"If she were meeting him inside the hotel or somewhere where evening dress was worn, she'd wear her best evening frock, of course, but outside she'd feel she'd look ridiculous in evening dress and she'd wear her most attractive sports wear."
"Granted, Fashion Queen, but the girl Ruby-"
Miss Marple said, "Ruby, of course, wasn't, well, to put it bluntly Ruby wasn't a lady. She belonged to the class that wear their best clothes, however unsuitable to the occasion. Last year, you know, we had a picnic outing at Scrantor Rocks. You'd be surprised at the unsuitable clothes the girls wore. Foulard dresses and patent-leather shoes and quite elaborate hats, some of them. For climbing about over rocks and in gorse and heather. And the young men in their best suits. Of course, hiking's different again. That's practically a uniform, and girls don't seem to realize that shorts are very unbecoming unless they are very slender."
The superintendent said slowly, "And you think that Ruby Keene-"
"I think that she'd have kept on the frock she was wearing, her best pink one. She'd only have changed it if she'd had something newer still."
Superintendent Harper said, "And what's your explanation, Miss Marple?"
Miss Marple said, "I haven't got one yet. But I can't help feeling that it's important."
Inside the wire cage, the tennis lesson that Raymond Starr was giving had come to an end. A stout middle-aged woman uttered a few appreciative squeaks, picked up a sky-blue cardigan and went off toward the hotel. Raymond called out a few gay words after her. Then he turned toward the bench where the three onlookers were sitting. The balls dangled in a net in his hand, his racket was under one arm. The gay, laughing expression on his face was wiped off as though by a sponge from a slate. He looked tired and worried. Coming toward them he said, "That's over." Then the smile broke out again, that charming, boyish, expressive smile that went so harmoniously with his sun-tanned 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," said Miss Marple, "be very boring for you."
Raymond said simply, "It is sometimes. Especially at the end of the summer. For a time the thought of the pay buoys one up, but even that fails to stimulate imagination 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 all right?"
"Perfectly, thank you. I shall be ready."
Harper went off. Raymond stood looking after him. Then he said, "Mind if I sit for a bit?"
"Do," said Sir Henry. "Have a cigarette?" He offered his case, wondering as he did so why he had a slight feeling of prejudice against Raymond Starr. Was it simply because he was a professional tennis coach and dancer? If so, it wasn't the tennis, it was the dancing. The English, Sir Henry decided, had a distrust for any man who danced too well. This fellow moved 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. Spanish effect, you know. Then there was rather a prejudice against foreigners, so I 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, you see." And that accounts for that swing from the hips, thought Sir Henry parenthetically. "But my first name is Thomas. Painfully prosaic." He turned to Sir Henry. "You come from Devonshire, don't you, sir? From Stane? My people lived 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, "Bad luck . . . er all that." "The place being sold up after it had been in the family for three hundred years? Yes, it was rather! Still, our kind have to go, I suppose! We've outlived our usefulness. My elder brother went to New York. He's in publishing doing well. The rest of us are scattered up and down the earth. I'll say it's hard to get a job nowadays when you've nothing to say for yourself except that you've had a public-school education. Sometimes, if you're lucky, you get taken on as a reception clerk at a hotel. The tie and the manner are an asset there. The only job I could get was showman in a plumbing establishment. Selling superb peach- and
lemon-colored porcelain baths. Enormous showrooms, but as I never knew the price of the damned 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 at a hotel on the Riviera. Good pickings there. I suppose I was doing well. Then I overheard an old colonel, real old colonel, incredibly ancient, British to the backbone and always talking about Poona. He went up to the manager and said at the top of his voice: "Where's the gigolo? I want to get hold of the gigolo. My wife and daughter want to dance, yer know. Where is the feller? What does he sting yer for? It's the gigolo I want." Raymond said, "Silly to mind. But I did. I chucked it. Came here. Less pay, but pleasanter. Mostly teaching tennis to rotund women who will never, never be able to play. That and dancing with the wallflower daughters of rich clients! Oh, well, it's life, I suppose. Excuse today's hard-luck story." He laughed. His teeth flashed out white, his eyes crinkled up at the corners. 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 killed her. 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?"
"I'm afraid not. I'd have told Harper if I had. It just seems to me one of those 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 unwillingly, "Her death probably benefits Mrs. Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell to the amount of fifty thousand pounds."
"What?" Raymond looked really startled, more than startled, upset. "Oh, but that's absurd, absolutely absurd. Mrs. Jefferson -- neither of them could have had anything to do with it. It would be incredible to think 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. "But that either of those two would strangle 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 voice sounded amused. "Ten minutes late!"
Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean were walking rapidly down the path toward them. With a smiling apology for her lateness, Addie Jefferson went onto the court. McLean sat down on the bench. After a polite inquiry whether Miss Marple 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. No one 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 it all, 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 Hugo McLean. He scowled more than ever. He said, "Don'
t know why Addie sent for me. She seems not to have turned 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 of fact."
"Why, where were you?"
"Fact is, I'd left London the afternoon before. I was staying at Danebury Head."
"What? Quite near here?"
"Yes, rather funny, wasn't it? Got the message when I got in from a round of golf and came over here at once."
Miss Marple gazed at him thoughtfully. He looked hot and uncomfortable. She said, "I've heard it's very pleasant at Danebury Head and not very expensive."
"No, it's not expensive. I couldn't afford it if it was. It's a nice little place."
"We must drive over there one day," said Miss Marple.
"Eh? What? Oh or yes, I should." He got up. "Better take some exercise, 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 interested to know."
"A little limited in his ideas, perhaps," said Miss Marple. "But with possibilities, 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 to keep you company."
Mrs. Bantry arrived breathless and sat down with a gasp. She said, "I've been talking to chambermaids. But it isn't any good. I haven't found out a thing more! Do you think that girl can really have been carrying on with someone without everybody in the hotel knowing all about it?"
"That's a very interesting point, dear. I should say definitely not. Somebody knows, depend upon it, if it's true. But she must have been very clever about it."
Mrs. Bantry's attention had strayed to the tennis court. She said approvingly, "Addie's tennis is coming on a lot. Attractive young man, that tennis pro. Addie's quite nice-looking. She's still an attractive woman. I shouldn't be at all surprised if she married again."
"She'll be quite a rich woman, too, when Mr. Jefferson dies," said Miss Marple.
"Oh, don't always have such a nasty mind, Jane. Why haven't you solved this mystery yet? We don't seem to be getting on at all. I thought you'd know at once." Mrs. Bantry's tone held reproach.
"No, no, dear, I didn't know at once, not for some time."
Mrs. Bantry turned startled and incredulous eyes on her. "You mean you know now who killed Ruby Keene?"
"Oh, yes," said Miss Marple. "I know that!"
"But, Jane, who is it? Tell me at once."
Miss Marple shook her head very firmly and pursed up her lips. "I'm sorry Dolly, but that wouldn't do at all."
"Why wouldn't it do?"
"Because you're so indiscreet. You would go round telling everyone or if you didn't tell, you'd hint."
"No, indeed, I wouldn't. I wouldn't tell a soul."
"People who use that phrase are always the last to live up to it. It's no good, dear. There's a long way to go yet. A great many things that are quite obscure. You remember when I was so against letting Mrs. Partridge collect for the Red Cross and I couldn't say why. The reason was that her nose had twitched in just the same way that that maid of mine, Alice, twitched her nose when I sent her out to pay the accounts. Always paid them a shilling or so short and said it could go on to next week, which, of course, was exactly what Mrs. Partridge did, only on a much larger scale. Seventy-five pounds it was she embezzled."
"Never mind Mrs. Partridge," said Mrs. Bantry.
"But I had to explain to you. And if you care, give you a hint. The trouble in this case is that everybody has been much too credulous and believing. You simply cannot afford to believe everything that people tell you. When there's anything fishy about, I never believe anyone at all. You see, I know human nature so well."
Mrs. Bantry was silent for a minute or two. Then she said in a different tone of voice, "I told you, didn't I, that I didn't see why I shouldn't enjoy myself over this case? A real murder in my own house! The sort of thing that will never happen again."
"I hope not," said Miss Marple.
"Well, so do I, really. Once is enough. But it's my murder, Jane. I want to enjoy myself over it."
Miss Marple shot a glance at her. Mrs. Bantry said belligerently, "Don't you believe that?"
Miss Marple said sweetly, "Of course, Dolly, if you tell me so."
"Yes, but you never believe what people tell you, do you? You've just said so. Well, you're quite right." Mrs. Bantry's voice took on a sudden, bitter note. She said, "I'm not altogether a fool. You may think, Jane, that I don't know what they're saying all over St. Mary Mead, all over the county! They're saying, one and all, that there's no smoke without fire; that if the girl was found in Arthur's library, then Arthur must know something about it. They're saying that the girl was Arthur's mistress; that she was his illegitimate daughter; that she was blackmailing him; they're saying anything that comes into their heads. And it will go on like that! Arthur won't realize it at first; he won't know what's wrong. He's such a dear old stupid that he'd never believe people would think things like that about him. He'll be cold-shouldered -- and looked at askance whatever that means! -- and it will dawn on him little by little, and suddenly he'll be horrified and cut to the soul, and he'll fasten up like a clam and just endure, day after day. It's because of all that's going to happen to him that I've come here to ferret out every single thing about it that I can! This murder's got to be solved! If it isn't, then Arthur's whole life will be wrecked, and I won't have that happen. I won't! I won't! I won't!" She paused for a minute and said, "I won't have the dear old boy go through hell for something he didn't do. That's the only reason I came to Danemouth and left him alone at home -- to find out the truth."
"I know, dear," said Miss Marple. "That's why I'm here too."
[missing text] quite clearly the main points of this business. The dead girl was on the point of becoming Mr. Jefferson's adopted daughter. Two people had a motive in seeing that this should not happen. Those two people are Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson."
The valet's eyes displayed a momentary gleam. He said, "May I ask if they are under suspicion, sir?"
"They are in no danger of arrest, if that is what you mean. But the police are bound to be suspicious of them and will continue to be so until the matter is cleared up."
"An unpleasant position for them, sir."
"Very unpleasant. Now to get at the truth, one must have all the facts of the case. A lot depends, must depend, on the reactions, the words and gestures, of Mr. Jefferson and his family. How did they feel, what did they show, what things were said? I am asking you, Edwards, for inside information, the kind of inside information that only you are likely to have. You know your master's moods. From observation of them you probably know what caused them. I am asking this, not as a policeman but as a friend of Mr. Jefferson's. That is to say, if anything you tell me is not, in my opinion, relevant to the case, I shall not pass it on to the police." He paused.
Edwards said quietly, "I understand you, sir. You want me to speak quite frankly; to say things that, in the ordinary course of events, I should not say, and that, excuse me sir, you wouldn't dream of listening to."
Sir Henry said, "You're a very intelligent fellow, Edwards. That's exactly what I do mean."
Edwards was silent for a minute or two, then he began to speak. "Of course I know Mr. Jefferson fairly well by now. I've been with him quite a number of years. And I see him in his 'off moments, not only in his 'on ones. Sometimes, sir, I've questioned in my own mind whether it's good for an
yone to fight fate in the way Mr. Jefferson has fought. It's taken a terrible toll of him, sir. If, sometimes, he could have given way, been an unhappy, lonely, broken old man well, it might have been better for him in the end. But he's too proud for that. He'll go down fighting, that's his motto. But that sort of thing leads, Sir Henry, to a lot of nervous reaction. He looks a good-tempered gentleman. I've seen him in violent rages when he could hardly speak for passion. And the one thing that roused him, sir, was deceit."
"Are you saying that for any particular reason, Edwards?"
"Yes, sir. I am. You asked me, sir, to speak quite frankly."
"That is the idea."
"Well, then, Sir Henry, in my opinion the young woman that Mr. Jefferson was so taken up with wasn't worth it. She was, to put it bluntly, a common little piece. And she didn't care tuppence for Mr. Jefferson. All that play of affection and gratitude was so much poppycock. I don't say there was any harm in her, but she wasn't, by a long way, what Mr. Jefferson thought her. It was funny, that, sir, for Mr. Jefferson was a shrewd gentleman; he wasn't often deceived over people. But there, a gentleman isn't himself in his judgment when it comes to a young woman being in question. Young Mrs. Jefferson, you see, whom he'd always depended upon a lot for sympathy, had changed a good deal this summer. He noticed it and he felt it badly. He was fond of her, you see. Mr. Mark he never liked much."
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