family skeleton, because it is considered to have no bearing
nn the case. because it would entail awk-
wardness and embarrassment to the parties
concerned."
Again Edwards said, "Quite so. Sir
Henry."
"I 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. Jefferson's adopted
daughter. Two people had a motive in
seeing that this should not happen. Those
two people are Mr. Gaskell and Mrs.
Jefferson."
The valet's eyes displayed a momentary
gleam. He said, "May I ask if they are
under suspicion, sir."
"They 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."
"An unpleasant position for them, sir."
"Very 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
information—the kind of information that
only you are likely to have. You know
your master's 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. Jefferson's. 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." He paused.
Edwards said quietly, "I understand you, sir. You want me to speak quite frankly;
to say things that, in the ordinary course
of events, I should not say, and that--
excuse me, sir--you wouldn't dream of
listening to."
Sir Henry said, "You're a very intelligent
fellow, Edwards. That's exactly what
I do mean."
Edwards was silent for a minute or two, then he began to speak. "Of course I know
Mr. Jefferson fairly well by now. I've been
witn'-Npi quite a number of years. And I
see hint in his 'off moments, not only in
his 'on' ones. Sometimes, sir, I've questioned
in my own mind whether it's good
for anyone to fight fate in the way Mr.
Jefferson has fought. It's taken a terrible
toll of him, sir. If, sometimes, he could
have given way, been an unhappy, lonely, broken old man--well, it might have been
better for him in the end. But he's too
719
proud for that. He'll go down fighting-
that's his motto. But that sort of thing
leads. Sir Henry, to a lot of nervous reaction.
He looks a good-tempered gentleman.
I've seen him in violent rages when
he could hardly speak for passion. And the
one thing that roused him, sir, was deceit."
"Are you saying that for any particular
reason, Edwards?"
"Yes, sir, I am. You asked me, sir, to
speak quite frankly."
"That is the idea."
"Well, then. Sir Henry, in my opinion
the young woman that Mr. Jefferson was
so taken up with wasn't worth it. She was, to put it bluntly, a common little piece.
And she didn't care a tuppence for Mr.
Jefferson. All that play of affection and
gratitude was so much poppy cock .A don't
say there was any harm in her, but she
wasn't, by a long way, what Mr. Jefferson
thought her. It was funny, that, sir, for
Mr. Jefferson was a shrewd gentleman, he
wasn't often deceived over people. But
there, a gentleman isn't himself in his judgment
when it comes to a young woman
being in question. Young Mrs. Jefferson,
you see, whom he'd always depended upon
^»i'?
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."
Sir Henry interjected, "And yet he had
him with him constantly?"
"Yes, but that was for Miss Rosamund's
sake. Mrs. Gaskell, that was. She was the
apple of his eye. He adored her. Mr. Mark
was Miss Rosamund's husband. He always
thought of him like that."
"Supposing Mr. Mark had married someone
else?"
"Mr. Jefferson, sir, would have been
furious."
Sir Henry raised his eyebrows. "As much
as that?"
"He wouldn't have shown it, but that's
what it would have been."
"And if Mrs. Jefferson had married
again?"
"Mr. Jefferson wouldn't have liked that
either, sir."
"Please go on, Edwards."
"I was saying, sir, that Mr. Jefferson
fell for this young woman. I've often seen
it happen with the gentlemen I've been
with. Comes over them like a kind of
dicpasp TT-ipv want to nrotect the eirl, and
shield her, and shower benefits upon her, and nine times out of ten the girl is very
well able to look after herself and has a
good eye to the main chance."
"So you think Ruby Keene was a
schemer?"
"Well, Sir Henry, she was quite inexperienced, being so young, but she had the
makings of a very fine schemer indeed
when she'd once got well into her swing, so to speak. In another five years she'd
have been an expert at the game."
Sir Henry said, "I'm glad to have your
opinion of her. It's valuable. Now, do you
recall any incidents in which this matter
was discussed between Mr. Jefferson and
the members of his family?"
"There 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 didn't say much--she's
a quiet lady--only urged him not to do
anything in a great hurry."
Sir Henry nodded. "Anything else? What
was the girl's attitude?"
With marked distaste the valet said, "I
should describe it. Sir Henry, as jubilant."
"Ah, jubilant, you say? You had no
reason to believe, Edwards, that"--he
sought about for a phrase suitable to
Edwards--"that--er--her affections were
engaged elsewhere?"
"Mr. Jefferson was not proposing marriage, sir. He was going to adopt her."
"Cut out the 'elsewhere' and let the
question stand."
The valet said slowly, "There was one
incident, sir. I happened to be a witness of
it."
"That is gratifying. Tell me."
"There is probably nothing in it, sir.
It was that one day, the young woman
chancing to open her handbag, a small
snapshot fell out. Mr. Jefferson pounced
on it and said, 'Hullo, kitten, who's this, eh?5
"It was a snapshot, sir, of a young man, a dark young man with rather untidy hair, and his tie very badly arranged. Miss Keene
pretended that she didn't know anything
about it. She said, 'I've no idea, Jeffie. No
idea at all. I don't know how it could have
got into my bag. I didn't put it there.'
"Now, Mr. Jefferson, sir, wasn't quite a
fool. That story wasn't good enough. He
looked angry, his brows came down heavy, and his voice was gruff when he said,
216
'Now then, kitten, now then. You know
who it is right enough.' She changed her
tactics quick, sir. Looked frightened. She
said, 'I do recognize him now. He comes
here sometimes and I've danced with him.
I don't know his name. The silly idiot
must have stuffed his photo into my bag
one day. These boys are too silly for anything!'
She tossed her head and giggled
and passed it off. But it wasn't a likely
story, was it? And I don't think Mr.
Jefferson quite believed it. He looked at
her once or twice after that in a sharp
way, and sometimes, if she'd been out, he
asked her where she'd been."
Sir Henry said, "Have you ever seen the
original of the photo about the hotel?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir. Of course I
am not much downstairs in the public apartments."
Sir Henry nodded. He asked a few more
questions, but Edwards could tell him
nothing more.
In the police station at Danemouth Superintendent
Harper was interviewing Jessie
Davis, Florence Small, Beatrice Henniker, Mary Price and Lillian Ridgeway. They
were girls much of an age, differing slightly
"» i ^
in mentality. They ranged from "county"
to farmers5 and shopkeepers5 daughters.
One and all 5 they told the same story.
Pamela Reeves had been just the same as
usual; she had said nothing to any of them
except that she was going to Woolworth's
and would go home by a later bus.
In the corner of Superintendent Harper's
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 them, 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 3 however, spoke
crisply, "I'd like to speak to Florence
Small."
The superintendent's eyebrows rose, but
he nodded and touched a bell. A constable
appeared. Harper said, "Florence Small."
The girl reappeared, ushered in by the
constable. She was the daughter of a wellto-do
farmer--a tall girl with fair hair, a
rather foolish mouth and frightened brown
eyes. She was twisting her hands and
Innked nervous. Superintendent Harper
looked at Miss Marple, who nodded. The
superintendent got up. He said, "This lady
will ask you some questions." He went
out, closing the door behind him.
Florence looked uneasily at Miss Marple.
Her eyes looked rather like those of one of
her father's calves.
Miss Marple said, "Sit down, Florence."
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, "You understand, Florence, that it's of the utmost importance
that everything about poor Pamela's
doings on the day of her death should be
known?"
Florence murmured that she quite understood.

"And I'm sure you want to do your best
to help?" Florence's eyes were wary as she
said of course she did. "To keep back any
piece of information is a very serious offense,"
said Miss Marple.
The girl's fingers twisted nervously in
her lap. She swallowed once or twice. "I
can make allowances," went on Miss
Marple, "for 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 have spoken
sooner. Possibly you are afraid that you
may also be blamed for not stopping
Pamela at the time. But you've 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 indeed--very
serious--practically perjury--
and for that, as you know, you can be sent
to prison."
"I--I don't--"
Miss Marple said sharply, "Now don't
prevaricate, Florence! Tell me all about it
at once! Pamela wasn't going to
Woolworth's, was she?" Florence licked
her lips with a dry tongue and gazed imploringly
at Miss Marple, like a beast about
to be slaughtered. "Something to do with
the films, wasn't it?" asked Miss Marple.
A look of intense relief mingled with
awe passed over Florence's face. Her inhibitions
left her. She gasped, "Oh, yes!"
"I thought so," said Miss Marple. "Now
I want you to tell me all the details, please."
")">n
Words poured from Florence in a gush.
"Oh, I've been ever so worried. I promised
Pam, you see, I'd never say a word to
a soul. And then, when she was found, all
burned up in that car--oh, it was horrible
and I thought I should die--I felt it was
all my fault. I ought to have stopped her.
Only I never thought, not for a minute, that it wasn't all right. And then I was
asked if she'd been quite as usual that day
and I said 'Yes' before I'd had time to
think. And not having said anything then, I didn't see how I could say anything
later. And after all, I didn't know anything--not
really--only what Pam told
me."
"What did Pam tell you?"
"It was as we were walking up the lane
to the bus on the way to the rally. She
asked me if I could keep a secret, and I
said yes, and she made me swear not to
tell. She was going into Danemouth for a
film test after the rally! She'd met a film
producer--just 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 couldn't tell, he/said, not until you
saw how 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. Pam's acted in
plays at school and she's awfully good. He
said he could see she could act, but she'd
have to have some intensive training. It
wouldn't be all beer and skittles, he told
her; it would be hard work. Did she think
she could stick it?"
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 strangers, but the glamour of
films would have obliterated all that.
"He was absolutely businesslike about it
all," continued Florence. "Said if the test
was successful she'd 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 wasn't to
pass on that he'd said that. He asked her
if she'd have trouble with her parents, and
Pam said she probably would, and he said,
'Well, of course that's always a difficulty with anvonp as vminff as you are, but I
think if it was put to them that this was a
wonderful chance that wouldn't happen
once in a million times, they'd see reason.' But anyway, he said, it wasn't any good
going into that until they knew the result
of the test. She mustn't be disappointed if
it failed. He told her about Hollywood and
about Vivien Leigh--how she'd suddenly
taken London by storm, and how these
sensational leaps into fame did happen. He
himself had come back from America to
work with the Lenville Studios and put
some pep into the English film companies."
Miss Marple nodded.
Florence went on, "So it was all arranged.
Pam was to go into Danemouth
after the rally and meet him at his hotel
and he'd take her along to the studios--
they'd got a small testing studio in
Danemouth, he told her. She'd have her
test and she could catch the bus home
afterward. She could say she'd been shopping, and he'd let her know the results of
the test in a few days, and if it was favorable
Mr. Harmsteiter, the boss, would
come along and talk to her parents.
"Well, of course, it sounded too wonderful!
I was green with envy! Pam got
through the rally without turning a hair—
we always call her a regular poker face.
Then, when she said that she was going
into Danemouth to Woolworth's, she just
winked at me.
"I saw her start off down the footpath."
Florence began to cry. "I ought to have
stopped her! I ought to have stopped her!
I ought to have known a thing like that
couldn't be true! I ought to have told
someone. Oh, dear, I wish I was dead!"
"There, there." Miss Marple patted her
on the shoulder. "It's quite all right. No
one will blame you, Florence. You've done
the right thing in telling me."
She devoted some minutes to cheering
the child up.
Five minutes later she was telling the
girl's story to Superintendent Harper. The
latter looked very grim. "The clever devil!"
he said. "I'll cook his goose for him! This
puts rather a different aspect on things."
"Yes, it does."
Harper looked at her sideways. "It
doesn't surprise you?"
"I expected something of the kind," Miss
Marple said.
Superintendent Harper said curiously,
"What put you on to this particular girl?
224
They all looked scared to death and there
wasn't a pin to choose between them, as
far as I could see."
Miss Marple said gently, "You haven't
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 didn't watch her as
she went out of the door. I knew at once
then that she'd got something to hide.
They nearly always relax too soon. My
little maid Janet always did. She'd explain
quite convincingly that the mice had eaten
the end of a cake and give herself away by
smirking as she left the room."
"I'm very grateful to you," said Harper.
He added thoughtfully, "Lenville Studios,
eh?"
Miss Marple said nothing. She rose to
her feet.
"I'm afraid," she said, "I must hurry
away. So glad to have been able to help
you."
"Are you going back to the hotel?"
"Yes, to pack up. I must go back to St.
Mary Mead as soon as possible. There's a
lot for me to do there."
FR1;Eighteen
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 vicar's wife, who was
young and pretty, was admiring the
progress of her offspring across the
hearthrug. "Can I come in, Griselda?"
"Oh, 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 backward into the coalbox!"
"He's looking very bonny, Griselda."
"He's not bad, is he?" said the young
mother, endeavoring to assume an indifferent t-r>ar»n^r "Of rnnrse I didn't bother
with him much. All the books say a child
should be left alone as much as possible."
"Very wise, dear," said Miss Marple.
"Ahem--I came to ask if there was anything
special you are collecting for at the
moment?"
The vicar's wife turned somewhat astonished
eyes upon her. "Oh, heaps of
things," she said cheerfully. "There always
are." She ticked them off on her
fingers. "There's the Nave Restoration
Fund, and St. Giles5 Mission, and our Sale
of Work next Wednesday, and the Unmarried
Mothers, and a Boy Scouts Outing, and the Needlework Guild, and the Bishop's
Appeal for Deep-Sea Fishermen."
"Any of them will do," said Miss
Marple. "I thought I might make a little
round--with a book, you know--if you
would authorize me to do so."
"Are 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 penwipers and depressing
children's frocks and dusters all done
up to look like dolls. ... I suppose,"
continued Griselda, accompanying her
guest to the window, "that you wouldn't
like to tell me what it's all about?"
"Later, my dear," 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. They then rolled over
and over in a grand tumble until the door
opened and the vicarage maid announced
to the most influential parishioner, who
didn't like children, "Missus is in here."
Whereupon Griselda sat up and tried to
look dignified and more what a vicar's
wife should be.
Miss Marple, clasping a small black book
with penciled 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 "Mr. Booker's
new house." She turned in at the gate,
walked up to the front door and knocked
on it briskly. The door was opened by the
blond young woman named Dinah Lee.
ci-io wac i^cc ^Qr^fnilv made un than usual
and, in fact, looked slightly dirty. She was
wearing gray slacks and an emerald jumper.
"Good morning," said Miss Marple
briskly and cheerfully. "May I just come
in for a minute?" 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. "Thank you so
much," said Miss Marple, beaming amiably
at her and sitting down rather gingerly
on a period bamboo chair. "Quite warm
for the time of year, is it not?" went on
Miss Marple, still exuding geniality.
"Yes, rather. Oh, quite," said Miss Lee.
At a loss how to deal with the situation,
she opened a box and offered it to her
guest. "Er--have a cigarette?"
"Thank you so much, but I don't smoke.
I just called, you know, to see if I could
enlist your help for our Sale of Work next
week."
"Sale of Work?" said Dinah Lee, as one
who repeats a phrase in a foreign language.

"At the vicarage," said Miss Marple.
"Next Wednesday."
"Oh!" Miss Lee's mouth fell open. "I'm
afraid I couldn't--"
"Not even a small subscription--half a
crown perhaps?" Miss Marple exhibited
her little book.
"Oh—er—well, yes. I dare say I could
manage that." The girl looked relieved and
turned to hunt in her handbag.
Miss Marple's sharp eyes were looking
round the room. She said, "I see you've
no hearthrug in front of the fire." 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, "It's rather dangerous, you know.
Sparks fly out and mark the carpet."
Funny old tabby, thought Dinah, but she
said quite amiably, if somewhat vaguely,
"There used to be one. I don't know where
it's got to."
"I suppose," said Miss Marple, "it was
the fluffy woolly kind?"
"Sheep," said Dinah. "That's what it
looked like." She was amused now. An
eccentric old bean, this. She held out a
half crown. "Here you are," she said.
"Oh, thank you, my dear." Miss Marple
took it and opened the little book. "Er—
what name shall I write down?"
Dinah's eves erew suddenly hard and
contemptuous. Nosy old cat, she thought. Thafs all she came for--prying around for
scandal. She said clearly and with malicious
pleasure, "Miss Dinah Lee."
Miss Marple looked at her steadily. She
said, "This is Mr. Basil Blake's cottage, isn't it?"
"Yes, and I'm Miss Dinah Lee!" Her
voice rang out challengingly, her head went
back, her blue eyes flashed.
Very steadily Miss Marple looked at her.
She said, "Will you allow me to give you
some advice, even though you may consider
it impertinent?"
"I shall consider it impertinent. You had
better say nothing."
"Nevertheless," said Miss Marple, "I
am going to speak. I want to advise you, very strongly, not to continue using your
maiden name in the village."
Dinah stared at her. She said, "What--
what do you mean?"
Miss Marple said earnestly, "In a very
short time you may need all the sympathy
and good will 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
weren't bothered with what I expect you
would call 'old frumps.' Nevertheless, old
frumps have their uses."
Dinah demanded, "How did you know
we are married?"
Miss Marple smiled a deprecating smile.
"Oh, my dear," she said.
Dinah persisted, "No, but how did you
know? You didn't--you didn't go to
Somerset House?"
A momentary flicker showed in Miss
Marple's eyes. "Somerset House? Oh, no.
But it was quite easy to guess. Everything, you know, gets round in a village. The--
er--the kind of quarrels you have--typical
of early days of marriage. Quite--quite
unlike an illicit relationship. It has been
said, you know--and I think quite truly--
that you can only really get under
anybody's skin if you are married to them.
When there is no--no 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! Morn^rl nponle. T have noticed. Quite enjoy their battles and the--er--appropriate
reconciliations." She paused, twinkling benignly.

"Well, I--" Dinah stopped and laughed.
She sat down and lit a cigarette. "You're
absolutely marvelous!" she said. Then she
went on, "But why do you want us to own
up and admit to respectability?"
Miss Marple's face was grave now. She
said, "Because any minute now your husband
may be arrested for murder."
Nineteen
For an interval Dinah stared at Miss
Marple. Then she said incredulously 5 "Basil?
Murder? Are you joking?"
"No, indeed. Haven't you seen the papers?"

Dinah caught her breath. "You mean
that girl at the Majestic Hotel. Do you
mean they suspect Basil of killing her?"
"Yes."
"But it's nonsense!"
There was a whir of a car outside, the
bang of a gate. Basil Blake flung open the
door and came in, carrying some bottles.
He said, "Got the gin and the vermouth.
Did you--" He stopped and turned incredulous
eyes on the prim, erect visitor.
Dinah burst out breathlessly, "Is she
mad? She says you're going to be arrested
for the murder of that girl Ruby Keene."
"Oh, God!" said Basil Blake. The gottl^c
rlrnnnpd from his arms onto the sofa.
He reeled to a chair and dropped down in
it and buried his face in his hands. He
repeated, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"
Dinah darted over to him. She caught
his shoulders. "Basil, look at me! It isn't
true! I know it isn't true! I don't believe it
for a moment!"
His hand went up and gripped hers. "Bless you, darling."
"But why should they think--You didn't
even know her, did you?"
"Oh, yes, he knew her," said Miss
Marple.
Basil said fiercely, "Be quiet, you old
hag! . . . Listen, Dinah, darling. I hardly
knew her at all. Just ran across her once
or twice at the Majestic. That's all--I swear
that's all!"
Dinah said, bewildered, "I don't understand.
Why should anyone suspect you, then?"
Basil groaned. He put his hands over his
eyes and rocked to and fro.
Miss Marple said, "What did you do
with the hearthrug?"
His reply came mechanically, "I put it
in the dustbin."
Miss Marple clucked her tongue vexedly.
"That was stupid--very stupid. People
don't put good hearthrugs in dustbins. It
had spangles in it from her dress, I suppose?"

"Yes, I couldn't get them out."
Dinah cried, "What are you talking
about?"
Basil said sullenly, "Ask her. She seems
to know all about it."
"I'll tell you what I think happened, if
you like," said Miss Marple. "You can
correct me, Mr. Blake, if I go wrong. I
think that after having a violent quarrel
with your wife at a party and after having
had, perhaps, rather too much--er--to
drink, you drove down here. I don't know
what time you arrived."
Basil Blake said sullenly, "About 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 saw--and I saw--" He gulped and
stopped.
Miss Marple went on, "You saw a girl
lying on the hearthrug. A girl in a white
evening dress, strangled. I don't know
xirit^ti-i^r vnn rprnenized her then--"
Basil Blake shook his head violently. "I
couldn't look at her after the first glance;
her face was all blue, swollen; she'd been
dead some time and she was there--in my
living room!" He shuddered.
Miss Marple said gently 5 "You weren't, of course, quite yourself. You were in a
fuddled state and your nerves are not good.
You were, I think, panic-stricken. You
didn't know what to do--"
"I thought Dinah might turn up any
minute. And she'd find me there with a
dead body--a girl's dead body--and she'd
think I'd killed her. Then I got an idea. It
seemed--I don't know why--a good idea
at the time. I thought: 'I'll put her in old
Bantry's library. Damned pompous old
stick, always looking down his nose, sneering
at me as artistic and effeminate. Serve
the pompous brute right,' I thought. 'He'll
look a fool when a dead lovely is found on
his hearthrug.'" He added with a pathetic
eagerness to explain, "I was a bit drunk, you know, at the time. It really seemed
positively amusing to me. Old Bantry with
a dead blonde."
"Yes, yes," said Miss Marple. "Little
Tommy Bond had very much the same
idea. Rather a sensitive bov, with an infe-
riority complex, he said teacher was always
picking on him. He put a frog in the clock
and it jumped out at her. You were just
the same," went on Miss Marple, "only,
of course, bodies are more serious matters
than frogs."
Basil groaned again. "By the morning
I'd sobered up. I realized what I'd done. I
was scared stiff. And then the police came
here—another damned pompous ass of a
chief constable. I was scared of him, and
the only way I could hide it was by being
abominably rude. In the middle of it all,
Dinah drove up."
Dinah looked out of the window. She
said, "There's a car driving up now. There
are men in it."
"The police, I think," said Miss Marple.
Basil Blake got up. Suddenly he became
quite calm and resolute. He even smiled.
He said, "So I'm in for it, am I? All right,
Dinah, sweet, keep your head. Get onto
old Sims—he's the family lawyer—and go
to mother "and tell her about our marriage.
She won't bite. And don't worry. I didn't
do it. So it's bound to be all right, see,
sweetheart?"
There was a tap on the cottage door.
r><.o;i /,r,n^ri "r^omp. in "
Inspector Slack entered with another
man. He said, "Mr. Basil Blake?"
"Yes."
"I have a warrant here for your arrest
on the charge of murdering Ruby Keene
on the night of September twentieth 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."

Basil nodded. He looked at Dinah, but
did not touch her. He said, "So long, Dinah."
Cool customer, thought Inspector Slack.
He acknowledged the presence of Miss
Marple with a half bow and a "Good morning,"
and thought to himself. Smart old
pussy; she's on to it. Good job we've 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. Don't
think those friends of his meant to commit
perjury. They were bottled, and Blake told
'cm firmly the next day it was twelve o'clock
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^ t>rohn.h1v c^r/mo7/v7 Yio'v /iv^^ l^
out to the qu^^ry ^alked back into
Danemouth, pick^ ^p ^ own car in some
side lane, drove ^ ^^ party, then back to
Danemouth, brou^ RubY ^-eene out here,
strangled her, put ^ ^ q\j. Bantry's library,
then probably got ^ ^^ up about the car
in the quarry, dr^ ^^ set it on fire and
got back here. Af^J_se^C an^ blood lust--
lucky this girl's reaped. What they call recurring
mania, I ^^ '
Alone with A^s§ Marf^? I^1113!1 Blake
turned to her. §^g g^J, "I don't know
who you are, bi^ you've S01 to understand
this: Basil didn'^ ^ ^ "
Miss Marple g^ "^ l^now he didn't. I
know who did (^q ^ g^t it's not going to
be easy to pro\\g pyg ^ idea that something
you said j^ ^^ may help. It gave
me an idea--th^ conne^1011 ^ ^een try" ing to find. No^ ^at ^as it?"
Twenty
"I'm home, Arthur!" 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,
"Well, well, that's splendid!"
The colonel's words were unimpeachable, the manner very well done, but an
affectionate wife of as many years' standing
as Mrs. Bantry was not deceived. She
said immediately, "Is anything the matter?"

"No, of course not. Dolly. What should
be the matter?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Bantry
vaguely. "Things are so queer, aren't
they?"
She threw off her coat as she spoke, and
Colonel Bantry picked it up carefully and
laid it across the back of the sofa. All
exactly as usual, yet not as usual. Her
husband, Mrs. Bantry thought, seemed to
have shrunk. He looked thinner, stooped
more, there 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, "Well, how did
you enjoy your time at Danemouth?"
"Oh, it was great fun. You ought to
have come, Arthur."
"Couldn't get away, my dear. Lots of
things to attend to here."
"Still, I think the change would have
done you good. And you like the
Jeffersons?"
"Yes, yes, poor fellow. Nice chap. All
very sad."
"What have you been doing with yourself
since I've been away?"
"Oh, nothing much; been over the
farms, you know. Agreed that Anderson
shall have a new roof. Can't patch it up
any longer."
"How did the Radfordshire Council
meeting go?"
"I--well, as a matter of fact, I didn't
go."
"Didn't go? But you were taking the
r-liair "
"Well, as a matter of fact. Dolly, seems
there was some mistake about that. Asked
me if I'd mind if Thompson took it instead."

"I see," 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, "Leave it. I hate gloves." Colonel
Bantry glanced at her uneasily. Mrs. Bantry
said sternly, "Did you go to dinner with
the Duffs on Thursday?"
"Oh, that? It was put off. Their cook
was ill."
"Stupid people," said Mrs. Bantry. She
went on, "Did you go to the Nay lor s'
yesterday?"
"I rang up and said I didn't feel up to
it; hoped they'd excuse me. They quite
understood."
"They did, did they?" said Mrs. Bantry
grimly. She sat down by the desk and
absent-mindedly picked up a pair of gardening
scissors. With them she cut off the
fingers, one by one, of her second glove.
"What are you doing. Dolly?"
"Feeling destructive," said Mrs. Bantry.
She got up. "Where shall we sit after
dinner, Arthur? In the library?"
"Well--er--I don't think so--eh? Very
nice in here--or the drawing room."
"I think," said Mrs. Bantry, "that we'll
sit in the library."
Her steady eyes met his. Colonel Bantry
drew himself up to his full height. A sparkle
came into his eye. He said, "You're
right, my dear. We'll sit in the library!"
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 resort, 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 on her usual round.
"Where can the woman be?" demanded
Mrs. Bantry impatiently, aloud.
There was a deferential cough behind
her. The discreet Lorrimer murmured,
"You were requiring Miss Marple, madam?
I have just observed her approaching the
house."
Mrs. Bantry rushed to the front door, flung it open and greeted Miss Marple
breathlessly, "I've been trying to get you
everywhere. Where have you been?" She
glanced over her shoulder. Lorrimer had
discreetly vanished. "Everything's too awful!
People are beginning to cold-shoulder
Arthur! He looks years older. We must do
something, Jane. You must do something!"
Miss Marple said, "You needn't worry, Dolly," in a rather peculiar voice.
Colonel Bantry appeared from the study
door. "Ah, Miss Marple. Good morning.
Glad you've come. My wife's been ringing
you up like a lunatic."
"I thought I'd better bring you the
news," said Miss Marple as she followed
Mrs. Bantry into the study.
"News?"
"Basil Blake has just been arrested for
the murder of Ruby Keene."
"Basil Blake?" cried the colonel.
"But he didn't do it," said Miss Marple.
Colonel Bantry took no notice of this
statement. It is doubtful if he even heard
it. "Do you mean to saw he strangled that
girl and then brought her along and put
her in my library?"
"He put her in your library," said Miss
Marple, "but he didn't kill her."
"Nonsense. If he put her in my library,
of course he killed her! The two things go
together!"
"Not necessarily. He found her dead in
his own cottage."
"A likely story," said the colonel derisively.
"If you find a body--why, you ring
up the police, naturally, if you're an honest
man."
"Ah," said Miss Marple, "but we haveen't
all got such iron nerves as you have, Colonel Bantry. You belong to the old
school. The younger generation is different."
"Got no stamina," said the colonel, repeating
a well-worn opinion of his.
"Some of them," said Miss Marple, "have been through a bad time. I've heard
a good deal about Basil. He did ARP 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 wasn't 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 a long time after that. That's when he
got interested in designing.55
"Oh!55 The colonel coughed and blew
his nose. "I--er--never knew that.55
"He doesn5! talk about it,55 said Miss
Marple.
"Er--quite right. Proper spirit. Must be
more in the young chap than I thought.
Shows you ought to be careful in jumping
to conclusions.55 Colonel Bantry looked
ashamed. "But all the same'5--his indignation
revived--"what did he mean, trying
to fasten a murder on me?55
"I don5! think he saw it like that,55 said
Miss Marple. "He thought of it more as
a--as a joke. You see, he was rather under
the influence of alcohol at the time.55
"Bottled, was he?55 said Colonel Bantry,
with an Englishman's sympathy for alcoholic
excess. "Oh, well, can5! judge a fellow
by what he does when he's drunk.
When I was at Cambridge, I remember I
put a certain utensil--well--well, never
mind. Deuce of a row there was about it.55 He chuckled, then checked himself sternly.
He looked at Miss Marple with eyes that
were shrewd and appraising. He said, "You
don5! think he did the murder, eh?55
"I'm sure he didn't."
"And you think you know who did?"
Miss Marple nodded.
Mrs. Bantry, like an ecstatic Greek chorus, said, "Isn't she wonderful?" to an
unhearing world.
"Well, who was it?"
Miss Marple said, "I was going to ask
you to help me. I think if we went up to
Somerset House we should have a very
good idea."
Twenty-one
Sir Henry's face was very grave. He said,
"I don't like it."
"I am aware," said Miss Marple, "that
it isn't what you call orthodox. But it is so
important, isn't it, to be quite sure—to
"make assurance doubly sure,' as Shakespeare
has it? I think, if Mr. Jefferson
would agree—"
"What about Harper? Is he to be in on
this?"
"It might be awkward for him to know
too much. But there might be a hint from
you. To watch certain persons—hive them
trailed, you know."
Sir Henry said slowly, "Yes, that would
meet the case."
Superintendent Harper looked piercingly
at Sir Henry dithering. "Let's get this
clear, sir. You're giving me a hint?"
Sir Henry said, "I'm informing you of
what my friend has just informed me—he
didn't tell me in confidence--that he purposes
to visit a solicitor in Danemouth
tomorrow for the purpose of making a new
will."
The superintendent's bushy eyebrows
drew downward over his steady eyes. He
said, "Does Mr. Conway Jefferson propose
to inform his son-in-law and daughterin-law
of that fact?"
"He intends to tell them about it this
evening."
"I see." The superintendent tapped his
desk with a penholder. He repeated again, "I see." Then the piercing eyes bored once
more into the eyes of the other man.
Harper said, "So you're not satisfied with
the case against Basil Blake?"
"Are you?"
The superintendent's mustaches quivered.
He said, "Is Miss Marple?" The two
men looked at each other. Then Harper
said, "You can leave it to me. I'll have
men detailed. There will be no funny business, I can promise you that."
Sir Henry said, "There is one more
thing. You'd better see this." He unfolded
a slip of paper and pushed it across the
table.
This time the superintendent's calm de^n

serted him. He whistled. "So that's it, is
it? That puts an entirely different complexion
on the matter. How did you come
to dig up this?"
"Women," said Sir Henry, "are eternally
interested in marriages."
"Especially," said the superintendent, "elderly single women."
Conway Jefferson looked up as his friend
entered. His grim face relaxed into a smile.
He said, "Well, I told 'em. They took it
very well."
"What did you say?"
"Told 'em that, as Ruby was dead, I
felt that fifty thousand I'd 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 money--surprised
they swallowed it--as though I'd do a thing
like that." He added meditatively, "You
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 kid, but
most of what I saw in her I put there
myself. I pretended she was another
Rosamund. Same coloring, you know. But
?^i
not the same heart or mind. Hand me that
paper; rather an interesting bridge problem."

Sir Henry went downstairs. He asked a
question of the porter.
"Mr. Gaskell, sir? He's just gone off in
his car. Had to go to London."
"Oh, I see. Is Mrs. Jefferson about?"
"Mrs. Jefferson, sir, has just gone up to
bed."
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 anemic-looking girl
with adenoids, dull brown hair and an
expensive and exceedingly unbecoming
dress. Sir Henry said under his breath,
"And so to bed," and went upstairs.
It was three o'clock. The wind had fallen, the moon was shining over the quiet sea.
In Conway Jefferson's 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. 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, "No, you
don't! I want that needle!" The light
switched on, and from his pillows Conway
Jefferson looked grimly at the murderer of
Ruby Keene.
253
Twenty-two
Sir Henry dithering said, "Speaking as
Watson, I want to know your methods,
Miss Marple."
Superintendent Harper said, "I'd like to
know what put you on to it first."
Colonel Melchett said, "You've done it
again, by Jove, Miss Marple. I want to
hear all about it from the beginning."
Miss Marple smoothed the pure silk of
her best evening gown. She flushed and
smiled and looked very self-conscious. She
said, "I'm afraid you'll think my 'methods,'
as Sir Henry calls them, are terribly
amateurish. The truth is, you see, that
most people--and I don't exclude policemen--are
far too trusting for this wicked
world. They believe what is told them. I
never do. I'm afraid I always like to prove
a thing for myself."
"That is the scientific attitude," laid Sir
Henry.
?^J.
"In this case," continued Miss Marple, "certain things were taken for granted from
the first, instead 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 little--as young girls' so often
do if not corrected in time with a plate--
and children are very naughty about their
plates and take them out when their elders
aren't looking.
"But 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
Bantry's library, altogether too like a book
to be true. In fact, it made the wrong
pattern. It wasn't, 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 colonel's
library delayed things considerably and
must have been a source of great annoyance
tfirhe real murderer. Originally, you
see, Mr. Blake would have been the first
?^«;
object of suspicion. They'd have made inquiries
at Danemouth, found he knew the
girl, then found he had tied himself up
with another girl, and they'd have assumed
that Ruby came to blackmail him or something
like that, and that he'd strangled her
in a fit of rage. Just an ordinary, sordid, what I call night-club type of crime!"
"But that, of course, all went wrong, and interest became focused much too soon
on the Jefferson family--to the great annoyance
of a certain person.
"As I've told you, I've got a very suspicious
mind. My nephew Raymond tells
me, in fun, of course--that I have a mind
like a sink. He says that most Victorians
have. All I can say is that the Victorians
knew a great deal about human nature. As
I say, having this rather insanitary--or
surely sanitary?--mind, I looked at once at
the money angle of it. Two people stood
to benefit by this girl's death--you couldn't
get away from that. Fifty thousand pounds
is a lot of money, especially when you are
in financial difficulties, as both these people
were. Of course they both seemed very
nice, agreeable people; they didn't seem
likely people, but one never can tell, can
one?
?^
"Mrs. Jefferson, for instance--everyone
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 couldn't live long, so that was
all right--to put it callously--or it would
have been all right if Ruby Keene hadn't
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. 'Well, 'twas all for Daisy, you see, miss,' they
say, and seem to think that that makes
doubtful conduct quite all right. Very lax
thinking.
"Mr. 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.
"As I say, with my eye on motive the
money angle seemed very suggestive. It
was annoying, therefore, to find that both
?^7
these two people had alibis for the time
when Ruby Keene, according to the medical
evidence, had met her death. But soon
afterward there came the discovery of the
burnt-out car with Pamela Reeves5 body in
it, and then the whole thing leaped to the
eye. The alibis, of course, were worthless.
"I 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 hadn't
got a motive. It was stupid of me," said
Miss Marple meditatively. "If it hadn't
been for Dinah Lee I shouldn't have
thought of it--the most obvious thing in
the world. Somerset House! Marriage! It
wasn't a question of only Mr. Gaskell or
Mrs. Jefferson; there was the further possibility
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. ?^s
Jefferson. Like Ruth and Naomi--only
Naomi, if you remember, took a lot of
trouble to arrange a suitable marriage for
Ruth.
"Besides Raymond, there was Mr.
McLean. She liked him very much, and it
seemed highly possible that she would
marry him in the end. He wasn't well off
and he was not far from Danemouth on
the night in question. So, it seemed, didn't
it," said Miss Marple, "as though anyone
might have done it? But, of course, really, in my own mind, I knew. You couldn't
get away, could you, from those bitten
nails?"
"Nails?" said Sir Henry. "But she tore
her nail and cut the others."
"Nonsense," said Miss Marple. "Bitten
nails and closecut nails are quite different!
Nobody could mistake them who knew
anything about girls' nails--very 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 Bantry's library wasn't
Ruby Keene at all.
"And that brings you straight to the one
person who must be concerned. Josie! Josie
identified the body. She knew--she must
")CQ
have known—that it wasn't Ruby Keene's
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 Blake's 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 Ruby's handbag.
Josie! Josie, who was shrewd, practical,
hard as nails and all out for money.
"Since the body wasn't the body of Ruby
Keene, it must be the body of someone
else. Of whom? Of the other girl who was
also missing. Pamela Reeves! Ruby was
eighteen, Pamela sixteen. They were both
healthy, rather immature, but muscular
girls. But why, I asked myself, all this
hocus-pocus? There could be only one reason—to
give certain persons an alibi. Who
had alibis for the supposed time of Ruby
Keene's death? Mark Gaskell, Mrs.
Jefferson and Josie.
"It was really quite interesting, you
know, tracing out the course of events,
seeing exactly how the plan had worked
out. Comolicated and vet simple. First of
all, the selection of the poor child, Pamela;
the approach to her from the film angle. A
screen test; of course the poor child
couldn't 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 Josie--one of their makeup
experts! That poor child--it makes me
quite sick to think of it! Sitting in Josie's
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 opposite. They were only cleaned
once a week, remember.
"After dinner Mark Gaskell went out in
his car--to the sea front, he said. That is
when he took Pamela's body to the cottage, arranged it, dressed in one of Ruby's
old dresses, on the hearthrug. She was still
unconscious, but not dead, when he strangled
her with the belt of the frock. Not
nice, no, but I hope and pray she knew
nothing about it. Really, I feel quite pleased
to think of him hanging. . . . That must
have been just after ten o'clock. Then back
at top speed and into the lounge where
Ruby Keene, still alive, was dancing her
exhibition dance with Raymond. I should
imagine that Josie had given Ruby instructions
beforehand. Ruby was accustomed to
doing what Josie told her. She was to
change, go into Josie9 s room and wait. She, too, was drugged; probably in the
after-dinner coffee. She was yawning, remember, when she talked to young
Bartlett.
"Josie came up later with Raymond to 'look for her,' but nobody but Josie went
into Josie's room. She probably finished
the girl off then--with 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 up to bed. In
the early hours of the morning she dressed
the girl in Pamela's clothes, carried the
body down the side stairs and out--she
was a strong, muscular young woman--
fetched George Bartlett's 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 o'clock--up
earlv in her anxiety about Ruby!"
"An intricate plot," said Colonel
Melchett.
"Not more intricate than the steps of a
dance," said Miss Marple.
"I suppose not."
"She was very thorough," said Miss
Marple. "She even foresaw the discrepancy
of the nails. That's why she managed
to break one of Ruby's nails on her shawl.
It made an excuse for pretending that Ruby
had clipped her nails close."
Harper said, "Yes, she thought of everything.
And the only real proof you had
was a schoolgirl's bitten nails."
"More than that," said Miss Marple.
"People will talk too much. Mark Gaskell
talked too much. He was speaking of Ruby
and he said, 'her teeth ran down her
throat.' But the dead girl in Colonel
Bantry's library had teeth that stuck out."
Conway Jefferson said rather grimly, "And was the last dramatic finale your
idea. Miss Marple?"
"Well, it was, as a matter of fact. It's so
nice to be sure, isn't it?"
"Sure is the word," said Conway Jefferson
grimly.
"You see," said Miss Marple, "once
those two knew that you were going to
make a new will, they'd have to do something.
They'd 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 Ruby's
death to be put down to Basil's account, so Mr. Jefferson's death must be thought
due to his heart failure. There was digitalis, 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 afterward. His
death would be put down to the shock of
the noise.
Melchett said, "Ingenious devil."
Sir Henry said, "So the third death you
spoke of was to be Conway Jefferson?"
Miss Marple shook her head. "Oh, no, I
meant Basil Blake. They'd have got him
hanged if they could."
"Or shut up in Broadmoor," said Sir
Henry.
Through the doorway floated Adelaide
Jefferson. Hugo McLean followed her. The
latter said, "I seem to have missed most of
this! Haven't got the hang of it yet. What
was Josie to Mark Gaskell?"
Miss Marple said, "His wife. They were
married a year ago. They were keeping it
dark until Mr. Jefferson died."
Conway Jefferson grunted. He said, "Always
knew Rosamund had married a rotter.
Tried not to admit it to myself. She was
fond of him. Fond of a murderer! Well, he'll hang, as well as the woman. I'm glad
he went to pieces and gave the show away."
Miss Marple said, "She was always the
strong character. It was her plan throughout.
The irony of it is that she got the girl
down here by herself, never dreaming that
she would take Mr. Jefferson's fancy and
ruin all her own prospects."
Jefferson said, "Poor lass. Poor little
Ruby."
Adelaide laid her hand on his shoulder
and pressed it gently. She looked almost
beautiful tonight. She said, with a little
catch in her breath, "I want to tell you
something, Jeff. At once. I'm going to
marry Hugo."
Conway Jefferson looked up at her for a
moment. He said gruff Iv, "About rime
ou married aga,in. Congratulations to you
oth. By the wai.y, Addie, I'm making out
new will tomorrow."
She nodded, ("Oh, yes, I know."
Jefferson said,, "No, you don't. I'm seting
ten thousand pounds on you. Everyling
else goes tio Peter when I die. How
oes that suit yo».u, my girl?"
"Oh, Jeff!" Her voice broke. "You're wonderful!"
"He's a nice lad. I'd like to see a good
eal of him in--in the time I've got left."
"Oh, you shalll!"
"Got a great feeling for crime, Peter
as," said Conv^ay Jefferson meditatively.
Not only has h^e got the fingernail of the
mrdered girl-- one of the murdered girls, nyway--but he was lucky enough to have
bit of Josie's shawl caught in with the all . So he's got: a souvenir of the murderss
too! That msikes him very happy!"
[ugo and Adelaide passed by the ball- 3om. Raymond came up to them. Adelaide
ud rather quickly, "I must tell you my
ews. We're goimg to be married."
The smile on Raymond's face was persaid, ignoring Hugo and gazing into her
eyes, "that you will be very, very happy."
They passed on and Raymond stood
looking after them. "A nice woman," he
said to himself. "A very nice woman. And
she would have had money too. The trouble
I took to mug up that bit about the
Devonshire Starrs. Oh, well, my luck's
out. Dance, dance, little gentleman!"
And Raymond returned to the ballroom.
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