III

Inside the wire cage, the tennis lesson that Raymond Starr was giving hadcome to an end.

A stout middle-aged woman uttered a few appreciative squeaks, pickedup a sky-blue cardigan and went off towards the hotel.

Raymond called out a few gay words after her.

Then he turned towards the bench where the three onlookers were sit-ting. The balls dangled in a net in his hand, his racquet was under onearm. The gay, laughing expression on his face was wiped off as though bya sponge from a slate. He looked tired and worried.

Coming towards them, he said: “That’s over.”

Then the smile broke out again, that charming, boyish, expressive smilethat went so harmoniously with his suntanned face and dark lithe grace.

Sir Henry found himself wondering how old the man was. Twenty-five,thirty, thirty-five? It was impossible to say.

Raymond said, shaking his head a little:

“She’ll never be able to play, you know.”

“All this must be very boring for you,” said Miss Marple.

Raymond said simply:

“It is, sometimes. Especially at the end of the summer. For a time thethought of the pay buoys you up, but even that fails to stimulate imagina-tion 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 allright?”

“Perfectly, thank you. I shall be ready.”

Harper went off. Raymond stood looking after him. Then he said: “Mindif I sit here for a bit?”

“Do,” said Sir Henry. “Have a cigarette?” He offered his case, wonderingas he did so why he had a slight feeling of prejudice against RaymondStarr. Was it simply because he was a professional tennis coach and dan-cer? If so, it wasn’t the tennis—it was the dancing. The English, Sir Henrydecided, had a distrust for any man who danced too well! This fellowmoved with too much grace! Ramon—Raymond—which was his name?

Abruptly, he asked the question.

The other seemed amused.

“Ramon was my original professional name. Ramon and Josie—Spanisheffect, you know. Then there was rather a prejudice against foreigners—soI 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, yousee—” (And that accounts for that swing from the hips, thought Sir Henryparenthetically.) “But my first name is Thomas. Painfully prosaic.”

He turned to Sir Henry.

“You come from Devonshire, don’t you, sir? From Stane? My peoplelived 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 awkwardly:

“Bad luck—er—all that.”

“The place being sold up after it had been in the family for three hun-dred years? Yes, it was rather. Still, our kind have to go, I suppose. We’veoutlived our usefulness. My elder brother went to New York. He’s in pub-lishing—doing well. The rest of us are scattered up and down the earth. I’llsay it’s hard to get a job nowadays when you’ve nothing to say for yourselfexcept that you’ve had a public- school education! Sometimes, if you’relucky, you get taken on as a reception clerk at an hotel. The tie and themanner are an asset there. The only job I could get was showman in aplumbing establishment. Selling superb peach and lemon-coloured porcel-ain baths. Enormous showrooms, but as I never knew the price of thedamned 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 atan hotel on the Riviera. Good pickings there. I suppose I was doing well.

Then I overheard an old Colonel, real old Colonel, incredibly ancient, Brit-ish to the backbone and always talking about Poona. He went up to themanager and said at the top of his voice:

“‘Where’s the gigolo? I want to get hold of the gigolo. My wife and daugh-ter want to dance, yer know. Where is the feller? What does he sting yerfor? It’s the gigolo I want.’”

Raymond went on:

“Silly to mind—but I did. I chucked it. Came here. Less pay but pleas-anter work. Mostly teaching tennis to rotund women who will never,never, never be able to play. That and dancing with the neglected wall-flower daughters of rich clients. Oh well, it’s life, I suppose. Excuse today’shard-luck story!”

He laughed. His teeth flashed out white, his eyes crinkled up at thecorners. 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 killedher. 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 to offer?”

“I’m afraid not … I’d have told Harper if I had. It just seems to me one ofthose 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 unwill-ingly:

“Her death probably benefits Mrs. Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell to theamount of fifty thousand pounds.”

“What?” Raymond looked really startled—more than startled—upset.

“Oh, but that’s absurd—absolutely absurd—Mrs. Jefferson—neither ofthem—could have had anything to do with it. It would be incredible tothink 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 hard-boiled cynic.”

“Money,” said Miss Marple, “is a very powerful motive.”

“Perhaps,” Raymond said hotly. “But that either of those two wouldstrangle 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 voicesounded amused. “Ten minutes late!”

Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean were walking rapidly down thepath towards them.

With a smiling apology for her lateness, Addie Jefferson went on to thecourt. McLean sat down on the bench. After a polite inquiry whether MissMarple 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. Noone 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 itall, 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 HugoMcLean. He scowled more than ever.

He said: “Don’t know why Addie sent for me. She seems not to haveturned 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 offact.”

“Why, where were you?”

“Fact is, I’d left London the afternoon before. I was staying at DaneburyHead.”

“What—quite near here?”

“Yes, rather funny, wasn’t it? Got the message when I got in from around of golf and came over here at once.”

Miss Marple gazed at him thoughtfully. He looked hot and uncomfort-able. She said: “I’ve heard it’s very pleasant at Danebury Head, and notvery expensive.”

“No, it’s not expensive. I couldn’t afford it if it was. It’s a nice littleplace.”

“We must drive over there one day,” said Miss Marple.

“Eh? What? Oh—er—yes, I should.” He got up. “Better take some exer-cise—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 inter-ested to know.”

“A little limited in his ideas, perhaps,” said Miss Marple. “But with pos-sibilities, 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 tokeep you company.”