Inspector Slack, who always knew everything, kindly enlightened him.
“In private life, sir, so to speak, a lady keeps to one or two distinct shades, one for evening, one for day. They know what suits them and they keep to it. But these professional girls, they have to ring a change, so to speak. They do exhibition dances, and one night it’s a tango and the next a crinoline Victorian dance and then a kind of Apache dance and then just ordinary ballroom, and, of course, the makeup varies a good bit.”
“Good lord!” said the Colonel. “No wonder the people who turn out these creams and messes make a fortune.”
“Easy money, that’s what it is,” said Slack. “Easy money. Got to spend a bit in advertisement, of course.”
Colonel Melchett jerked his mind away from the fascinating and age-long problem of woman’s adornments. He said to Harper, who had just joined them:
“There’s still this dancing fellow. Your pigeon, Superintendent?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
As they went downstairs Harper asked:
“What did you think of Mr. Bartlett’s story, sir?”
“About his car? I think, Harper, that that young man wants watching. It’s a fishy story. Supposing that he did take Ruby Keene out in that car last night, after all?”
IV
Superintendent Harper’s manner was slow and pleasant and absolutely noncommittal. These cases where the police of two counties had to collaborate were always difficult. He liked Colonel Melchett and considered him an able Chief Constable, but he was nevertheless glad to be tackling the present interview by himself. Never do too much at once, was Superintendent Harper’s rule. Bare routine inquiry for the first time. That left the persons you were interviewing relieved and predisposed them to be more unguarded in the next interview you had with them.
Harper already knew Raymond Starr by sight. A fine-looking specimen, tall, lithe, and good-looking, with very white teeth in a deeply-bronzed face. He was dark and graceful. He had a pleasant, friendly manner and was very popular in the hotel.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you much, Superintendent. I knew Ruby quite well, of course. She’d been here over a month and we had practised our dances together and all that. But there’s really very little to say. She was quite a pleasant and rather stupid girl.”
“It’s her friendships we’re particularly anxious to know about. Her friendships with men.”
“So I suppose. Well, I don’t know anything! She’d got a few young men in tow in the hotel, but nothing special. You see, she was nearly always monopolized by the Jefferson family.”
“Yes, the Jefferson family.” Harper paused meditatively. He shot a shrewd glance at the young man. “What did you think of that business, Mr. Starr?”
Raymond Starr said coolly: “What business?”
Harper said: “Did you know that Mr. Jefferson was proposing to adopt Ruby Keene legally?”
This appeared to be news to Starr. He pursed up his lips and whistled. He said:
“The clever little devil! Oh, well, there’s no fool like an old fool.”
“That’s how it strikes you, is it?”
“Well—what else can one say? If the old boy wanted to adopt someone, why didn’t he pick upon a girl of his own class?”
“Ruby Keene never mentioned the matter to you?”
“No, she didn’t. I knew she was elated about something, but I didn’t know what it was.”
“And Josie?”
“Oh, I think Josie must have known what was in the wind. Probably she was the one who planned the whole thing. Josie’s no fool. She’s got a head on her, that girl.”
Harper nodded. It was Josie who had sent for Ruby Keene. Josie, no doubt, who had encouraged the intimacy. No wonder she had been upset when Ruby had failed to show up for her dance that night and Conway Jefferson had begun to panic. She was envisaging her plans going awry.
He asked:
“Could Ruby keep a secret, do you think?”
“As well as most. She didn’t talk about her own affairs much.”
“Did she ever say anything—anything at all—about some friend of hers—someone from her former life who was coming to see her here, or whom she had had difficulty with—you know the sort of thing I mean, no doubt.”
“I know perfectly. Well, as far as I’m aware, there was no one of the kind. Not by anything she ever said.”
“Thank you, Mr. Starr. Now will you just tell me in your own words exactly what happened last night?”
“Certainly. Ruby and I did our ten-thirty dance together—”
“No signs of anything unusual about her then?”
Raymond considered.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t notice what happened afterwards. I had my own partners to look after. I do remember noticing she wasn’t in the ballroom. At midnight she hadn’t turned up. I was very annoyed and went to Josie about it. Josie was playing bridge with the Jeffersons. She hadn’t any idea where Ruby was, and I think she got a bit of a jolt. I noticed her shoot a quick, anxious glance at Mr. Jefferson. I persuaded the band to play another dance and I went to the office and got them to ring up to Ruby’s room. There wasn’t any answer. I went back to Josie. She suggested that Ruby was perhaps asleep in her room. Idiotic suggestion really, but it was meant for the Jeffersons, of course! She came away with me and said we’d go up together.”
“Yes, Mr. Starr. And what did she say when she was alone with you?”
“As far as I can remember, she looked very angry and said: ‘Damned little fool. She can’t do this sort of thing. It will ruin all her chances. Who’s she with, do you know?’
“I said that I hadn’t the least idea. The last I’d seen of her was dancing with young Bartlett. Josie said: ‘She wouldn’t be with him. What can she be up to? She isn’t with that film man, is she?’”
Harper said sharply: “Film man? Who was he?”
Raymond said: “I don’t know his name. He’s never stayed here. Rather an unusual-looking chap—black hair and theatrical-looking. He has something to do with the film industry, I believe—or so he told Ruby. He came over to dine here once or twice and danced with Ruby afterwards, but I don’t think she knew him at all well. That’s why I was surprised when Josie mentioned him. I said I didn’t think he’d been here tonight. Josie said: ‘Well, she must be out with someone. What on earth am I going to say to the Jeffersons?’ I said what did it matter to the Jeffersons? And Josie said it did matter. And she said, too, that she’d never forgive Ruby if she went and messed things up.
“We’d got to Ruby’s room by then. She wasn’t there, of course, but she’d been there, because the dress she had been wearing was lying across a chair. Josie looked in the wardrobe and said she thought she’d put on her old white dress. Normally she’d have changed into a black velvet dress for our Spanish dance. I was pretty angry by this time at the way Ruby had let me down. Josie did her best to soothe me and said she’d dance herself so that old Prestcott shouldn’t get after us all. She went away and changed her dress and we went down and did a tango—exaggerated style and quite showy but not really too exhausting upon the ankles. Josie was very plucky about it—for it hurt her, I could see. After that she asked me to help her soothe the Jeffersons down. She said it was important. So, of course, I did what I could.”
Superintendent Harper nodded. He said:
“Thank you, Mr. Starr.”
To himself he thought: “It was important, all right! Fifty thousand pounds!”
He watched Raymond Starr as the latter moved gracefully away. He went down the steps of the terrace, picking up a bag of tennis balls and a racquet on the way. Mrs. Jefferson, also carrying a racquet, joined him and they went towards the tennis courts.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Sergeant Higgins, rather breathless, stood at Harper’s side.
The Superintendent, jerked from the train of thought he was following, looked startled.
“Message just come through fo
r you from headquarters, sir. Labourer reported this morning saw glare as of fire. Half an hour ago they found a burnt-out car in a quarry. Venn’s Quarry—about two miles from here. Traces of a charred body inside.”
A flush came over Harper’s heavy features. He said:
“What’s come to Glenshire? An epidemic of violence? Don’t tell me we’re going to have a Rouse case now!”
He asked: “Could they get the number of the car?”
“No, sir. But we’ll be able to identify it, of course, by the engine number. A Minoan 14, they think it is.”
Eight
I
Sir Henry Clithering, as he passed through the lounge of the Majestic, hardly glanced at its occupants. His mind was preoccupied. Nevertheless, as is the way of life, something registered in his subconscious. It waited its time patiently.
Sir Henry was wondering as he went upstairs just what had induced the sudden urgency of his friend’s message. Conway Jefferson was not the type of man who sent urgent summonses to anyone. Something quite out of the usual must have occurred, decided Sir Henry.
Jefferson wasted no time in beating about the bush. He said:
“Glad you’ve come. Edwards, get Sir Henry a drink. Sit down, man. You’ve not heard anything, I suppose? Nothing in the papers yet?”
Sir Henry shook his head, his curiosity aroused.
“What’s the matter?”
“Murder’s the matter. I’m concerned in it and so are your friends the Bantrys.”
“Arthur and Dolly Bantry?” Clithering sounded incredulous.
“Yes, you see, the body was found in their house.”
Clearly and succinctly, Conway Jefferson ran through the facts. Sir Henry listened without interrupting. Both men were accustomed to grasping the gist of a matter. Sir Henry, during his term as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, had been renowned for his quick grip on essentials.
“It’s an extraordinary business,” he commented when the other had finished. “How do the Bantrys come into it, do you think?”
“That’s what worries me. You see, Henry, it looks to me as though possibly the fact that I know them might have a bearing on the case. That’s the only connection I can find. Neither of them, I gather, ever saw the girl before. That’s what they say, and there’s no reason to disbelieve them. It’s most unlikely they should know her. Then isn’t it possible that she was decoyed away and her body deliberately left in the house of friends of mine?”
Clithering said:
“I think that’s far-fetched.”
“It’s possible, though,” persisted the other.
“Yes, but unlikely. What do you want me to do?”
Conway Jefferson said bitterly:
“I’m an invalid. I disguise the fact—refuse to face it—but now it comes home to me. I can’t go about as I’d like to, asking questions, looking into things. I’ve got to stay here meekly grateful for such scraps of information as the police are kind enough to dole out to me. Do you happen to know Melchett, by the way, the Chief Constable of Radfordshire?”
“Yes, I’ve met him.”
Something stirred in Sir Henry’s brain. A face and figure noted unseeingly as he passed through the lounge. A straight-backed old lady whose face was familiar. It linked up with the last time he had seen Melchett.
He said:
“Do you mean you want me to be a kind of amateur sleuth? That’s not my line.”
Jefferson said:
“You’re not an amateur, that’s just it.”
“I’m not a professional anymore. I’m on the retired list now.”
Jefferson said: “That simplifies matters.”
“You mean that if I were still at Scotland Yard I couldn’t butt in? That’s perfectly true.”
“As it is,” said Jefferson, “your experience qualifies you to take an interest in the case, and any cooperation you offer will be welcomed.”
Clithering said slowly:
“Etiquette permits, I agree. But what do you really want, Conway? To find out who killed this girl?”
“Just that.”
“You’ve no idea yourself?”
“None whatever.”
Sir Henry said slowly:
“You probably won’t believe me, but you’ve got an expert at solving mysteries sitting downstairs in the lounge at this minute. Someone who’s better than I am at it, and who in all probability may have some local dope.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Downstairs in the lounge, by the third pillar from the left, there sits an old lady with a sweet, placid spinsterish face, and a mind that has plumbed the depths of human iniquity and taken it as all in the day’s work. Her name’s Miss Marple. She comes from the village of St. Mary Mead, which is a mile and a half from Gossington, she’s a friend of the Bantrys—and where crime is concerned she’s the goods, Conway.”
Jefferson stared at him with thick, puckered brows. He said heavily:
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not. You spoke of Melchett just now. The last time I saw Melchett there was a village tragedy. Girl supposed to have drowned herself. Police quite rightly suspected that it wasn’t suicide, but murder. They thought they knew who did it. Along to me comes old Miss Marple, fluttering and dithering. She’s afraid, she says, they’ll hang the wrong person. She’s got no evidence, but she knows who did do it. Hands me a piece of paper with a name written on it. And, by God, Jefferson, she was right!”
Conway Jefferson’s brows came down lower than ever. He grunted disbelievingly:
“Woman’s intuition, I suppose,” he said sceptically.
“No, she doesn’t call it that. Specialized knowledge is her claim.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Well, you know, Jefferson, we use it in police work. We get a burglary and we usually know pretty well who did it—of the regular crowd, that is. We know the sort of burglar who acts in a particular sort of way. Miss Marple has an interesting, though occasionally trivial, series of parallels from village life.”
Jefferson said sceptically:
“What is she likely to know about a girl who’s been brought up in a theatrical milieu and probably never been in a village in her life?”
“I think,” said Sir Henry Clithering firmly, “that she might have ideas.”
II
Miss Marple flushed with pleasure as Sir Henry bore down upon her.
“Oh, Sir Henry, this is indeed a great piece of luck meeting you here.”
Sir Henry was gallant. He said:
“To me it is a great pleasure.”
Miss Marple murmured, flushing: “So kind of you.”
“Are you staying here?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, we are.”
“We?”
“Mrs. Bantry’s here too.” She looked at him sharply. “Have you heard yet? Yes, I can see you have. It is terrible, is it not?”
“What’s Dolly Bantry doing here? Is her husband here too?”
“No. Naturally, they both reacted quite differently. Colonel Bantry, poor man, just shuts himself up in his study, or goes down to one of the farms, when anything like this happens. Like tortoises, you know, they draw their heads in and hope nobody will notice them. Dolly, of course, is quite different.”
“Dolly, in fact,” said Sir Henry, who knew his old friend fairly well, “is almost enjoying herself, eh?”
“Well—er—yes. Poor dear.”
“And she’s brought you along to produce the rabbits out of the hat for her?”
Miss Marple said composedly:
“Dolly thought that a change of scene would be a good thing and she didn’t want to come alone.” She met his eye and her own gently twinkled. “But, of course, your way of describing it is quite true. It’s rather embarrassing for me, because, of course, I am no use at all.”
“No ideas? No village parallels?”
“I don’t know very much about it all yet.”
“I can remedy that, I think. I’m going to call you into consultation, Miss Marple.”
He gave a brief recital of the course of events. Miss Marple listened with keen interest.
“Poor Mr. Jefferson,” she said. “What a very sad story. These terrible accidents. To leave him alive, crippled, seems more cruel than if he had been killed too.”
“Yes, indeed. That’s why all his friends admire him so much for the resolute way he’s gone on, conquering pain and grief and physical disabilities.”
“Yes, it is splendid.”
“The only thing I can’t understand is this sudden outpouring of affection for this girl. She may, of course, have had some remarkable qualities.”
“Probably not,” said Miss Marple placidly.
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t think her qualities entered into it.”
Sir Henry said:
“He isn’t just a nasty old man, you know.”
“Oh, no, no!” Miss Marple got quite pink. “I wasn’t implying that for a minute. What I was trying to say was—very badly, I know—that he was just looking for a nice bright girl to take his dead daughter’s place—and then this girl saw her opportunity and played it for all she was worth! That sounds rather uncharitable, I know, but I have seen so many cases of the kind. The young maid-servant at Mr. Harbottle’s, for instance. A very ordinary girl, but quiet with nice manners. His sister was called away to nurse a dying relative and when she got back she found the girl completely above herself, sitting down in the drawing room laughing and talking and not wearing her cap or apron. Miss Harbottle spoke to her very sharply and the girl was impertinent, and then old Mr. Harbottle left her quite dumbfounded by saying that he thought she had kept house for him long enough and that he was making other arrangements.
“Such a scandal as it created in the village, but poor Miss Harbottle had to go and live most uncomfortably in rooms in Eastbourne. People said things, of course, but I believe there was no familiarity of any kind—it was simply that the old man found it much pleasanter to have a young, cheerful girl telling him how clever and amusing he was than to have his sister continually pointing out his faults to him, even if she was a good economical manager.”
The Complete Miss Marple Collection Page 31
