Four

I
St. Mary Mead was having the most exciting morning it had known for along time.

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

“Forgive me coming so early, dear, but I thought, perhaps, you mightn’thave heard the news.”

“What news?” demanded Miss Hartnell. She had a deep bass voice andvisited the poor indefatigably, however hard they tried to avoid her minis-trations.

“About the body in Colonel Bantry’s library—a woman’s body—”

“In Colonel Bantry’s library?”

“Yes. Isn’t it terrible?”

“His poor wife.” Miss Hartnell tried to disguise her deep and ardentpleasure.

“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 hus-band. You’ve got to keep an eye on a man—all the time—all the time,” re-peated Miss Hartnell fiercely.

“I know. I know. It’s really too dreadful.”

“I wonder what Jane Marple will say. Do you think she knew anythingabout 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 toofar. We all know Jane likes to poke her nose into things—but I call this in-decent!”

“Oh, but Mrs. Bantry sent for her.”

“Mrs. Bantry sent for her?”

“Well, the car came—with Muswell driving 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 thetimes. She had not yet advanced from peroxide to platinum. “The one wholies 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 savoured this new addition to villagescandal.

“What a wicked woman!” trumpeted Miss Hartnell with righteouswrath.

“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.”