Melchett said irritably, "Don't go on reading idiotic details Slack. This wasn't a schoolgirl. In my opinion-" He broke off as the telephone rang. "Hullo… Yes, yes. Much Benham police headquarters… What?… Just a minute." He listened and wrote rapidly. Then he spoke again, a new tone in his voice. "Ruby Keene, eighteen, occupation, professional dancer, five feet four inches, slender, platinum-blond hair, blue eyes, retrousse nose, believed to be wearing white diamante evening dress, silver sandal shoes. Is that right?… What?… Yes, not a doubt of it, I should say. I'll send Slack over at once." He rang off and looked at his subordinate with rising excitement. "We've got it, I think. That was the Glenshire police." Glenshire was the adjoining county "Girl reported missing from the Majestic Hotel, Danemouth."
"Danemouth," said Inspector Slack. "That's more like it." Danemouth was a large and fashionable watering place on the coast not far away. "It's only a matter of eighteen miles or so from here," said the chief constable. "The girl was a dance hostess or something at the Majestic. Didn't come on to do her turn last night and the management was very fed up about it. When she was still missing this morning, one of the other girls got the wind up about her, or someone else did. It sounds a bit obscure. You'd better go over to Danemouth at once Slack. Report there to Superintendent Harper and cooperate with him."
Activity was always to Inspector Slack's taste. To rush in a car, to silence rudely those people who were anxious to tell him things, to cut short conversations on the plea of urgent necessity all this was the breath of life to Inspector Slack. In an incredibly short time, therefore, he had arrived at Danemouth, reported at police headquarters, had a brief interview with a distracted and apprehensive hotel manager, and, leaving the latter with the doubtful comfort of "Got to make sure it is the girl first, before we start raising the wind," was driving back to Much Benham in company with Ruby Keene's nearest relative. He had put through a short call to Much Benham before leaving Danemouth, so the chief constable was prepared for his arrival, though not perhaps for the brief introduction of "This is Josie, sir." Colonel Melchett stared at his subordinate coldly. His feeling was that Slack had taken leave of his senses. The young woman who had just got out of the car came to the rescue. "That's what I'm known as professionally," she explained with a momentary flash of large, handsome white teeth. "Raymond and Josie, my partner and I call ourselves, and of course all the hotel know me as Josie. Josephine Turner's my real name." Colonel Melchett adjusted himself to the situation and invited Miss Turner to sit down, meanwhile casting a swift professional glance over her. She was a good-looking young woman of perhaps nearer thirty than twenty; her looks depending more on skillful grooming than actual features. She looked competent and good-tempered, with plenty of common sense. She was not the type that would ever be described as glamorous, but she had, nevertheless, plenty of attraction. She was discreetly made up and wore a dark tailor-made suit. She looked anxious and upset, but not, the colonel decided, particularly grief-stricken. As she sat down she said, "It all seems too awful to be true. Do you really think it's Ruby?" "That, I'm afraid, is what we've got to ask you to tell us. I'm afraid it may be rather unpleasant for you." Miss Turner said apprehensively, "Does she… does she look very terrible?" "Well, I'm afraid it may be rather a shock to you." "Do do you want me to look at her right away?" "It would be best, I think, Miss Turner. You see, it's not much good asking you questions until we're sure. Best get it over, don't you think?" "All right." They drove down to the mortuary. When Josie came in after a brief visit she looked rather sick. "It's Ruby, right," she said shakily. "Poor girl! [unclear] Goodness, I do There isn't" she looked round wistfully [unclear]
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down. [unclear] Miss Turner regained her composure. She said frankly, "It gives you a turn, doesn't it, seeing anything like that? Poor little Ruby! What swine men are, aren't they?"
"You believe it was a man?"
Josie looked slightly taken aback. "Wasn't it? Well, I mean I naturally thought-"
"Any special man you were thinking of?"
She shook her head vigorously. "No, not me. I haven't the least idea. Naturally, Ruby wouldn't have let on to me if-"
"If what?"
Josie hesitated. "Well, if she'd been going about with anyone."
Melchett shot her a keen glance. He said no more until they were back at his office. Then he began, "Now, Miss Turner, I want all the information you can give me."
"Yes, of course. Where shall I begin?"
"I'd like the girl's full name and address, her relationship to you and all that you know about her."
Josephine Turner nodded. Melchett was confirmed in his opinion that she felt no particular grief. She was shocked and distressed, but no more. She spoke readily enough. "Her name was Ruby Keene her professional name, that is. Her real name was Rosy Legge. Her mother was my mother's cousin. I've known her all my life, but not particularly well, if you know what I mean. I've got a lot of cousins; some in business, some on the stage. Ruby was more or less training for a dancer. She had some good engagements last year in pantomime and that sort of thing. Not really classy, but good provincial companies. Since then she's been engaged as one of the dancing partners at the Palais de Danse in Brixwell, South London. It's a nice, respectable place and they look after the girls well, but there isn't a great deal of money in it." She paused. Colonel Melchett nodded.
"Now this is where I come in. I've been dance and bridge hostess at the Majestic in Danemouth for three years. It's a good job, well paid and pleasant to do. You look after people when they arrive. Size them up, of course some like to be left alone and others are lonely and want to get into the swing of things. You try and get the right people together for bridge and all that, and get the young people dancing with one another. It needs a bit of tact and experience."
Again Melchett nodded. He thought that this girl would be good at her job. She had a pleasant, friendly way with her and was, he thought, shrewd without being in the least intellectual.
"Besides that," continued Josie, "I do a couple of exhibition dances every evening with Raymond. Raymond Starr he's the tennis and dancing pro. Well, as it happens, this summer I slipped on the rocks bathing one day and gave my ankle a nasty turn." Melchett had noticed that she walked with a slight limp.
"Naturally, that put the stop to dancing for a bit and it was rather awkward. I didn't want the hotel to get someone else in my place. There's always a danger-" for a minute her good-natured blue eyes were hard and sharp; she was the female fighting for existence "that they may queer your pitch, you see. So I thought of Ruby and suggested to the manager that I should get her down. I'd carry on with the hostess business and the bridge and all that. Ruby would just take on the dancing. Keep it in the family, if you see what I mean." Melchett said he saw. "Well, they agreed, and I wired to Ruby and she came down. Rather a chance for her. Much better class than anything she'd ever done before. That was about a month ago."
Colonel Melchett said, "I understand. And she was a success?"
"Oh, yes," Josie said carelessly. "She went down quite well. She doesn't dance as well as I do, but Raymond's clever and carried her through, and she was quite nice-looking, you know slim and fair and baby-looking. Overdid the make-up a bit I was always at her about that. But you know what girls are. She was only eighteen, and at that age they always go and overdo it. It doesn't do for a good-class place like the Majestic. I was always ticking her off about it and getting her to tone it down."
Melchett asked, "People liked her?"
"Oh, yes. Mind you Ruby hadn't got much comeback. She was a bit dumb. She went down better with the older men than with the young ones."
"Had she got any special friend?" The girl's eyes met his with complete understanding. "Not in the way you mean. Or, at any rate, not that I knew about. But then, you see, she wouldn't tell me."
Just for a moment Melchett wondered why not. Josie did not give the
impression of being a strict disciplinarian. But he only said, "Will you describe to me now when you last saw your cousin."
"Last night. She and Raymond do two exhibition dances. One at ten-thirty and the other at midnight. They finished the first one. After it, I noticed Ruby dancing with one of the young men staying at the hotel. I was playing bridge with some people in the lounge. There's a glass panel between the lounge and the ballroom. That's the last time I saw her. Just after midnight Raymond came up in a terrible taking; said where was Ruby; she hadn't turned up and it was time [missing text] she'd just made a fool of herself about some young man. I thought she'd turn up all right, and I was going to give her a good dressing down when she did! Girls of eighteen are such fools."
Melchett pretended to glance through his notes. "Ah, yes, I see it was a Mr. Jefferson who went to the police. One of the guests staying at the hotel?"
Josephine Turner said shortly, "Yes."
Colonel Melchett asked, "What made this Mr. Jefferson do that?"
Josie was stroking the cuff of her jacket. There was a constraint in her manner. Again Colonel Melchett had a feeling that something was being withheld.
She said rather sullenly, "He's an invalid. He he gets upset rather easily. Being an invalid, I mean."
Melchett passed from that. He asked, "Who was the young man with whom you last saw your cousin dancing?"
"His name's Bartlett. He's been there about ten days."
"Were they on very friendly terms?"
"Not specially, I should say. Not that I knew, anyway." Again a curious note of anger in her voice.
"What does he have to say?"
"Said that after their dance Ruby went upstairs to powder her nose."
"That was when she changed her dress?"
"I suppose so."
"And that is the last thing you know? After that, she just-"
"Vanished," said Josie. "That's right."
"Did Miss Keene know anybody in St. Mary Mead? Or in this neighbourhood?" "I don't know. She may have. You see, quite a lot of young men come in to Danemouth to the Majestic, from all round about. I wouldn't know where they lived unless they happened to mention it."
"Did you ever hear your cousin mention Gossington?"
"Gossington?" Josie looked patently puzzled.
"Gossington Hall."
She shook her head. "Never heard of it." Her tone carried conviction. There was curiosity in it too.
"Gossington Hall," explained Colonel Melchett, "is where her body was found."
"Gossington Hall?" She stared. "How extraordinary!"
Melchett thought to himself: Extraordinary's the word. Aloud he said, "Do you know a Colonel or Mrs. Bantry?"
Again Josie shook her head.
"Or a Mr. Basil Blake?"
She frowned slightly. "I think I've heard that name. Yes, I'm sure I have, but I don't remember anything about him."
The diligent Inspector Slack slid across to his superior officer a page torn from his notebook. On it was penciled: "Col. Bantry dined at Majestic last week." Melchett looked up and met the inspector's eye. The chief constable flushed. Slack was an industrious and zealous officer and Melchett disliked him a good deal, but he could not disregard the challenge. The inspector was tacitly accusing him of favoring his own class, of shielding an "old school tie." He turned to Josie. "Miss Turner, I should like you, if you do not mind, to accompany me to Gossington Hall." Coldly, defiantly, almost ignoring Josie's murmur of assent, Melchett's eyes met Slack's.
St. Mary Mead was having the most exciting morning it had known for a long time. Miss Wetherby, a long-nosed, acidulated spinster, was the first to spread the intoxicating information. She dropped in upon her friend and neighbor Miss Hartnell. "Forgive my coming so early, dear, but I thought perhaps you mightn't have heard the news."
"What news?" demanded Miss Hartnell. She had a deep bass voice and visited the poor indefatigably, however hard they tried to avoid her ministrations.
"About the body of a young woman that was found this morning in Colonel Bantry's library."
"In Colonel Bantry's library?"
"Yes. Isn't it terrible?"
"His poor wife!" Miss Hartnell tried to disguise her deep and ardent pleasure.
"Yes, indeed. I don't suppose she had any idea."
Miss Hartnell observed censoriously, "She thought too much about her garden and not enough about her husband. You've got to keep an eye on a man all the time, all the time," repeated Miss Hartnell fiercely.
"I know. I know. It's really too dreadful."
"I wonder what Jane Marple will say? Do you think she knew anything about it? She's so sharp about these things."
"Jane Marple has gone up to Gossington."
"What? This morning?"
"Very early. Before breakfast."
"But really! I do think well, I mean, I think that is carrying things too far. We all know Jane likes to poke her nose into things, but I call this indecent!"
"Oh, but Mrs. Bantry sent for her."
"Mrs. Bantry sent for her?"
"Well, the car came. With Muswell driving it."
"Dear me. How very peculiar."
They were silent a minute or two, digesting the news. "Whose body?" demanded Miss Hartnell.
"You know that dreadful woman who comes down with Basil Blake?"
"That terrible peroxide blonde?" Miss Hartnell was slightly behind the times. She had not yet advanced from peroxide to platinum. "The one who lies about in the garden with practically nothing on?"
"Yes, my dear. There she was on the hearth rug strangled!"
"But what do you mean at Gossington?" Miss Wetherby nodded with infinite meaning. "Then Colonel Bantry too-" Again Miss Wetherby nodded. "Oh!"
There was a pause as the ladies savored this new addition to village scandal. "What a wicked woman!" trumpeted Miss Hartnell with righteous wrath. "Quite, quite abandoned, I'm afraid!" "And Colonel Bantry such a nice quiet man…"
Miss Wetherby said zestfully, "Those quiet ones are often the worst. Jane Marple always says so."
Mrs. Price Ridley was among the last to hear the news. A rich and dictatorial widow, she lived in a large house next door to the vicarage. Her informant was her little maid, Clara. "A woman, you say, Clara? Found dead on Colonel Bantry's hearth rug?"
"Yes, mum. And they say, mum, as she hadn't anything on at all, mum not a stitch!"
"That will do, Clara. It is not necessary to go into details."
"No, mum, and they say, mum, that at first they thought it was Mr. Blake's young lady what comes down for the weekends with 'im to Mr. Booker's new 'ouse. But now they say it's quite a different young lady. And the fishmonger's young man, he says he'd never have believed it of Colonel Bantry not with him handing round the plate on Sundays and all."
"There is a lot of wickedness in the world, Clara," said Mrs. Price Ridley. "Let this be a warning to you."
"Yes, mum. Mother, she never will let me take a place where there's a gentleman in the 'ouse."
"That will do, Clara," said Mrs. Price Ridley.
It was only a step from Mrs. Price Ridley's house to the vicarage. Mrs. Price Ridley was fortunate enough to find the vicar in his study. The vicar, a gentle, middle-aged man was always the last to hear anything. "Such a terrible thing," said Mrs. Price Ridley, panting a little because she had come rather fast. "I felt I must have your advice, your counsel about it, dear vicar."
Mr. Clement looked mildly alarmed. He said, "Has anything happened?"
"Has anything happened!" Mrs. Price Ridley repeated the question dramatically. "The most terrible scandal! None of us had any idea of it. An abandoned woman, completely unclothed, strangled on Colonel Bantry's hearth rug!"
The vicar stared. He said, "You… you are feeling quite well?"
"No wonder you can't believe it! I couldn't at first! The hypocrisy of the man! All these years."
"Please tell me exactly what all this is about."
Mrs. Price Ridley plung
ed into a full-swing narrative. When she had finished, the Reverend Mr. Clement said mildly, "But there is nothing, is there, to point to Colonel Bantry's being involved in this?"
"Oh, dear vicar, you are so unworldly! But I must tell you a little story. Last Thursday - or was it the Thursday before well, it doesn't matter - I was going to London by the cheap day train. Colonel Bantry was in the same carriage. He looked, I thought, very abstracted. And nearly the whole way he buried himself behind The Times. As though, you know, he didn't want to talk." The vicar nodded his head with complete comprehension and possible sympathy. "At Paddinton I said goodbye. He had offered to call me a taxi, but I was taking the bus down to Oxford Street; but he got into one, and I distinctly heard him tell the driver to go to- Where do you think?" Mr. Clement looked inquiring. "An address in St. John's Wood!" Mrs. Price Ridley bellowed triumphantly. The vicar remained completely [missing text]
"That, I consider, proves it," said Mrs. Price Ridley.
At Gossington Mrs. Bantry and Miss Marple were in the drawing room. "You know," said Mrs. Bantry, "I can't help feeling glad they've taken the body away. It's not nice to have a body in one's house."
Miss Marple nodded. "I know, dear. I know just how you feel."
"You can't," said Mrs. Bantry. "Not until you've had one. I know you had one next door once, but that's not the same thing. I only hope," - she went on - "that Arthur won't take a dislike to the library. We sit there so much. What are you doing, Jane?" For Miss Marple, with a glance at her watch, was rising to her feet.
"Well, I was thinking I'd go home, if there's nothing more I can do for you."
"Don't go yet," said Mrs. Bantry. "The fingerprint men and the photographers and most of the police have gone, I know, but I still feel something might happen. You don't want to miss anything."
The telephone rang and she went off to answer. She returned with a beaming face. "I told you more things would happen. That was Colonel Melchett. He's bringing the poor girl's cousin along."
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