Josie said eagerly, “Oh, but I didn’t. That was Mr. Jefferson.”
Mrs. Bantry said, “Jefferson?”
“Yes, he’s an invalid.”
“Not Conway Jefferson? But I know him well. He’s an old friend of ours…. Arthur, listen. Conway Jefferson, he’s staying at the Majestic, and it was he who notified the police! Isn’t that a coincidence?”
Josephine Turner said, “Mr. Jefferson was there last summer too.”
“Fancy! And we never knew. I haven’t seen him for a long time.” She turned to Josie. “How how is he nowadays?”
Josie considered. “I think he’s wonderful, really quite wonderful. Considering, I mean. He’s always cheerful always got a joke.”
“Are the family there with him?”
“Mr. Gaskell, you mean? And young Mrs. Jefferson? And Peter? Oh, yes.”
There was something inhibiting in Josephine Turner’s rather attractive frankness of manner. When she spoke of the Jeffersons there was something not quite natural in her voice. Mrs. Bantry said, “They’re both very nice, aren’t they? The young ones, I mean.”
Josie said rather uncertainly, “Oh, yes; yes, they are. They are really.”
“And what,” demanded Mrs. Bantry as she looked through the window at the retreating car of the chief constable, “did she mean by that? They are really.” Don’t you think, Jane, that there’s something-” Miss Marple fell upon the words eagerly. “Oh, I do; indeed I do. It’s quite unmistakable! Her manner changed at once when the Jeffersons were mentioned. She had seemed quite natural up to then.”
“But what do you think it is, Jane?”
“Well, my dear, you know them. All I feel is that there is something, as you say, about them which is worrying that young woman. Another thing. Did you notice that when you asked her if she wasn’t anxious about the girl being missing, she said that she was angry? And she looked angry, really angry! That strikes me as interesting, you know. I have a feeling, perhaps I’m wrong, that that’s her main reaction to the fact of the girl’s death. She didn’t care for her, I’m sure. She’s not grieving in any way. But I do think, very definitely, that the thought of that girl, Ruby Keene, makes her angry. And the interesting point is: Why?”
“We’ll find out!” said Mrs. Bantry. “We’ll go over to Danemouth and stay at the Majestic yes, Jane, you too. I need a change for my nerves after what has happened here. A few days at the Majestic that’s what we need. And you’ll meet Conway Jefferson. He’s a dear, a perfect dear. It’s the saddest story imaginable. He had a son and a daughter, both of whom he loved dearly. They were both married, but they still spent a lot of time at home. His wife, too, was the sweetest woman, and he was devoted to her. They were flying home one year from France and there was an accident. They were all killed. The pilot, Mrs. Jefferson, Rosamund and Frank. Conway had both legs so badly injured they had to be amputated. And he’s been wonderful, his courage, his pluck. He was a very active man, and now he’s a helpless cripple, but he never complains. His daughter-in-law lives with him; she was a widow when Frank Jefferson married her, and she had a son by her first marriage Peter Carmody. They…”
Colonel Melchett was facing a much annoyed hotel manager. With him was Superintendent Harper, of the Glenshire police, and the inevitable Inspector Slack the latter rather disgruntled at the chief constable’s willful usurpation of the case. Superintendent Harper was inclined to be soothing with the almost tearful Mr. Prestcott; Colonel Melchett tended toward a blunt brutality. “No good crying over spilt milk,” he said sharply. “The girl’s dead, strangled. You’re lucky that she wasn’t strangled in your hotel. This puts the inquiry in a different county and lets your establishment down extremely lightly. But certain inquiries have got to be made, and the sooner we get on with it the better. You can trust us to be discreet and tactful. So I suggest you cut the cackle and come to the horses. Just what, exactly, do you know about the girl?”
“I know nothing of her nothing at all. Josie brought her here.”