II

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 heardyet? 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 differently. Colonel Bantry, poorman, 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 drawtheir heads in and hope nobody will notice them. Dolly, of course, is quitedifferent.”

“Dolly, in fact,” said Sir Henry, who knew his old friend fairly well, “isalmost enjoying herself, eh?”

“Well—er—yes. Poor dear.”

“And she’s brought you along to produce the rabbits out of the hat forher?”

Miss Marple said composedly:

“Dolly thought that a change of scene would be a good thing and shedidn’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 embar-rassing for me, because, of course, I am no use at all.”

“No ideas? No village parallels?”

“I don’t know very much about it all yet.”

“I can remedy that, I think. I’m going to call you into consultation, MissMarple.”

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

“Poor Mr. Jefferson,” she said. “What a very sad story. These terrible ac-cidents. To leave him alive, crippled, seems more cruel than if he had beenkilled too.”

“Yes, indeed. That’s why all his friends admire him so much for the res-olute way he’s gone on, conquering pain and grief and physical disabilit-ies.”

“Yes, it is splendid.”

“The only thing I can’t understand is this sudden outpouring of affectionfor 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 aminute. What I was trying to say was—very badly, I know—that he wasjust looking for a nice bright girl to take his dead daughter’s place—andthen 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 ofthe kind. The young maid-servant at Mr. Harbottle’s, for instance. A veryordinary girl, but quiet with nice manners. His sister was called away tonurse a dying relative and when she got back she found the girl com-pletely above herself, sitting down in the drawing room laughing and talk-ing and not wearing her cap or apron. Miss Harbottle spoke to her verysharply and the girl was impertinent, and then old Mr. Harbottle left herquite dumbfounded by saying that he thought she had kept house for himlong enough and that he was making other arrangements.

“Such a scandal as it created in the village, but poor Miss Harbottle hadto go and live most uncomfortably in rooms in Eastbourne. People saidthings, of course, but I believe there was no familiarity of any kind—it wassimply that the old man found it much pleasanter to have a young, cheer-ful girl telling him how clever and amusing he was than to have his sistercontinually pointing out his faults to him, even if she was a good econom-ical 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 offuss over the young lady who worked in his toilet section. Told his wifethey 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 — afriend’s child—”

Miss Marple interrupted him.

“Oh! but that wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfactory from his point ofview. It’s like King Cophetua and the beggar maid. If you’re really rather alonely, tired old man, and if, perhaps, your own family have been neglect-ing you”—she paused for a second—“well, to befriend someone who willbe overwhelmed with your magnificence—(to put it rather melodramatic-ally, 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 re-cipient is more likely to be dazzled, and that, of course, is a pleasant feel-ing for you.” She paused and said: “Mr. Badger, you know, bought the girlin his shop some really fantastic presents, a diamond bracelet and a mostexpensive radio-gramophone. Took out a lot of his savings to do so. How-ever, Mrs. Badger, who was a much more astute woman than poor MissHarbottle (marriage, of course, helps), took the trouble to find out a fewthings. And when Mr. Badger discovered that the girl was carrying onwith a very undesirable young man connected with the racecourses, andhad actually pawned the bracelet to give him the money—well, he wascompletely disgusted and the affair passed over quite safely. And he gaveMrs. Badger a diamond ring the following Christmas.”

Her pleasant, shrewd eyes met Sir Henry’s. He wondered if what shehad been saying was intended as a hint. He said:

“Are you suggesting that if there had been a young man in Ruby Keene’slife, my friend’s attitude towards her might have altered?”

“It probably would, you know. I dare say, in a year or two, he mighthave liked to arrange for her marriage himself—though more likely hewouldn’t—gentlemen are usually rather selfish. But I certainly think thatif Ruby Keene had had a young man she’d have been careful to keep veryquiet 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 explainswhy. No doubt she was looking forward to doing very well out of the busi-ness.”

“Rather a cold-blooded character, in fact?”

“That’s too harsh a judgment, perhaps. The poor thing has had to earnher living, and you can’t expect her to sentimentalize because a well-to-doman 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 theyhave really no particular moral right. I should say Miss Turner was ahard-headed, ambitious young woman, with a good temper and consider-able joie de vivre. A little,” added Miss Marple, “like Jessie Golden, thebaker’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 be-lieve.”

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

“Is there any reason, do you think, why my friend Conway Jeffersonshould suddenly have developed this ‘Cophetua complex,’ if you like to callit 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 ofview. He had a terrible shock and loss—so had they. The three bereavedpeople live together and the link between them is the loss they have allsustained. 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 totheir past sorrow. And so, feeling like that, old Mr. Jefferson would havebecome conscious of a sudden lack of sympathy without knowing itscause. It’s usually that. Gentlemen so easily feel neglected. With Mr. Har-bottle it was Miss Harbottle going away. And with the Badgers it was Mrs.

Badger taking such an interest in Spiritualism and always going out toséances.”

“I must say,” said Sir Henry ruefully, “that I dislike the way you reduceus 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 per-sonal 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 gardener up at Old Hall. Quite the best man they everhad. Knew exactly when the under-gardeners were slacking off—quite un-canny it was! He managed with only three men and a boy and the placewas kept better than it had been with six. And took several firsts with hissweet 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. That’s what I’m doing now—job-bing—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 wasthinking of Colonel and Mrs. Bantry.”

“Yes—yes—I see—” He asked sharply: “Was that why you alluded toDolly Bantry as ‘poor dear’ at the beginning of our conversation?”

“Yes. She hasn’t begun to realize things yet. I know because I’ve hadmore experience. You see, Sir Henry, it seems to me that there’s a greatpossibility 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 absolutelydisastrous for the Bantrys. Colonel Bantry, like nearly all retired militarymen, is really abnormally sensitive. He reacts very quickly to public opin-ion. He won’t notice it for some time, and then it will begin to go home tohim. A slight here, and a snub there, and invitations that are refused, andexcuses that are made—and then, little by little, it will dawn upon him andhe’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 hadsomething to do with it?”

“Of course they will! I’ve no doubt they’re saying so already. They’ll sayso more and more. And people will cold shoulder the Bantrys and avoidthem. That’s why the truth has got to be found out and why I was willingto come here with Mrs. Bantry. An open accusation is one thing—andquite easy for a soldier to meet. He’s indignant and he has a chance offighting. But this other whispering business will break him—will breakthem 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 mid-night, according to the medical evidence, she was dead. Gossington’sabout eighteen miles from here. Good road for sixteen of those miles untilone turns off the main road. A powerful car could do it in well under halfan hour. Practically any car could average thirty- five. But why anyoneshould either kill her here and take her body out to Gossington or shouldtake 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 outin a car and he then decided to push her into the first likely house in theneighbourhood?”

“I don’t think anything of the kind. I think there was a very careful planmade. 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 partic-ular plan went wrong because human beings are so much more vulner-able and sensitive than anyone thinks, it wouldn’t sound sensible, wouldit? But that’s what I believe—and—”

She broke off. “Here’s Mrs. Bantry now.”