“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.”