“No, she was dressed for dancing or a party of some kind. But there’s nothing of that kind down here or anywhere near.”
“N-no,” said Miss Marple doubtfully.
Mrs. Bantry pounced. “Something’s in your mind, Jane.”
“Well, I was just wondering ”
“Yes?”
“Basil Blake.”
Mrs. Bantry cried impulsively, “Oh, no!” and added as though in explanation, “I know his mother.”
The two women looked at each other. Miss Marple sighed and shook her head. “I quite understand how you feel about it.”
“Selina Blake is the nicest woman imaginable. Her herbaceous borders are simply marvelous; they make me green with envy. And she’s frightfully generous with cuttings.”
Miss Marple, passing over these claims to consideration on the part of Mrs. Blake, said, “All the same, you know, there has been a lot of talk.”
“Oh, I know, I know. And of course Arthur goes simply livid when he hears him mentioned. He was really very rude to Arthur, and since then Arthur won’t hear a good word for him. He’s got that silly slighting way of talking that these boys have nowadays — sneering at people, sticking up for their school or the Empire or that sort of thing. And then, of course, the clothes he wears! People say,” continued Mrs. Bantry, “that it doesn’t matter what you wear in the country. I never heard such nonsense. It’s just in the country that everyone notices.” She paused and added wistfully, “He was an adorable baby in his bath.”
“There was a lovely picture of the Cheviot murderer as a baby in the paper last Sunday,” said Miss Marple.
“Oh, but, Jane, you don’t think he-”
“No, no, dear, I didn’t mean that at all. That would indeed be jumping to conclusions. I was just trying to account for the young woman’s presence down here. St. Mary Mead is such an unlikely place. And then it seemed to me that the only possible explanation was Basil Blake. He does have parties. People come down from London and from the studios. You remember last July? Shouting and singing, the most terrible noise, everyone very drunk, I’m afraid, and the mess and the broken glass next morning simply unbelievable. So old Mrs. Berry told me and a young woman asleep in the bath with practically nothing on!”
Mrs. Bantry said indulgently, “I suppose they were young people.”
“Very likely. And then what I expect you’ve heard several weekends lately he’s brought down a young woman with him. A platinum blonde.”
Mrs. Bantry exclaimed, “You don’t think it’s this one?”
“Well, I wondered. Of course, I’ve never seen her close, only just getting in and out of the car, and once in the cottage garden when she was sunbathing with just some shorts and a brassiere. I never really saw her face. And all these girls, with their make-up and their hair and their nails, look so alike.”
“Yes. Still, it might be. It’s an idea, Jane.”
It was an idea that was being at that moment discussed by Colonel Melchett and Colonel Bantry. The chief constable, after viewing the body and seeing his subordinates set to work on their routine tasks, had adjourned with the master of the house to the study in the other wing. Colonel Melchett was an irascible-looking man with a habit of tugging at his short red mustache. He did so now, shooting a perplexed sideways glance at the other man. Finally he rapped out, “Look here, Bantry; got to get this off my chest. Is it a fact that you don’t know from Adam who this woman is?” The other’s answer was explosive, but the chief constable interrupted him. “Yes, yes, old man, but look at it like this: Might be deuced awkward for you. Married man fond of your missus and all that. But just between ourselves, if you were tied up with this girl in any way, better say so now. Quite natural to want to suppress the fact; should feel the same myself. But it won’t do. Murder case. Facts bound to come out. Dash it all, I’m not suggesting you strangled the girl not the sort of thing you’d do. I know that! But, after all, she came here to this house. Put it, she broke in and was waiting to see you, and some bloke or other followed her down and did her in. Possible, you know. See what I mean?”