Harper said slowly, “Can’t believe he took much interest in her or else he’s a thundering good actor. And, for all practical purposes, he’s got an alibi too. He was more or less in view from twenty minutes to eleven until midnight, dancing with various partners. I don’t see that we can make a case against him.”
“In fact,” said Colonel Melchett, “we can’t make a case against anybody.”
“George Bartlett’s our best hope,” Harper said. “If we could only hit on a motive.”
“You’ve had him looked up?”
“Yes, sir. Only child. Coddled by his mother. Came into a good deal of money on her death a year ago. Getting through it fast. Weak rather than vicious.”
“May be mental,” said Melchett hopefully.
Superintendent Harper nodded. He said, “Has it struck you, sir, that that may be the explanation of the whole case?”
“Criminal lunatic, you mean?”
“Yes, sir. One of those fellows who go about strangling young girls. Doctors have a long name for it.”
“That would solve all our difficulties,” said Melcbett.
“There’s only one thing I don’t like about it,” said [missing text]
Conway Jefferson stirred in his sleep and stretched. His arms were flung out, long, powerful arms into which all the strength of his body seemed to be concentrated since his accident. Through the curtains the morning light glowed softly. Conway Jefferson smiled to himself. Always, after a night of rest, he woke like this, happy, refreshed, his deep vitality renewed. Another day! So, for a minute, he lay. Then he pressed the special bell by his hand. And suddenly a wave of remembrance swept over him. Even as Edwards, deft and quiet-footed, entered the room a groan was wrung from his master. Edwards paused with his hand on the curtains. He said, “You’re not in pain, sir?”
Conway Jefferson said harshly, “No. Go on, pull ’em.” The clear light flooded the room. Edwards, understanding, did not glance at his master.
His face grim, Conway Jefferson lay remembering and thinking. Before his eyes he saw again the pretty, vapid face of Ruby. Only in his mind he did not use the adjective “vapid.” Last night he would have said “innocent.” A naive, innocent child! And now? A great weariness came over Conway Jefferson. He closed his eyes. He murmured below his breath, “Margaret.” It was the name of his dead wife.
“I like your friend,” said Adelaide Jefferson to Mrs. Bantry. The two women were sitting on the terrace.
“Jane Marple’s a very remarkable woman,” said Mrs. Bantry.
“She’s nice too,” said Addie, smiling.
“People call her a scandal monger,” said Mrs. Bantry, “but she isn’t really.”
“Just a low opinion of human nature?”
“You could call it that.”
“It’s rather refreshing,” said Adelaide Jefferson, “after having had too much of the other thing.” Mrs. Bantry looked at her sharply. Addie explained herself. “So much high thinking idealization of an unworthy object!”
“You mean Ruby Keene?”
Addie nodded. “I don’t want to be horrid about her. There wasn’t any harm in her. Poor little rat, she had to fight for what she wanted. She wasn’t bad. Common and rather silly and quite good-natured, but a decided little gold digger. I don’t think she schemed or planned. It was just that she was quick to take advantage of a possibility. And she knew just how to appeal to an elderly man who was lonely.”
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Bantry thoughtfully, “that Conway was lonely.”
Addie moved restlessly. She said, “He was this summer.” She paused and then burst out, “Mark will have it that it was all my fault! Perhaps it was; I don’t know.” She was silent for a minute, then, impelled by some need to talk, she went on speaking in a difficult, almost reluctant way. “I’ve had such an odd sort of life. Mike Carmody, my first husband, died so soon after we were married it — it knocked me out. Peter, as you know, was born after his death. Frank Jefferson was Mike’s great friend. So I came to see a lot of him. He was Peter’s godfather, Mike had wanted that. I got very fond of him and oh, sorry for him too.”