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!”