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THE CASE OF THE PERFECT MAID
“Oh, if you please, madam, could I speak to you a moment?”
since Edna, Miss Marple’s little maid, was actually speaking to her mis-
tress at the moment.
Edna, come in and shut the door. What is it?”
Obediently shutting the door, Edna advanced into the room, pleated the
“Yes, Edna?” said Miss Marple encouragingly.
“Oh, please, ma’am, it’s my cousin, Gladdie.”
the most usual conclusion. “Not—not in trouble?”
Gladdie’s not that kind of girl. It’s just that she’s upset. You see, she’s lost
her place.”
“Dear me, I am sorry to hear that. She was at Old Hall, wasn’t she, with
the Miss—Misses—Skinner?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right, ma’am. And Gladdie’s very upset about it—
very upset indeed.”
“Gladys has changed places rather often before, though, hasn’t she?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. She’s always one for a change, Gladdie is. She never
seems to get really settled, if you know what I mean. But she’s always been
the one to give the notice, you see!”
“And this time it’s the other way round?” asked Miss Marple dryly.
“Yes, ma’am, and it’s upset Gladdie something awful.”
Miss Marple looked slightly surprised. Her recollection of Gladys, who
had occasionally come to drink tea in the kitchen on her “days out,” was a
Edna went on. “You see, ma’am, it’s the way it happened—the way Miss
Skinner looked.”
This time Edna got well away with her news bulletin.
“Oh, ma’am, it was ever such a shock to Gladdie. You see, one of Miss
and of course nobody likes a thing like that to happen; it’s upsetting,
ma’am, if you know what I mean. And Gladdie’s helped search every-
where, and there was Miss Lavinia saying she was going to the police
about it, and then it turned up again, pushed right to the back of a drawer
“And the very next day as ever was a plate got broken, and Miss Lavinia
she bounced out right away and told Gladdie to take a month’s notice. And
what Gladdie feels is it couldn’t have been the plate and that Miss Lavinia
was just making an excuse of that, and that it must be because of the
brooch and they think as she took it and put it back when the police was
mentioned, and Gladdie wouldn’t do such a thing, not never she wouldn’t,
and what she feels is as it will get round and tell against her and it’s a very
serious thing for a girl, as you know, ma’am.”
cing, self-opinionated Gladys, she was quite sure of the girl’s intrinsic hon-
esty and could well imagine that the affair must have upset her.
Edna said wistfully, “I suppose, ma’am, there isn’t anything you could do
about it? Gladdie’s in ever such a taking.”
“Tell her not to be silly,” said Miss Marple crisply. “If she didn’t take the
brooch—which I’m sure she didn’t—then she has no cause to be upset.”
Miss Marple said, “I—er—am going up that way this afternoon. I’ll have
a word with the Misses Skinner.”
“Oh, thank you, madam,” said Edna.
Old Hall was a big Victorian house surrounded by woods and park land.
Since it had been proved unlettable and unsaleable as it was, an enterpris-
ing speculator had divided it into four flats with a central hot-water sys-
The experiment had been satisfactory. A rich and eccentric old lady and
her maid occupied one flat. The old lady had a passion for birds and enter-
and his wife rented a second. A very young couple, recently married, occu-
pied the third, and the fourth had been taken only two months ago by two
on the most distant terms with each other, since none of them had any-
thing in common. The landlord had been heard to say that this was an ex-
ments and subsequent complaints to him.
Miss Marple was acquainted with all the tenants, though she knew none
of them well. The elder Miss Skinner, Miss Lavinia, was what might be
termed the working member of the firm, Miss Emily, the younger, spent
most of her time in bed suffering from various complaints which, in the
things that “my sister had suddenly fancied.”
It was the view of St. Mary Mead that if Miss Emily suffered half as
much as she said she did, she would have sent for Doctor Haydock long
ago. But Miss Emily, when this was hinted to her, shut her eyes in a super-
ior way and murmured that her case was not a simple one—the best spe-
cialists in London had been baffled by it—and that a wonderful new man
had put her on a most revolutionary course of treatment and that she
possibly understand her case.
wise not to send for him. Dear Doctor Haydock, in that breezy manner of
his, would tell her that there was nothing the matter with her and to get
up and not make a fuss! Do her a lot of good!”
Failing such arbitrary treatment, however, Miss Emily continued to lie
on sofas, to surround herself with strange little pill boxes, and to reject
nearly everything that had been cooked for her and ask for something else
—usually something difficult and inconvenient25 to get.
The door was opened to Miss Marple by “Gladdie,” looking more de-
pressed than Miss Marple had ever thought possible. In the sitting room (a
quarter of the late drawing room, which had been partitioned into a din-
ing room, drawing room, bathroom, and housemaid’s cupboard), Miss
Lavinia rose to greet Miss Marple.
Lavinia Skinner was a tall, gaunt, bony female of fifty. She had a gruff
“Nice to see you,” she said. “Emily’s lying down—feeling low today, poor
dear. Hope she’ll see you, it would cheer her up, but there are times when
she doesn’t feel up to seeing anybody. Poor dear, she’s wonderfully pa-
tient.”
Miss Marple responded politely. Servants were the main topic of conver-
sation in St. Mary Mead, so it was not difficult to lead the conversation in
that direction. Miss Marple said she had heard that that nice girl, Gladys
Holmes, was leaving.
Miss Lavinia nodded. “Wednesday week. Broke things, you know. Can’t
have that.”
Miss Marple sighed and said we all had to put up with things nowadays.
It was so difficult to get girls to come to the country. Did Miss Skinner
really think it was wise to part with Gladys?
“Know it’s difficult to get servants,” admitted Miss Lavinia. “The
Devereuxs haven’t got anybody—but then, I don’t wonder—always quar-
relling, jazz on all night — meals anytime — that girl knows nothing of
housekeeping. I pity her husband! Then the Larkins have just lost their
maid. Of course, what with the judge’s Indian temper and his wanting
chota hazri, as he calls it, at six in the morning and Mrs. Larkin always
of course—though in my opinion she’s the most disagreeable woman, and
“Then don’t you think you might reconsider your decision about Gladys?
She really is a nice girl. I know all her family; very honest and superior.”
Miss Lavinia shook her head.
“I’ve got my reasons,” she said importantly.
Miss Marple murmured, “You missed a brooch, I understand—”
most certain she took it. And then got frightened and put it back—but, of
course, one can’t say anything unless one is sure.” She changed the sub-
ject. “Do come and see Emily, Miss Marple. I’m sure it would do her good.”
most of the light of which was excluded by half-drawn blinds. Miss Emily
was lying in bed, apparently33 enjoying the half gloom and her own indefin-
ite sufferings.
The dim light showed her to be a thin, indecisive-looking creature, with
a good deal of greyish-yellow hair untidily wound around her head and
erupting into curls, the whole thing looking like a bird’s nest of which no
self-respecting bird could be proud. There was a smell in the room of Eau
de Cologne, stale biscuits, and camphor.
With half-closed eyes and a thin, weak voice, Emily Skinner explained
that this was “one of her bad days.”
“The worst of ill health is,” said Miss Emily in a melancholy34 tone, “that
one knows what a burden one is to everyone around one.
“Lavinia is very good to me. Lavvie dear, I do so hate giving trouble but
if my hot-water bottle could only be filled in the way I like it—too full it
weighs on me so—on the other hand, if it is not sufficiently35 filled, it gets
cold immediately!”
“I’m sorry, dear. Give it to me. I will empty a little out.”
“Perhaps, if you’re doing that, it might be refilled. There are no rusks in
the house, I suppose—no, no, it doesn’t matter. I can do without. Some
weak tea and a slice of lemon—no lemons? No, really, I couldn’t drink tea
without lemon. I think the milk was slightly turned this morning. It has
put me against milk in my tea. It doesn’t matter. I can do without my tea.
could fancy a few? No, no, too much bother to get hold of them so late in
the day. I can fast until tomorrow.”
Lavinia left the room murmuring something incoherent about bicycling
down to the village.
Miss Emily smiled feebly at her guest and remarked that she did hate
giving anyone any trouble.
Miss Marple told Edna that evening that she was afraid her embassy had
met with no success.
were already going around the village.
In the post office, Miss Wetherby tackled her. “My dear Jane, they gave
her a written reference saying she was willing and sober and respectable,
but saying nothing about honesty. That seems to me most significant! I
hear there was some trouble about a brooch. I think there must be some-
thing in it, you know, because one doesn’t let a servant go nowadays un-
less it’s something rather grave. They’ll find it most difficult to get anyone
else. Girls simply will not go to Old Hall. They’re nervous coming home on
their days out. You’ll see, the Skinners won’t find anyone else, and then,
perhaps, that dreadful hypochondriac sister will have to get up and do
something!”
Misses Skinner had engaged, from an agency, a new maid who, by all ac-
“A three-years” reference recommending her most warmly, she prefers
the country, and actually asks less wages than Gladys. I really feel we have
been most fortunate.”
“Well, really,” said Miss Marple, to whom these details were imparted
by Miss Lavinia in the fishmonger’s shop. “It does seem too good to be
true.”
It then became the opinion of St. Mary Mead that the paragon would cry
off at the last minute and fail to arrive.
None of these prognostications came true, however, and the village was
able to observe the domestic treasure, by name, Mary Higgins, driving
through the village in Reed’s taxi to Old Hall. It had to be admitted that her
dressed.
When Miss Marple next visited Old Hall, on the occasion of recruiting
stall-holders for the vicarage fete, Mary Higgins opened the door. She was
certainly a most superior-looking maid, at a guess forty years of age, with
with a white apron and cap—“quite the good, old-fashioned type of ser-
vant,” as Miss Marple explained afterwards, and with the proper, inaud-
ible respectful voice, so different from the loud but adenoidal accents of
Gladys.
regretted that she could not take a stall owing to her preoccupation with
and promised to produce a consignment45 of pen-wipers and babies’ socks.
Miss Marple commented on her air of well-being46.
“I really feel I owe a great deal to Mary, I am so thankful I had the resol-
ution to get rid of that other girl. Mary is really invaluable47. Cooks nicely
and waits beautifully and keeps our little flat scrupulously48 clean—mat-
tresses turned over every day. And she is really wonderful with Emily!”
Miss Marple hastily enquired after Emily.
“Oh, poor dear, she has been very much under the weather lately. She
can’t help it, of course, but it really makes things a little difficult some-
times. Wanting certain things cooked and then, when they come, saying
she can’t eat now—and then wanting them again half an hour later and
everything spoiled and having to be done again. It makes, of course, a lot
of work—but fortunately Mary does not seem to mind at all. She’s used to
“Dear me,” said Miss Marple. “You are fortunate.”
“Yes, indeed. I really feel Mary has been sent to us as an answer to
prayer.”
“She sounds to me,” said Miss Marple, “almost too good to be true. I
should—well, I should be a little careful if I were you.”
Lavinia Skinner failed to perceive the point of this remark. She said,
“Oh! I assure you I do all I can to make her comfortable. I don’t know what
I should do if she left.”
“I don’t expect she’ll leave until she’s ready to leave,” said Miss Marple
and stared very hard at her hostess.
Miss Lavinia said, “If one has no domestic worries, it takes such a load
off one’s mind, doesn’t it? How is your little Edna shaping?”
“She’s doing quite nicely. Not much head, of course. Not like your Mary.
Still, I do know all about Edna because she’s a village girl.”
As she went out into the hall she heard the invalid’s voice fretfully
raised. “This compress has been allowed to get quite dry—Doctor Allerton
particularly said moisture continually renewed. There, there, leave it. I
want a cup of tea and a boiled egg—boiled only three minutes and a half,
remember, and send Miss Lavinia to me.”
The efficient Mary emerged from the bedroom and, saying to Lavinia,
“Miss Emily is asking for you, madam,” proceeded to open the door for
the most irreproachable51 fashion.
Miss Marple took the umbrella, dropped it, tried to pick it up, and
and ends—a handkerchief, an engagement book, an old-fashioned leather
purse, two shillings, three pennies, and a striped piece of peppermint55
rock.
Miss Marple received the last with some signs of confusion.
“Oh, dear, that must have been Mrs. Clement’s little boy. He was sucking
it, I remember, and he took my bag to play with. He must have put it in-
side. It’s terribly sticky, isn’t it?”
“Shall I take it, madam?”
“Oh, would you? Thank you so much.”
broken.”
piece of striped rock with a completely expressionless face.
For ten days longer St. Mary Mead had to endure hearing of the excellen-
cies of Miss Lavinia’s and Miss Emily’s treasure.
On the eleventh day, the village awoke to its big thrill.
Mary, the paragon, was missing! Her bed had not been slept in, and the
front door was found ajar. She had slipped out quietly during the night.
And not Mary alone was missing! Two brooches and five rings of Miss
Emily’s were missing, also!
It was the beginning of a chapter of catastrophe59.
Young Mrs. Devereux had lost her diamonds which she kept in an un-
locked drawer and also some valuable furs given to her as a wedding
present. The judge and his wife also had had jewellery taken and a certain
amount of money. Mrs. Carmichael was the greatest sufferer. Not only
had she some very valuable jewels but she also kept in the flat a large sum
of money which had gone. It had been Janet’s evening out, and her mis-
tress was in the habit of walking round the gardens at dusk calling to the
had had keys to fit all the flats!
There was, it must be confessed, a certain amount of ill-natured pleas-
ure in St. Mary Mead. Miss Lavinia had boasted so much of her marvel-
lous Mary.
“And all the time, my dear, just a common thief!”
Interesting revelations followed. Not only had Mary disappeared into
them and whose references they had taken up had, to all intents and pur-
poses, never existed. It was the name of a bona fide servant who had lived
with the bona fide sister of a dean, but the real Mary Higgins was existing
peacefully in a place in Cornwall.
“And, if you ask me, that woman works with a gang. There was a case of
much the same kind in Northumberland a year ago. Stuff was never
traced, and they never caught her. However, we’ll do better than that in
Much Benham!”
Inspector Slack was always a confident man.
Nevertheless, weeks passed, and Mary Higgins remained triumphantly65
name.
Miss Lavinia remained tearful. Miss Emily was so upset, and felt so
alarmed by her condition that she actually sent for Doctor Haydock.
The whole of the village was terribly anxious to know what he thought
of Miss Emily’s claims to ill health, but naturally could not ask him. Satis-
chemist’s assistant, who was walking out with Clara, Mrs. Price-Ridley’s
maid. It was then known that Doctor Haydock had prescribed a mixture of
asafoetida and valerian which, according to Mr. Meek, was the stock rem-
edy for malingerers in the army!
ical attention she had had, was declaring that in the state of her health she
felt it her duty to be near the specialist in London who understood her
case. It was, she said, only fair to Lavinia.
The flat was put up for subletting68.
called at the police station in Much Benham and asked for Inspector Slack.
Inspector Slack did not like Miss Marple. But he was aware that the
grudgingly71, therefore, he received her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Marple, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Marple, “I’m afraid you’re in a hurry.”
“Lots of work on,” said Inspector Slack, “but I can spare a few mo-
ments.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple. “I hope I shall be able to put what I say
properly. So difficult, you know, to explain oneself, don’t you think? No,
perhaps you don’t. But you see, not having been educated in the modern
style—just a governess, you know, who taught one the dates of the kings of
England and general knowledge—Doctor Brewer—three kinds of diseases
of wheat—blight, mildew—now what was the third—was it smut?”
“Do you want to talk about smut?” asked Inspector Slack and then
blushed.
“Oh, no, no.” Miss Marple hastily disclaimed72 any wish to talk about
smut. “Just an illustration, you know. And how needles are made, and all
that. Discursive73, you know, but not teaching one to keep to the point.
Which is what I want to do. It’s about Miss Skinner’s maid, Gladys, you
know.”
“Mary Higgins,” said Inspector Slack.
“Oh, yes, the second maid. But it’s Gladys Holmes I mean—rather an im-
and it’s so important that that should be recognized.”
“No charge against her so far as I know,” said the inspector.
“No, I know there isn’t a charge—but that makes it worse. Because, you
see, people go on thinking things. Oh, dear—I knew I should explain things
badly. What I really mean is that the important thing is to find Mary Hig-
gins.”
“Certainly,” said Inspector Slack. “Have you any ideas on the subject?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have,” said Miss Marple. “May I ask you a
question? Are fingerprints76 of no use to you?”
“Ah,” said Inspector Slack, “that’s where she was a bit too artful for us.
Did most of her work in rubber gloves or housemaid’s gloves, it seems.
And she’d been careful—wiped off everything in her bedroom and on the
sink. Couldn’t find a single fingerprint77 in the place!”
“If you did have fingerprints, would it help?”
“It might, madam. They may be known at the Yard. This isn’t her first
job, I’d say!”
Miss Marple nodded brightly. She opened her bag and extracted a small
cardboard box. Inside it, wedged in cotton wool, was a small mirror.
“From my handbag,” said Miss Marple. “The maid’s prints are on it. I
think they should be satisfactory—she touched an extremely sticky sub-
stance a moment previously78.”
Inspector Slack stared. “Did you get her fingerprints on purpose?”
“Of course.”
“You suspected her then?”
“Well, you know, it did strike me that she was a little too good to be true.
I practically told Miss Lavinia so. But she simply wouldn’t take the hint!
us have our faults—and domestic service shows them up very quickly!”
“Well,” said Inspector Slack, recovering his balance, “I’m obliged to you,
I’m sure. We’ll send these up to the Yard and see what they have to say.”
He stopped. Miss Marple had put her head a little on one side and was
regarding him with a good deal of meaning.
“You wouldn’t consider, I suppose, Inspector, looking a little nearer
home?”
“What do you mean, Miss Marple?”
you notice it. Although, often, peculiar things may be the merest trifles.
I’ve felt that all along, you know; I mean about Gladys and the brooch.
She’s an honest girl; she didn’t take that brooch. Then why did Miss Skin-
ner think she did? Miss Skinner’s not a fool; far from it! Why was she so
anxious to let a girl go who was a good servant when servants are hard to
get? It was peculiar, you know. So I wondered. I wondered a good deal.
And I noticed another peculiar thing! Miss Emily’s a hypochondriac, but
she’s the first hypochondriac who hasn’t sent for some doctor or other at
once. Hypochondriacs love doctors, Miss Emily didn’t!”
“What are you suggesting, Miss Marple?”
“Well, I’m suggesting, you know, that Miss Lavinia and Miss Emily are
peculiar people. Miss Emily spends nearly all her time in a dark room.
ing woman to be the same as a black-haired, rosy-cheeked, plump woman.
And nobody that I can find ever saw Miss Emily and Mary Higgins at one
and the same time.
“Plenty of time to get impressions of all the keys, plenty of time to find
out all about the other tenants, and then—get rid of the local girl. Miss
Emily takes a brisk walk across country one night and arrives at the sta-
tion as Mary Higgins next day. And then, at the right moment, Mary Hig-
gins disappears, and off goes the hue and cry after her. I’ll tell you where
you’ll find her, Inspector. On Miss Emily Skinner’s sofa! Get her finger-
prints if you don’t believe me, but you’ll find I’m right! A couple of clever
thieves, that’s what the Skinners are — and no doubt in league with a
clever post and rails or fence or whatever you call it. But they won’t get
away with it this time! I’m not going to have one of our village girls’ char-
acter for honesty taken away like that! Gladys Holmes is as honest as the
day, and everybody’s going to know it! Good afternoon!”
Miss Marple had stalked out before Inspector Slack had recovered.
“Whew?” he muttered. “I wonder if she’s right?”
He soon found out that Miss Marple was right again.
Colonel Melchett congratulated Slack on his efficiency, and Miss Marple
down in a good situation when she got one.
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