Nine

Mrs. Bantry was with Adelaide Jefferson. The former came up to Sir Henryand exclaimed: “You?”

“I, myself.” He took both her hands and pressed them warmly. “I can’ttell 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 allrather seriously. Miss Marple and I have come here to sleuth. Do youknow 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 come 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 atthe extreme end of the terrace by himself.

After a few desultory remarks and the arrival of the drinks Mrs. Bantryplunged 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 tohelp.”

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

“Do you—er—write detective stories?”

The most unlikely people, he knew, wrote detective stories. And MissMarple, in her old- fashioned spinster’s clothes, looked a singularly un-likely 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 shereally like, this girl?”

“Well—” Adelaide Jefferson paused, glanced across at Mark, and halflaughed. 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 MarkGaskell. Mark said deliberately:

“Common or garden gold-digger. And she knew her stuff. She’d got herhooks into Jeff all right.”

Both of them called their father-in-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 charmbut he was unreliable—talked too much, was occasionally boastful—notquite to be trusted, Sir Henry thought. He had sometimes wondered ifConway 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 coloured faintly. There had beenreproach 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 therest 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 sucha 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 oppos-ite sex as though it were a species of wild animal, “are frequently not aslevelheaded as they seem.”

“I’ll say you’re right,” said Mark. “Unfortunately, Miss Marple, we didn’trealize that. We wondered what the old boy saw in that rather insipid andmeretricious little bag of tricks. But we were pleased for him to be kepthappy and amused. We thought there was no harm in her. No harm inher! 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 herneck. Oh well, I suppose I’m under suspicion, anyway. If anyone had aninterest in seeing that girl dead it was Addie and myself.”

“Mark,” cried Mrs. Jefferson, half laughing and half angry, “you reallymustn’t!”

“All right, all right,” said Mark Gaskell pacifically. “But I do like speakingmy mind. Fifty thousand pounds our esteemed father-in-law was propos-ing 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 usethe weapons that Nature gave her? Who am I to judge? Done plenty of rot-ten things myself in my life. No, let’s say Ruby was entitled to plot andscheme 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 thegirl?”

Mark thrust out his hands.

“What could we say? Addie, always the little lady, retained her self-con-trol admirably. Put a brave face upon it. I endeavoured to follow her ex-ample.”

“I should have made a fuss!” said Mrs. Bantry.

“Well, frankly speaking, we weren’t entitled to make a fuss. It was Jeff ’smoney. We weren’t his flesh and blood. He’d always been damned good tous. There was nothing for it but to bite on the bullet.” He added reflect-ively: “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 understoodit.” She added, with a shade of resentment: “And Jeff ’s always seemed sofond of Peter.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I always have known Peter was your firsthusband’s child—but I’d quite forgotten it. I’ve always thought of him asMr. Jefferson’s grandson.”

“So have I,” said Adelaide. Her voice held a note that made Miss Marpleturn 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’vealways 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 thewhole thing. But I’ve no doubt she saw which way the wind was blowinglong 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 seen—”

Mrs. Bantry said hastily:

“Oh yes, I saw her—her body. But she’d been strangled, you know, andone couldn’t tell—” She shivered.

Mark said, thoughtfully:

“I don’t think she was really pretty at all. She certainly wouldn’t havebeen without any makeup. A thin ferrety little face, not much chin, teethrunning down her throat, nondescript sort of nose—”

“It sounds revolting,” said Mrs. Bantry.

“Oh no, she wasn’t. As I say, with makeup she managed to give quite aneffect of good looks, don’t you think so, Addie?”

“Yes, rather chocolate-box, pink and white business. She had nice blueeyes.”

“Yes, innocent baby stare, and the heavily-blacked lashes brought outthe blueness. Her hair was bleached, of course. It’s true, when I come tothink of it, that in colouring—artificial colouring, anyway—she had a kindof spurious resemblance to Rosamund—my wife, you know. I dare saythat’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 helpbeing 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 notgoing to pretend! But, at the same time, if you know what I mean, I reallyam most awfully concerned for Jeff about the whole business. It’s hit himvery hard. I—”

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

“Well, well—see who’s here. What an unscrupulous woman you are, Ad-die.”

Mrs. Jefferson looked over her shoulder, uttered an exclamation and gotup, a slight colour rising in her face. She walked quickly along the terraceand went up to a tall middle-aged man with a thin brown face, who waslooking 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?”

“Dog-like devotion,” said Mark. “Addie’s only got to whistle and Hugocomes trotting 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 goingon 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.”

“I’ll come at once.” Mark sprang up.

He nodded to them, said: “See you later,” and went off.

Sir Henry leant 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 stoodtalking 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. Thekind of woman that could go on getting married again and again. I don’tmean 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 thingsdone to their houses they never meant to do. And how he charged themfor it! But he could always explain his bills away plausibly. A downy fel-low. 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 at-tractive person, I think. But a little unwise, perhaps, to talk as much as hedoes.”

“Unwise is the word,” said Sir Henry. “Mark will get himself into troubleif he doesn’t look out.”

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

“And that,” said Sir Henry obligingly, “is X, whom we might describe asan 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 supposingabout it. He is good-looking.”

Miss Marple 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 ad-dressed 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 fromLondon. 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 huntinground to see if I could find any clues, but I haven’t been lucky. I’ve got asouvenir, though. Would you like to see it? Fancy, Mother wanted me tothrow it away. I do think one’s parents are rather trying sometimes.”

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

“See, it’s a fingernail. Her fingernail! I’m going to label it Fingernail of theMurdered Woman and take it back to school. It’s a good souvenir, don’tyou think?”

“Where did you get it?” asked Miss Marple.

“Well, it was a bit of luck, really. Because, of course, I didn’t know shewas going to be murdered then. It was before dinner last night. Rubycaught her nail in Josie’s shawl and it tore it. Mums cut it off for her andgave it to me and said put it in the wastepaper basket, and I meant to, but Iput it in my pocket instead, and this morning I remembered and looked tosee if it was still there and it was, so 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. Fromthe inside of it he extracted a piece of browny tapey substance.

“It’s a bit of that chap George Bartlett’s shoe-lace,” he explained. “I sawhis 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 tosee her and that’s always frightfully suspicious, you know. Is it nearly din-ner time, do you think? I’m frightfully hungry. It always seems such a longtime between tea and dinner. Hallo, there’s Uncle Hugo. I didn’t knowMums had asked him to come down. I suppose she sent for him. She al-ways does if she’s in a jam. Here’s Josie coming. Hi, Josie!”

Josephine Turner, coming along the terrace, stopped and looked ratherstartled 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 mean, it isn’t in the papers yet. I sup-pose everyone will be asking me questions and it’s so awkward. I don’tknow what I ought to say.”

Her glance went rather wistfully towards Miss Marple, who said: “Yes, itwill 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 allvery well, but everyone is sure to ask me, and you can’t offend people, canyou? Mr. Prestcott said he hoped I’d feel able to carry on as usual—and hewasn’t very nice about it, so of course I want to do my best. And I reallydon’t see why it should all be blamed on me.”

Sir Henry said:

“Do you mind me asking you a frank question, Miss Turner?”

“Oh, do ask me anything you like,” said Josie, a little insincerely.

“Has there been any unpleasantness between you and Mrs. Jeffersonand 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 ofthem have said anything. But I think they blamed it on me—Mr. Jeffersontaking 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 be-forehand, not for a moment. I—I was quite dumbfounded.”

Her words rang out with what seemed undeniable sincerity.

Sir Henry said kindly:

“I’m quite 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 apiece of luck sometimes.”

She looked from one to the other of them in a slightly defiant question-ing 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, youknow—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 thatusually has absolute talons.”

Miss Marple said:

“But of course if she tore one off, then she might clip the others close, soas 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 Gossing-ton, 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?”

Miss Marple got rather pink.

“Well, it was given out on the wireless that she was missing from herhome—since last night. And her home was Daneleigh Vale; that’s not veryfar from here. And she was last seen at the Girl-Guide Rally up on Daneb-ury Downs. That’s very close indeed. In fact, she’d have to pass throughDanemouth to get home. So it does rather fit in, doesn’t it? I mean, it looksas though she might have seen—or perhaps heard—something that no onewas supposed to see and hear. If so, of course, she’d be a source of dangerto the murderer and she’d have to be—removed. Two things like that mustbe 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 committedone murder, they don’t shrink from another, do they? Nor even from athird.”

“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 go-ing to be murdered?”

Miss Marple said: “I’ve a very good idea.”