The Body in the Library (Miss Marple 3)

II

Activity was always to Inspector Slack’s taste. To rush off in a car, to silence rudely those people who were anxious to tell him things, to cut short conversations on the plea of urgent necessity. All this was the breath of life to Slack.

In an incredibly short time, therefore, he had arrived at Danemouth, reported at police headquarters, had a brief interview with a distracted and apprehensive hotel manager, and, leaving the latter with the doubtful comfort of—“got to make sure it is the girl, first, before we start raising the wind”—was driving back to Much Benham in company with Ruby Keene’s nearest relative.

He had put through a short call to Much Benham before leaving Danemouth, so the Chief Constable was prepared for his arrival, though not perhaps for the brief introduction of: “This is Josie, sir.”

Colonel Melchett stared at his subordinate coldly. His feeling was that Slack had taken leave of his senses.

The young woman who had just got out of the car came to the rescue.

“That’s what I’m known as professionally,” she explained with a momentary flash of large, handsome white teeth. “Raymond and Josie, my partner and I call ourselves, and, of course, all the hotel know me as Josie. Josephine Turner’s my real name.”

Colonel Melchett adjusted himself to the situation and invited Miss Turner to sit down, meanwhile casting a swift, professional glance over her.

She was a good-looking young woman of perhaps nearer thirty than twenty, her looks depending more on skilful grooming than actual features. She looked competent and good-tempered, with plenty of common sense. She was not the type that would ever be described as glamorous, but she had nevertheless plenty of attraction. She was discreetly made-up and wore a dark tailor-made suit. Though she looked anxious and upset she was not, the Colonel decided, particularly grief-stricken.

As she sat down she said: “It seems too awful to be true. Do you really think it’s Ruby?”

“That, I’m afraid, is what we’ve got to ask you to tell us. I’m afraid it may be rather unpleasant for you.”

Miss Turner said apprehensively:

“Does she—does she—look very terrible?”

“Well—I’m afraid it may be rather a shock to you.” He handed her his cigarette case and she accepted one gratefully.

“Do—do you want me to look at her right away?”

“It would be best, I think, Miss Turner. You see, it’s not much good asking you questions until we’re sure. Best get it over, don’t you think?”

“All right.”

They drove down to the mortuary.

When Josie came out after a brief visit, she looked rather sick.

“It’s Ruby all right,” she said shakily. “Poor kid! Goodness, I do feel queer. There isn’t”—she looked round wistfully—“any gin?”

Gin was not available, but brandy was, and after gulping a little down Miss Turner regained her composure. She said frankly:

“It gives you a turn, doesn’t it, seeing anything like that? Poor little Rube! What swine men are, aren’t they?”

“You believe it was a man?”

Josie looked slightly taken aback.

“Wasn’t it? Well, I mean—I naturally thought—”

“Any special man you were thinking of?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“No—not me. I haven’t the least idea. Naturally Ruby wouldn’t have let on to me if—”

“If what?”

Josie hesitated.

“Well—if she’d been—going about with anyone.”

Melchett shot her a keen glance. He said no more until they were back at his office. Then he began:

“Now, Miss Turner, I want all the information you can give me.”

“Yes, of course. Where shall I begin?”

“I’d like the girl’s full name and address, her relationship to you and all you know about her.”

Josephine Turner nodded. Melchett was confirmed in his opinion that she felt no particular grief. She was shocked and distressed but no more. She spoke readily enough.

“Her name was Ruby Keene—her professional name, that is. Her real name was Rosy Legge. Her mother was my mother’s cousin. I’ve known her all my life, but not particularly well, if you know what I mean. I’ve got a lot of cousins—some in business, some on the stage. Ruby was more or less training for a dancer. She had some good engagements last year in panto and that sort of thing. Not really classy, but good provincial companies. Since then she’s been engaged as one of the dancing partners at the Palais de Danse in Brixwell—South London. It’s a nice respectable place and they look after the girls well, but there isn’t much money in it.” She paused.

Colonel Melchett nodded.

“Now this is where I come in. I’ve been dance and bridge hostess at the Majestic in Danemouth for three years. It’s a good job, well paid and pleasant to do. You look after people when they arrive—size them up, of course—some like to be left alone and others are lonely and want to get into the swing of things. You try to get the right people together for bridge and all that, and get the young people dancing with each other. It needs a bit of tact and experience.”

Again Melchett nodded. He thought that this girl would be good at her job; she had a pleasant, friendly way with her and was, he thought, shrewd without being in the least intellectual.

“Besides that,” continued Josie, “I do a couple of exhibition dances every evening with Raymond. Raymond Starr—he’s the tennis and dancing pro. Well, as it happens, this summer I slipped on the rocks bathing one day and gave my ankle a nasty turn.”

Melchett had noticed that she walked with a slight limp.

“Naturally that put the stop to dancing for a bit and it was rather awkward. I didn’t want the hotel to get someone else in my place. That’s always a danger”—for a minute her good-natured blue eyes were hard and sharp; she was the female fighting for existence—“that they may queer your pitch, you see. So I thought of Ruby and suggested to the manager that I should get her down. I’d carry on with the hostess business and the bridge and all that. Ruby would just take on the dancing. Keep it in the family, if you see what I mean?”

Melchett said he saw.

“Well, they agreed, and I wired to Ruby and she came down. Rather a chance for her. Much better class than anything she’d ever done before. That was about a month ago.”

Colonel Melchett said:

“I understand. And she was a success?”

“Oh, yes,” Josie said carelessly, “she went down quite well. She doesn’t dance as well as I do, but Raymond’s clever and carried her through, and she was quite nice-looking, you know—slim and fair and baby-looking. Overdid the makeup a bit—I was always on at her about that. But you know what girls are. She was only eighteen, and at that age they always go and overdo it. It doesn’t do for a good-class place like the Majestic. I was always ticking her off about it and getting her to tone it down.”

Melchett asked: “People liked her?”

“Oh, yes. Mind you, Ruby hadn’t got much comeback. She was a bit dumb. She went down better with the older men than with the young ones.”

“Had she got any special friend?”

The girl’s eyes met his with complete understanding.

“Not in the way you mean. Or, at any rate, not that I knew about. But then, you see, she wouldn’t tell me.”

Just for a moment Melchett wondered why not—Josie did not give the impression of being a strict disciplinarian. But he only said: “Will you describe to me now when you last saw your cousin.”

“Last night. She and Raymond do two exhibition dances

—one at 10:30 and the other at midnight. They finished the first one. After it, I noticed Ruby dancing with one of the young men staying in the hotel. I was playing bridge with some people in the lounge. There’s a glass panel between the lounge and the ballroom. That’s the last time I saw her. Just after midnight Raymond came up in a terrible taking, said where was Ruby, she hadn’t turned up, and it was time to begin. I was vexed, I can tell you! That’s the sort of silly thing girls do and get the management’s backs up and then they get the sack! I went up with him to her room, but she wasn’t there. I noticed that she’d changed. The dress she’d been dancing in—a sort of pink, foamy thing with full skirts—was lying over a chair. Usually she kept the same dress on unless it was the special dance night—Wednesdays, that is.

“I’d no idea where she’d got to. We got the band to play one more foxtrot—still no Ruby, so I said to Raymond I’d do the exhibition dance with him. We chose one that was easy on my ankle and made it short—but it played up my ankle pretty badly all the same. It’s all swollen this morning. Still Ruby didn’t show up. We sat about waiting up for her until two o’clock. Furious with her, I was.”

Her voice vibrated slightly. Melchett caught the note of real anger in it. Just for a moment he wondered. The reaction seemed a little more intense than was justified by the facts. He had a feeling of something deliberately left unsaid. He said:

“And this morning, when Ruby Keene had not returned and her bed had not been slept in, you went to the police?”

He knew from Slack’s brief telephone message from Danemouth that that was not the case. But he wanted to hear what Josephine Turner would say.

She did not hesitate. She said: “No, I didn’t.”

“Why not, Miss Turner?”

Her eyes met his frankly. She said:

“You wouldn’t—in my place!”

“You think not?”

Josie said:

“I’ve got my job to think about. The one thing a hotel doesn’t want is scandal—especially anything that brings in the police. I didn’t think anything had happened to Ruby. Not for a minute! I thought she’d just made a fool of herself about some young man. I thought she’d turn up all right—and I was going to give her a good dressing down when she did! Girls of eighteen are such fools.”