“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-”
“What about Harper? Is he to be in on this?”
“It might be awkward for him to know too much. But there might be a hint from you. To watch certain persons, have them trailed, you know.”
Sir Henry said slowly, “Yes, that would meet the case.”
Superintendent Harper looked piercingly at Sir Henry Clithering. “Let’s get this quite clear, sir. You’re giving me a hint?”
Sir Henry said, “I’m informing you of what my friend has just informed me. He didn’t tell me in confidence that he purposes to visit a solicitor in Danemouth tomorrow for the purpose of making a new will.”
The superintendent’s bushy eyebrows drew downward over his steady eyes. He said, “Does Mr. Conway Jefferson propose to inform his son-in-law and daughter-in-law of that fact?”
“He intends to tell them about it this evening.”
“I see.” The superintendent tapped his desk with a penholder. He repeated again, “I see.” Then the piercing eyes bored once more into the eyes of the other man. Harper said, “So you’re not satisfied with the case against Basil Blake?”
“Are your [missing text]
The superintendent’s mustaches quivered. He said, “Is Miss Marple?” The two men looked at each other. Then Harper said, “You can leave it to me. I’ll have men detailed. There will be no funny business, I can promise you that.”
Sir Henry said, “There is one more thing. You’d better see this.” He unfolded a slip of paper and pushed it across the table.
This time the superintendent’s calm deserted him. He whistled. “So that’s it, is it? That puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. How did you come to dig up this?”
“Women,” said Sir Henry, “are eternally interested in marriages.”
“Especially,” said the superintendent, “elderly single women!”
Conway Jefferson looked up as his friend entered. His grim face relaxed into a smile. He said, “Well, I told ’em. They took it very well.”
“What did you say?”
[missing text] to endow a hostel for young girls working as professional dancers in London. Damned silly way to leave your money. Surprised they swallowed it as though I’d do a thing like that.” He added meditatively, “You know, I made a fool of myself over that girl. Must be turning into a silly old man. I can see it now. She was a pretty kid, but most of what I saw in her I put there myself. I pretended she was another Rosamund. Same coloring, you know. But not the same heart or mind. Hand me that paper; rather an interesting bridge problem.”
Sir Henry went downstairs. He asked a question of the porter.
“Mr. Gaskell, sir? He’s just gone off in his car. Had to go to London.” “Oh, I see. Is Mrs. Jefferson about?” “Mrs. Jefferson, sir, has just gone up to bed.” Sir Henry looked into the lounge and through to the ballroom. In the lounge Hugo McLean was doing a crossword puzzle and frowning a good deal over it. In the ballroom, Josie was smiling valiantly into the face of a stout, perspiring man as her nimble feet avoided his destructive tread. The stout man was clearly enjoying his dance. Raymond, graceful and weary, was dancing with an anemic-looking girl with adenoids, dull brown hair and an expensive and exceedingly unbecoming dress. Sir Henry said under his breath, “And so to bed,” and went upstairs.
It was three o’clock. The wind had fallen, the moon was shining over the quiet sea. In Conway Jefferson’s room there was no sound except his own heavy breathing as he lay half propped up on pillows. There was no breeze to stir the curtains at the window, but they stirred. For a moment they parted and a figure was silhouetted against the moonlight. Then they fell back into place. Everything was quiet again, but there was someone else inside the room. Nearer and nearer to the bed the intruder stole. The deep breathing on the pillow did not relax. There was no sound, or hardly any sound. A finger and thumb were ready to pick up a fold of skin; in the other hand the hypodermic was ready. And then, suddenly, out of the shadows a hand came and closed over the hand that held the needle; the other arm held the figure in an iron grasp. An unemotional voice the voice of the law, said, “No, you don’t! I want that needle!” The light switched on, and from his pillows Conway Jefferson looked grimly at the murderer of Ruby Keene.