Smiling and nodding, Miss Marple made her exit, Jane Helier staring after her.
'Are you coming to bed, Jane?' asked Mrs Bantry. 'What's the matter with you? You're staring as though you'd seen a ghost.'
With a deep sigh Jane came to herself, shed a beautiful and bewildering smile on the two men and followed her hostess up the staircase. Mrs Bantry came into the girl's room with her.
'Your fire's nearly out,' said Mrs Bantry, giving it a vicious and ineffectual poke. 'They can't have made it up properly. How stupid housemaids are. Still, I suppose we are rather late tonight.
Why, it's actually past one o'clock!'
'Do you think there are many people like her?' asked Jane Helier.
She was sitting on the side of the bed apparently wrapped in thought.
'Like the housemaid?'
'No. Like that funny old woman - what's her name - Marple?'
'Oh! I don't know. I suppose she's a fairly common type in a small village.'
'Oh dear.' said Jane. 'I don't know what to do.'
She sighed deeply.
'What's the matter?'
'I'm worried.'
'What about?'
'Dolly,' Jane Helier was portentously solemn. 'Do you know what that queer old lady whispered to me before she went out of the door tonight?'
'No. What?'
'She said: "I shouldn't do it if I were you, my dear. Never put yourself too much in another woman's power, even if you do think she's your friend at the moment. " You know, Dolly, that's awfully true.'
'The maxim? Yes, perhaps it is. But I don't see the application.'
'I suppose you can't ever really trust a woman. And I should be in her power. I never thought of that.'
'What woman are you talking about?'
'Netta Greene, my understudy.'
'What on earth does Miss Marple know about your understudy?'
'I suppose she guessed - but I can't see how.'
'Jane, will you kindly tell me at once what you are talking about?'
'The story. The one I told. Oh, Dolly, that woman, you know - the one that took Claud from me?'
Mrs Bantry nodded, casting her mind back rapidly to the first of Jane's unfortunate marriages - to Claud Averbury, the actor.
'He married her; and I could have told him how it would be. Claud doesn't know, but she's carrying on with Sir Joseph Salmon week-ends with him at the bungalow I told you about I wanted her shown up - I would like everyone to know the sort of woman she was. And you see, with a burglary, everything would be bound to come out.'
'Jane!' gasped Mrs Bantry. 'Did you engineer this story you've been telling us?'
Jane nodded.
'That's why I chose Smith. I wear parlourmaid's kit in it, you know.
So I should have it handy. And when they sent for me to the police station it's the easiest thing in the world to say I was rehearsing my part with my understudy at the hotel. Really, of course, we would be at the bungalow. I just have to open the door and bring in the cocktails, and Netta to pretend to be me. He'd never see her again, of course, so there would be no fear of his recognizing her. And I can make myself look quite different as a parlourmaid; and besides, one doesn't look at parlourmaids as though they were people. We planned to drag him out into the road afterwards, bag the jewel case, telephone the police and get back to the hotel. I shouldn't like the poor young man to suffer, but Sir Henry didn't seem to think he would, did he? And she'd be in the papers and everything - and Claud would see what she was really like.'
Mrs Bantry sat down and groaned.
'Oh! my poor head. And all the time - Jane Helier, you deceitful girl! Telling us that story the way you did!'
'I am a good actress,' said Jane complacently. 'I always have been, whatever people choose to say. I didn't give myself away once, did I?'
'Miss Marple was right,' murmured Mrs Bantry. 'The personal element. Oh, yes, the personal element. Jane, my good child, do you realize that theft is theft, and you might have been sent to prison?'
'Well, none of you guessed,' said Jane. 'Except Miss Marple.' The worried expression returned to her face. 'Dolly, do you really think there are many like her?'
'Frankly, I don't,' said Mrs Bantry.
Jane sighed again.
'Still, one had better not risk it. And of course I should be in Netta's power - that's true enough. She might turn against me or blackmail me or anything. She helped me think out the details and she professed to be devoted to me, but one never does know with women. No, I think Miss Marple was right. I had better not risk it.'
'But, my dear, you have risked it.'
'Oh, no.' Jane opened her blue eyes very wide. 'Don't you understand? None of this has happened yet ! I was - well, trying it on the dog, so to speak.'
'I don't profess to understand your theatrical slang,' said Mrs Bantry with dignity. 'Do you mean this is a future project - not a past deed?'
'I was going to do it this autumn - in September. I don't know what to do now.'
'And Jane Marple guessed - actually guessed the truth and never told us,' said Mrs Bantry wrathfully. 'I think that was why she said that - about women sticking together. She wouldn't give me away before the men. That was nice of her. I don't mind your knowing, Dolly.'
'Well, give the idea up, Jane. I beg of you.'
'I think I shall,' murmured Miss Helier. 'There might be other Miss Marples... '
Death by Drowning
II
Sir Henry was sitting in a room with Colonel Melchett, the Chief
Constable of the county, and Inspector Drewitt.
The Chief Constable was a little man of aggressively military demeanour. The Inspector was big and broad and eminently sensible.
'I really do feel I'm butting in,' said Sir Henry with his pleasant smile. 'I can't really tell you why I'm doing it' (Strict truth this!)
'My dear fellow, we're charmed. It's a great compliment.'
'Honoured, Sir Henry,' said the Inspector.
The Chief Constable was thinking: 'Bored to death, poor fellow, at the Bantrys. The old man abusing the government and the old woman babbling on about bulbs.'
The Inspector was thinking: 'Pity we're not up against a real teaser. One of the best brains in England, I've heard it said. Pity it's all such plain sailing.'
Aloud, the Chief Constable said:
'I'm afraid it's all very sordid and straightforward. First idea was that the girl had pitched herself in. She was in the family way, you understand. However, our doctor, Haydock, is a careful fellow.
He noticed the bruises on each arm - upper arm. Caused before death. Just where a fellow would have taken her by the arms and flung her in.'
'Would that require much strength?'
'I think not. There would be no struggle - the girl would be taken unawares. It's a footbridge of slippery wood. Easiest thing in the world to pitch her over - there's no handrail that side.'
'You know for a fact that the tragedy occurred there?'
'Yes. We've got a boy - Jimmy Brown - aged twelve. He was in the woods on the other side. He heard a kind of scream from the bridge and a splash. It was dusk you know - difficult to see anything. Presently he saw something white floating down in the water and he ran and got help. They got her out but it was too late to revive her.'
Sir Henry nodded.
'The boy saw no one on the bridge?'
'No. But as I tell you, it was dusk, and there's mist always hanging about there. I'm going to question him as to whether he saw anyone about just afterwards or just before. You see he naturally assumed that the girl had thrown herself over. Everybody did to start with.'
'Still, we've got the note,' said Inspector Drewitt. He turned to Sir Henry.
'Note in the dead girl's pocket, sir. Written with a kind of artist's pencil it was, and all of a sop though the paper was we managed to read it.'
'And what did it say?'
'It was from young Sandford. "All right," that's how it ran. "I'll
meet you at the bridge at eight-thirty. - R.S." Well, it was near as might be to eight-thirty - a few minutes after - when Jimmy Brown heard the cry and the splash.'
'I don't know whether you've met Sandford at all?' went on Colonel Melchett. 'He's been down here about a month. One of these modern day young architects who build peculiar houses.
He's doing a house for Allington. God knows what it's going to be like - full of new-fangled stuff, I suppose. Glass dinner table and surgical chairs made of steel and webbing. Well, that's neither here nor there, but it shows the kind of chap Sandford is. Bolshie, you know - no morals.'
'Seduction,' said Sir Henry mildly, 'is quite an old-established crime though it does not, of course, date back so far as murder.'
Colonel Melchett stared.
'Oh! yes,' he said. 'Quite. Quite.'
'Well, Sir Henry,' said Drewitt, 'there it is - an ugly business, but plain. This young Sandford gets the girl into trouble. Then he's all for clearing off back to London. He's got a girl there - nice young lady - he's engaged to be married to her. Well, naturally this business, if she gets to hear of it, may cook his goose good and proper. He meets Rose at the bridge - it's a misty evening, no one about - he catches her by the shoulders and pitches her in. A proper young swine - and deserves what's coming to him. That's my opinion.'
Sir Henry was silent for a minute or two. He perceived a strong undercurrent of local prejudice. A new fangled architect was not likely to be popular in the conservative village of St Mary Mead.
'There is no doubt, I suppose, that this man, Sandford, was actually the father of the coming child?' he asked.
'He's the father all right,' said Drewitt. 'Rose Emmott let out as much to her father. She thought he'd marry her. Marry her! Not he!'
'Dear me," thought Sir Henry. 'I seem to be back in mid-Victorian melodrama. Unsuspecting girl, the villain from London, the stern father, the betrayal - we only need the faithful village lover. Yes, I think it's time I asked about him.'
And aloud he said:
'Hadn't the girl a young man of her own down here?'
'You mean Joe Ellis?' said the Inspector. 'Good fellow Joe.
Carpentering's his trade. Ah! If she'd stuck to Joe - '
Colonel Melchett nodded approval.
'Stick to your own class,' he snapped.
'How did Joe Ellis take this affair?' asked Sir Henry.
'Nobody knew how he was taking it,' said the inspector. 'He's a quiet fellow, is Joe. Close. Anything Rose did was right in his eyes. She had him on a string all right. Just hoped she'd come back to him some day - that was his attitude, I reckon.'
'I'd like to see him,' said Sir Henry.
'Oh! We're going to look him up,' said Colonel Melchett. 'We're not neglecting any line. I thought myself we'd see Emmott first, then Sandford, and then we can go on and see Ellis. That suits you, Clithering?'
Sir Henry said it would suit him admirably.
They found Tom Emmott at the Blue Boar. He was a big burly man of middle age with a shifty eye and a truculent jaw.
'Glad to see you, gentlemen - good morning, Colonel. Come in here and we can be private. Can I offer you anything, gentlemen?
No? It's as you please. You've come about this business of my poor girl. Ah! She was a good girl, Rose was. Always was a good girl - till this bloody swine - beg pardon, but that's what he is - till he came along. Promised her marriage, he did. But I'll have the law on him. Drove her to it, he did. Murdering swine. Bringing disgrace on all of us. My poor girl.'
'Your daughter distinctly told you that Mr Sandford was responsible for her condition?' asked Melchett crisply.
'She did. In this very room she did.'
'And what did you say to her?' asked Sir Henry.
'Say to her?' The man seemed momentarily taken aback.
'Yes. You didn't, for example, threaten to turn her out of the house?'
'I was a bit upset - that's only natural. I'm sure you'll agree that's only natural. But, of course, I didn't turn her out of the house. I wouldn't do such a thing.' He assumed virtuous indignation. 'No.
What's the law for - that's what I say. What's the law for? He'd got to do the right by her. And if he didn't, by God, he'd got to pay.'
He brought down his fist on the table.
'What time did you last see your daughter?' asked Melchett.
'Yesterday - tea time.'
'What was her manner then?'
'Well, much as usual. I didn't notice anything. If I'd known - '
'But you didn't know,' said the Inspector drily.
They took their leave.
'Emmott hardly creates a favourable impression,' said Sir Henry thoughtfully.
'Bit of a blackguard,' said Melchett. 'He'd have bled Sandford all right if he'd had the chance.'
Their next call was on the architect. Rex Sandford was very unlike the picture Sir Henry had unconsciously formed of him. He was a tall young man, very fair and very thin. His eyes were blue and dreamy, his hair was untidy and rather too long. His speech was a little too ladylike.
Colonel Melchett introduced himself and his companions. Then passing straight to the object of his visit, he invited the architect to make a statement as to his movements on the previous evening.
'You understand,' he said warningly. 'I have no power to compel a statement from you and any statement you make may be used in evidence against you. I want the position to be quite clear to you.'
'I - I don't understand,' said Sandford.
'You understand that the girl Rose Emmott was drowned last night?'
'I know. Oh! it's too, too distressing. Really, I haven't slept a wink.
I've been incapable of any work today. I feel responsible - terribly responsible.'
He ran his hands through his hair, making it untidier still.
'I never meant any harm,' he said piteously. 'I never thought. I never dreamt she'd take it that way.'
He sat down at a table and buried his face in his hands.
'Do I understand you to say, Mr Sandford, that you refuse to make a statement as to where you were last night at eight-thirty?'
'No, no - certainly not. I was out. I went for a walk.'
'You went to meet Miss Emmott?'
'No. I went by myself. Through the woods. A long way.'
'Then how do you account for this note, sir, which was found in the dead girl's pocket?'
And Inspector Drewitt read it unemotionally aloud.
'Now, sir,' he finished. 'Do you deny that you wrote that?'
'No - no. You're right. I did write it. Rose asked me to meet her.
She insisted. I didn't know what to do. So I wrote that note.'
'Ah, that's better,' said the Inspector.
'But I didn't go!' Sandford's voice rose high and excited. 'I didn't go! I felt it would be much better not. I was returning to town tomorrow. I felt it would be better not - not to meet. I intended to write from London and - and make - some arrangement.'
'You are aware, sir, that this girl was going to have a child, and that she had named you as its father?'
Sandford groaned, but did not answer.
'Was that statement true, sir?'
Sandford buried his face deeper.
'I suppose so,' he said in a muffled voice.
'Ah!' Inspector Drewitt could not disguise the satisfaction. 'Now about this "walk" of yours. Is there anyone who saw you last night?'
'I don't know. I don't think so. As far as I can remember, I didn't meet anybody.'
'That's a pity.'
'What do you mean?' Sandford stared wildly at him. 'What does it matter whether I was out for a walk or not? What difference does that make to Rose drowning herself?'
'Ah!' said the inspector. 'But you see, she didn't. She was thrown in deliberately, Mr Sandford.'
'She was - ' It took him a minute or two to take in all the horror of it. 'My God! Then - '
He dropped into a chair.
Colonel Melchett made a move t
o depart.
'You understand, Sandford,' he said. 'You are on no account to leave this house.'
The three men left together. The Inspector and the Chief Constable exchanged glances.
'That's enough, I think, sir,' said the Inspector.
'Yes. Get a warrant made out and arrest him.'
'Excuse me,' said Sir Henry, 'I've forgotten my gloves.'
He re-entered the house rapidly. Sandford was sitting just as they had left him, staring dazedly in front of him.
'I have come back,' said Sir Henry, 'to tell you that I personally, am anxious to do all I can to assist you. The motive of my interest in you I am not at liberty to reveal. But I am going to ask you, if you will, to tell me as briefly as possible exactly what passed between you and this girl Rose.'
'She was very pretty,' said Sandford. 'Very pretty and very alluring. And - and she made a dead set at me. Before God, that's true. She wouldn't let me alone. And it was lonely down here, and nobody liked me much, and - and, as I say she was amazingly pretty and she seemed to know her way about and all that - ' His voice died away. He looked up. 'And then this happened. She wanted me to marry her. I didn't know what to do. I'm engaged to a girl in London. If she ever gets to hear of this - and she will, of course - well, it's all up. She won't understand. How could she?
And I'm a rotter, of course. As I say, I didn't know what to do. I avoided seeing Rose again. I thought I'd get back to town - see my lawyer - make arrangements about money and so forth, for her. God, what a fool I've been! And it's all so clear - the case against me. But they've made a mistake. She must have done it herself.'
'Did she ever threaten to take her life?'
Sandford shook his head.
'Never. I shouldn't have said she was that sort.'
'What about a man called Joe Ellis?'
'The carpenter fellow? Good old village stock. Dull fellow - but crazy about Rose.'
'He might have been jealous?' suggested Sir Henry.
'I suppose he was a bit - but he's the bovine kind. He'd suffer in silence.'
'Well,' said Sir Henry. 'I must be going.'
He rejoined the others.
'You know, Melchett,' he said. 'I feel we ought to have a look at this other fellow - Ellis - before we do anything drastic. Pity if you made an arrest that turned out to be a mistake. After all, jealousy is a pretty good motive for murder - and a pretty common one, too.'
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