The Body in the Library mm-3 Page 13

  "Good morning," said Miss Marple briskly and cheerfully. "May I just come in for a minute?" She pressed forward as she spoke, so that Dinah Lee, who was somewhat taken aback at the call, had no time to make up her mind. "Thank you so much," said Miss Marple, beaming amiably at her and sitting down rather gingerly on a period bamboo chair. "Quite warm for the time of year, is it not?" went on Miss Marple, still exuding geniality.

  "Yes, rather. Oh, quite," said Miss Lee. At a loss how to deal with the situation, she opened a box and offered it to her guest. "Er… have a cigarette?"

  "Thank you so much, but I don't smoke. I just called, you know, to see if I could enlist your help for our Sale of Work next week."

  "Sale of Work?" said Dinah Lee, as one who repeats a phrase in a foreign language.

  "At the vicarage," said Miss Marple. "Next Wednesday."

  "Oh!" Miss Lee's mouth fell open. "I'm afraid I couldn't-"

  "Not even a small subscription, half a crown perhaps?" Miss Marple exhibited her little book.

  "Oh er… well, yes. I dare say I could manage that." The girl looked relieved and turned to hunt in her handbag.

  Miss Marple's sharp eyes were looking round the room. She said, "I see you've no hearth rug in front of the fire." Dinah Lee turned round and stared at her. She could not but be aware of the very keen scrutiny the old lady was giving her, but it aroused in her no other emotion than slight annoyance. Miss Marple recognized that. She said, "It's rather dangerous, you know. Sparks fly out and mark the carpet."

  Funny old tabby, thought Dinah, but she said quite amiably, if somewhat vaguely, "There used to be one. I don't know where it's got to."

  "I suppose," said Miss Marple, "it was the fluffy woolly kind?"

  "Sheep," said Dinah. "That's what it looked like." She was amused now. An eccentric old bean, this. She held out a half crown. "Here you are," she said.

  "Oh, thank you, my dear." Miss Marple took it and opened the little book. "Er… what name shall I write down?"

  Dinah's eyes grew suddenly hard and contemptuous. Nosy old cat, she thought. That's all she came for, prying around for scandal. She said clearly and with malicious pleasure, "Miss Dinah Lee."

  Miss Marple looked at her steadily. She said, "This is Mr. Basil Blake's cottage, isn't it?"

  "Yes, and I'm Miss Dinah Lee!" Her voice rang out challengingly, her head went back, her blue eyes flashed.

  Very steadily Miss Marple looked at her. She said, "Will you allow me to give you some advice, even though you may consider it impertinent?"

  "I shall consider it impertinent. You had better say nothing."

  "Nevertheless," said Miss Marple, "I am going to speak. I want to advise you, very strongly, not to continue using your maiden name in the village."

  Dinah stared at her. She said, "What, what do you mean?"

  Miss Marple said earnestly, "In a very short time you may need all the sympathy and good will you can find. It will be important to your husband, too, that he shall be thought well of. There is a prejudice in old-fashioned country districts against people living together who are not married. It has amused you both, I dare say, to pretend that that is what you are doing. It kept people away, so that you weren't bothered with what I expect you would call 'old frumps.' Nevertheless, old frumps have their uses."

  Dinah demanded, "How did you know we are married?"

  Miss Marple smiled a deprecating smile. "Oh, my dear," she said.

  Dinah persisted, "No, but how did you know? You didn't, you didn't go to Somerset House?"

  A momentary flicker showed in Miss Marple's eyes. "Somerset House? Oh, no. But it was quite easy to guess. Everything, you know, gets round in a village. The… er… the kind of quarrels you have typical of early days of marriage. Quite - quite unlike an illicit relationship. It has been said, you know, and I think quite truly, that you can only really get under anybody's skin if you are married to them. When there is no - no legal bond, people are much more careful; they have to keep assuring themselves how happy and halcyon everything is. They have, you see, to justify themselves. They dare not quarrel! Married people, I have noticed, quite enjoy their battles and the… er… appropriate reconciliations." She paused, twinkling benignly.

  For an interval Dinah stared at Miss Marple. Then she said incredulously, "Basil? Murder? Are you joking?"

  "No, indeed. Haven't you seen the papers?"

  Dinah caught her breath. "You mean that girl at the Majestic Hotel. Do you mean they suspect Basil of killing her?"

  "Yes."

  "But it's nonsense!"

  There was the whir of a car outside, the bang of a gate. Basil Blake flung open the door and came in, carrying some bottles. He said, "Got the gin and the vermouth. Did you-" He stopped and turned incredulous eyes on the prim, erect visitor.

  Dinah burst out breathlessly, "Is she mad? She says you're going to be arrested for the murder of that girl Ruby Keene."

  "Oh, God!" said Basil Blake. The bottles dropped from his arms onto the sofa. He reeled to a chair and dropped down in it and buried his face in his hands. He repeated, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

  Dinah darted over to him. She caught his shoulders. "Basil, look at me! It isn't true! I know it isn't true! I don't believe it for a moment!"

  His hand went up and gripped hers. "Bless you, darling."

  "But why should they think- You didn't even know her, did you?"

  "Oh, yes, he knew her," said Miss Marple.

  Basil said fiercely, "Be quiet, you old hag!… Listen, Dinah, darling. I hardly knew her at all. Just ran across her once or twice at the Majestic. That's all, I swear that's all!"

  Dinah said, bewildered, "I don't understand. Why should anyone suspect you, then?"

  Basil groaned. He put his hands over his eyes and rocked to and fro.

  Miss Marple said, "What did you do with the hearth rug?"

  His reply came mechanically. "I put it in the dustbin."

  Miss Marple clucked her tongue vexedly. "That was stupid, very stupid. People don't put good hearth rugs in dustbins. It had spangles in it from her dress, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I couldn't get them out."

  Dinah cried, "What are you talking about?"

  Basil said sullenly, "Ask her. She seems to know all about it."

  "I'll tell you what I think happened, if you like," said Miss Marple. "You can correct me, Mr. Blake, if I go wrong. I think that after having had a violent quarrel with your wife at a party and after having had, perhaps, rather too much er… to drink, you drove down here. I don't know what time you arrived."

  Basil Blake said sullenly, "About two in the morning. I meant to go up to town first; then, when I got to the suburbs, I changed my mind. I thought Dinah might come down here after me. So I drove down here. The place was all dark. I opened the door and turned on the light and I saw - and I saw-" He gulped and stopped.

  Miss Marple went on, "You saw a girl lying on the hearth rug. A girl in a white evening dress, strangled. I don't know whether you recognized her then-"

  Basil Blake shook his head violently. "I couldn't look at her after the first glance; her face was all blue, swollen; she'd been dead some time and she was there in my living room!" He shuddered.

  Miss Marple said gently, "You weren't, of course, quite yourself. You were in a fuddled state and your nerves are not good. You were, I think, panic-stricken. You didn't know what to do."

  "I thought, Dinah might turn up any minute. And she'd find me there with a dead body, a girl's dead body, and she'd think I'd killed her. Then I got an idea. It seemed, I don't know why, a good idea at the time. I thought: 'I'll put her in old Bantry's library. Damned pompous old stick, always looking down his nose; sneering at me as artistic and effeminate. Serve the pompous old brute right,' I thought. 'He'll look a fool when a dead lovely is found on his hearth rug.'" He added with a pathetic eagerness to explain,"I was a bit drunk, you know, at the time. It really seemed positively amusing to me. Old Bantry with a dead blonde."

&
nbsp; "Yes, yes," said Miss Marple. "Little Tommy Bond had very much the same idea. Rather a sensitive boy, with an inferiority complex, he said teacher was always picking on him. He put a frog in the clock and it jumped out at her. You were just the same," went on Miss Marple, "only, of course, bodies are more serious matters than frogs."

  Basil groaned again. "By the morning I'd sobered up. I realized what I'd done. I was scared stiff. And then the police came here. Another damned pompous ass of a chief constable. I was scared of him, and the only way I could hide it was by being abominably rude. In the middle of it all, Dinah drove up."

  Dinah looked out of the window. She said, "There's a car driving up now. There are men in it."

  "The police, I think," said Miss Marple.

  Basil Blake got up. Suddenly he became quite calm and resolute. He even smiled. He said, "So I'm in for it, am I? All right, Dinah, sweet, keep your head. Get onto old Sims, he's the family lawyer, and go to mother and tell her about our marriage. She won't bite. And don't worry. I didn't do it. So it's bound to be all right, see, sweetheart?"

  There was a tap on the cottage door. Basil called, "Come in."

  Inspector Slack entered with another man. He said, "Mr. Basil Blake?"

  "Yes."

  "I have a warrant here for your arrest on the charge of murdering Ruby Keene on the night of September twentieth last. I warn you that anything you say may be used at your trial. You will please accompany me now. Full facilities will be given you for communicating with your solicitor."

  Basil nodded. He looked at Dinah, but did not touch her. He said, "So long, Dinah."

  Cool customer, thought Inspector Slack. He acknowledged the presence of Miss Marple with a half bow and a "Good morning," and thought to himself, smart old pussy; she's on to it. Good job we've got that hearth rug. That and finding out from the car-park man at the studio that he left that party at eleven instead of midnight. Don't think those friends of his meant to commit perjury. They were bottled, and Blake told 'em firmly the next day it was twelve o'clock when he left, and they believed him. Well, his goose is cooked good and proper. Mental, I expect. Broadmoor, not hanging. First the Reeves kid, probably strangled her, drove her out to the quarry, walked back into Danemouth, picked up his own car in some side lane, drove to this party, then back to Danemouth, brought Ruby Keene out here, strangled her, put her in old Bantry's library, then probably got the wind up about the car in the quarry, drove there, set it on fire and got back here. Mad sex and blood lust, lucky this girl's escaped. What they call recurring mania, I expect.

  Alone with Miss Marple, Dinah Blake turned to her. She said, "I don't know who you are, but you've got to understand this: Basil didn't do it."

  Miss Marple said, "I know he didn't. I know who did do it. But it's not going to be easy to prove. I've an idea that something you said just now may help. It gave me an idea the connection I'd been trying to find. Now, what was it?"

  "I'm home, Arthur!" declared Mrs. Bantry, announcing the fact like a royal proclamation as she flung open the study door.

  Colonel Bantry immediately jumped up, kissed his wife and declared heartily, "Well, well, that's splendid!"

  The colonel's words were unimpeachable, the manner very well done, but an affectionate wife of as many years' standing as Mrs. Bantry was not deceived. She said immediately, "Is anything the matter?"

  "No, of course not Dolly. What should be the matter?"

  "Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Bantry vaguely. "Things are so queer, aren't they?"

  She threw off her coat as she spoke, and Colonel Bantry picked it up carefully and laid it across the back of the sofa. All exactly as usual, yet not as usual. Her husband, Mrs. Bantry thought, seemed to have shrunk. He looked thinner, stooped more, there were pouches under his eyes, and those eyes were not ready to meet hers. He went on to say, still with that affectation of cheerfulness. "Well, how did you enjoy your time at Danemouth?"

  "Oh, it was great fun. You ought to have come, Arthur."

  "Couldn't get away, my dear. Lot of things to attend to here."

  "Still, I think the change would have done you good. And you like the Jeffersons."

  "Yes, yes, poor fellow. Nice chap. All very sad." "What have you been doing with yourself since I've been away?"

  "Oh, nothing much; been over the farms, you know. Agreed that Anderson shall have a new roof. Can't patch it up any longer." "How did the Radfordshire Council meeting go?" "I well, as a matter of fact, I didn't go." "Didn't go? But you were taking the chair-" "Well, as a matter of fact, Dolly, seems there was some mistake about that. Asked me if I'd mind if Thompson took it instead."

  "I see," said Mrs. Bantry. She peeled off a glove and threw it deliberately into the wastepaper basket. Her husband went to retrieve it and she stopped him, saying sharply, "Leave it. I hate gloves." Colonel Bantry glanced at her uneasily. Mrs. Bantry said sternly, "Did you go to dinner with the Duffs on Thursday?" "Oh, that? It was put off. Their cook was ill." "Stupid people," said Mrs. Bantry. She went on, "Did you go to the Naylors' yesterday?"

  "I rang up and said I didn't feel up to it; hoped they'd excuse me. They quite understood." "They did, did they?" said Mrs. Bantry grimly. She sat down by the desk and absentmindedly picked up a pass of gardening scissors. With them she cut off the fingers, one by one, of her second glove.

  "What are you doing Dolly?"

  "Feeling destructive," said Mrs. Bantry. She got up. "Where shall we sit after dinner, Arthur? In the library?"

  "Well… er I don't think so eh? Very nice in here or the drawing room."

  "I think," said Mrs. Bantry, "that we'll sit in the library."

  Her steady eyes met his. Colonel Bantry drew himself up to his full height. A sparkle came into his eye. He said, "You're right, my dear. We'll sit in the library!"

  Mrs. Bantry put down the telephone receiver with a sigh of annoyance. She had rung up twice, and each time the answer had been the same. Miss Marple was out. Of a naturally impatient nature, Mrs. Bantry was never one to acquiesce in defeat. She rang up, in rapid succession, the vicarage, Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Hartnell, Miss Wetherby and, as a last resort, the fishmonger, who by reason of his advantageous geographical position usually knew where everybody was in the village. The fishmonger was sorry, but he had not seen Miss Marple at all in the village that morning. She had not been on her usual round. "Where can the woman be?" demanded Mrs. Bantry impatiently, aloud.

  There was a deferential cough behind her. The discreet Lorrimer murmured, "You were requiring Miss Marple, madam? I have just observed her approaching the house."

  Mrs. Bantry rushed to the front door, flung it open and greeted Miss Marple breathlessly. "I've been trying to get you everywhere. Where have you been?" She glanced over her shoulder. Lorrimer had discreetly vanished. "Everything's too awful! People are beginning to cold-shoulder Arthur. He looks years older. We must do something, Jane. You must do something!"

  Miss Marple said, "You needn't worry Dolly," in a rather peculiar voice.

  Colonel Bantry appeared from the study door. "Ah, Miss Marple. Good morning. Glad you've come. My wife's been ringing you up like a lunatic."

  "I thought I'd better bring you the news," said Miss Marple as she followed Mrs. Bantry into the study. "News?"

  "Basil Blake has just been arrested for the murder of Ruby Keene." "Basil Blake?" cried the colonel "But he didn't do it," said Miss Marple. Colonel Bantry took no notice of this statement. It was doubtful if he even heard it. "Do you mean to say he strangled that girl and then brought her along and put her in my library?"

  "He put her in your library," said Miss Marple, "but he didn't kill her."

  "Nonsense. If he put her in my library, of course he killed her! The two things go together!"

  "Not necessarily. He found her dead in his own cottage."

  "A likely story," said the colonel derisively. "If you find a body why, you ring up the police, naturally, if you're an honest man."

  "Ah," said Miss Marple,
"but we haven't all got such iron nerves as you have Colonel Bantry. You belong to the old school. This younger generation is different."

  "Got no stamina," said the colonel, repeating a well-worn opinion of his.

  "Some of them," said Miss Marple, "have been through a bad time. I've heard a good deal about Basil. He did ARP work, you know, when he was only eighteen. He went into a burning house and brought out four children, one after another. He went back for a dog, although they told him it wasn't safe. The building fell in on him. They got him out, but his chest was badly crushed and he had to lie in plaster for a long time after that. That's when he got interested in designing."

  "Oh!" The colonel coughed and blew his nose. "I… er never knew that."

  "He doesn't talk about it," said Miss Marple.

  "Er… quite right. Proper spirit. Must be more in the young chap than I thought. Shows you ought to be careful in jumping to conclusions." Colonel Bantry looked ashamed. "But all the same," his indignation revived "what did he mean, trying to fasten a murder on me?"

  "I don't think he saw it like that," said Miss Marple. "He thought of it more as a as a joke. You see, he was rather under the influence of alcohol at the time."

  "Bottled, was he?" said Colonel Bantry, with an Englishman's sympathy for alcoholic excess. "Oh, well, can't judge a fellow by what he does when he's drunk. When I was at Cambridge, I remember I put a certain utensil… well… well, never mind. Deuce of a row there was about it." He chuckled, then checked himself sternly. He looked at Miss Marple with eyes that were shrewd and appraising. He said, "You don't think he did the murder, eh?"

  "I'm sure he didn't."

  "And you think you know who did?"

  Miss Marple nodded.

  Mrs. Bantry, like all ecstatic Greek chorus, said, "Isn't she wonderful?" to an unhearing world.

  "Well, who was it?"

  Miss Marple said, "I was going to ask you to help me. I think if we went up to Somerset House we should have a very good idea."

  Sir Henry's face was very grave. He said, "I don't like it."

  "I am aware," said Miss Marple, "that it isn't what you call orthodox. But it is so important, isn't it, to be quite sure to 'make assurance doubly sure,' as Shakespeare has it? I think, if Mr. Jefferson would agree-"