“Yes, sir, and I don’t believe that’s so. Look how even the old lady, old Miss Marple, tumbled to it at once that there was a connection. She asked at once if the body in the burnt car was the body of the Girl Guide. Very smart old lady, that. These old ladies are, sometimes. Shrewd, you know. Put their fingers on the vital spot.”
“Miss Marple has done that more than once,” said Colonel Melchett dryly.
“And besides, sir, there’s the car. That seems to me to link up her death definitely with the Majestic Hotel. It was Mr. George Bartlett’s car.”
Again the eyes of the two men met. Melchett said, “George Bartlett? Could be! What do you think?”
Again Harper methodically recited various points. “Ruby Keene was last seen with George Bartlett. He says she went to her room, borne out by the dress she was wearing being found there, but did she go to her room and change in order to go out with him? Had they made a date to go out together earlier, discussed it, say, before dinner and did Pamela Reeves happen to overhear?”
Colonel Melchett said, “He didn’t report the loss of his car until the following morning, and he was extremely vague about it then; pretended that he couldn’t remember exactly when he had last noticed it.”
“That might be cleverness, sir. As I see it, he’s either a very clever gentleman pretending to be a silly ass, or else well, he is a silly ass.”
“What we want,” said Melchett, “is motive. As it stands, he had no motive whatever for killing Ruby Keene.”
“Yes, that’s where we’re stuck every time. Motive. All the reports from the Palais de Danse at Brixwell are negative, I understand.”
“Absolutely! Ruby Keene had no special boy friend. Slack’s been into the matter thoroughly. Give Slack his due; he is thorough.”
“That’s right, sir. ‘Thorough’ is the word.”
“If there was anything to ferret out he’d have ferreted it out. But there’s nothing there. He got a list of her most frequent dancing partners all vetted and found correct. Harmless fellows, and all able to produce alibis for that night.”
“Ah,” said Superintendent Harper. “Alibis. That’s what we’re up against.”
Melchett looked at him sharply. “Think so? I’ve left that side of the investigation to you.”
“Yes, sir. It’s been gone into very thoroughly. We applied to London for help over it.”
“Well?”
“Mr. Conway Jefferson may think that Mr. Gaskell and young Mrs. Jefferson are comfortably off, but that is not the case. They’re both extremely hard up.”
“Is that true?” “Quite true, sir. It’s as Mr. Conway Jefferson said; he made over considerable sums of money to his son and daughter when they married. That was a number of years ago, though. Mr. Frank Jefferson fancied himself as knowing good investments. He didn’t invest in anything absolutely wildcat, but he was unlucky and showed poor judgment more than once. His holdings have gone steadily down. I should say that Mrs. Jefferson found it very difficult to make both ends meet and send her son to a good school.”
“But she hasn’t applied to her father-in-law for help?”
“No, sir. As far as I can make out she lives with him and, consequently, has no household expenses.”
“And his health is such that he wasn’t expected to live long?”
“That’s right, sir. Now for Mr. Mark Gaskell, he’s a gambler, pure and simple. Got through his wife’s money very soon. Has got himself tangled up rather badly just at present. He needs money badly, and a good deal of it.”
“Can’t say I liked the looks of him much,” said Colonel Melchett. “Wild-looking sort of fellow, what? And he’s got a motive, all right. Twenty-five thousand pounds it meant to him, getting that girl out of the way. Yes, it’s a motive all right.” “They both had a motive.” “I’m not considering Mrs. Jefferson.” “No, sir, I know you’re not. And, anyway, the alibi holds for both of them. They couldn’t have done it. Just that.”
“You’ve got a detailed statement of their movements that evening?” “Yes, I have. Take Mr. Gaskell first. He dined with his father-in-law and Mrs. Jefferson, had coffee with them afterward when Ruby Keene joined them. Then said he had to write letters and left them. Actually, he took his car and went for a spin down to the front. He told me quite frankly he couldn’t stick playing bridge for a whole evening. The old boy’s mad on it. So he made letters an excuse. Ruby Keene remained with the others. Mark Gaskell returned when she was dancing with Raymond. After the dance Ruby came and had a drink with them, then she went off with young Bartlett, and Gaskell and the others cut for partners and started their bridge. That was at twenty minutes to eleven, and he didn’t leave the table until after midnight. That’s quite certain, sir. Everyone says so: the family, the waiters, everyone. Therefore, he couldn’t have done it. And Mrs. Jefferson’s alibi is the same. She, too, didn’t leave the table. They’re out, both of them out.” Colonel Melchett leaned back, tapping the table with a paper cutter.