The Body in the Library (Miss Marple 3)

They left Mr. Bartlett looking after them with a ludicrous expression of alarm on his unintellectual face.

“Brainless young ass,” said Colonel Melchett. “Or isn’t he?”

Superintendent Harper shook his head.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” he said.

Six

I

Neither the night porter nor the barman proved helpful. The night porter remembered ringing up to Miss Keene’s room just after midnight and getting no reply. He had not noticed Mr. Bartlett leaving or entering the hotel. A lot of gentlemen and ladies were strolling in and out, the night being fine. And there were side doors off the corridor as well as the one in the main hall. He was fairly certain Miss Keene had not gone out by the main door, but if she had come down from her room, which was on the first floor, there was a staircase next to it and a door out at the end of the corridor, leading on to the side terrace. She could have gone out of that unseen easily enough. It was not locked until the dancing was over at two o’clock.

The barman remembered Mr. Bartlett being in the bar the preceding evening but could not say when. Somewhere about the middle of the evening, he thought. Mr. Bartlett had sat against the wall and was looking rather melancholy. He did not know how long he was there. There were a lot of outside guests coming and going in the bar. He had noticed Mr. Bartlett but he couldn’t fix the time in any way.

II

As they left the bar, they were accosted by a small boy of about nine years old. He burst immediately into excited speech.

“I say, are you the detectives? I’m Peter Carmody. It was my grandfather, Mr. Jefferson, who rang up the police about Ruby. Are you from Scotland Yard? You don’t mind my speaking to you, do you?”

Colonel Melchett looked as though he were about to return a short answer, but Superintendent Harper intervened. He spoke benignly and heartily.

“That’s all right, my son. Naturally interests you, I expect?”

“You bet it does. Do you like detective stories? I do. I read them all, and I’ve got autographs from Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr and H. C. Bailey. Will the murder be in the papers?”

“It’ll be in the papers all right,” said Superintendent Harper grimly.

“You see, I’m going back to school next week and I shall tell them all that I knew her—really knew her well.”

“What did you think of her, eh?”

Peter considered.

“Well, I didn’t like her much. I think she was rather a stupid sort of girl. Mum and Uncle Mark didn’t like her much either. Only Grandfather. Grandfather wants to see you, by the way. Edwards is looking for you.”

Superintendent Harper murmured encouragingly:

“So your mother and your Uncle Mark didn’t like Ruby Keene much? Why was that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She was always butting in. And they didn’t like Grandfather making such a fuss of her. I expect,” said Peter cheerfully, “that they’re glad she’s dead.”

Superintendent Harper looked at him thoughtfully. He said: “Did you hear them—er—say so?”

“Well, not exactly. Uncle Mark said: ‘Well, it’s one way out, anyway,’ and Mums said: ‘Yes, but such a horrible one,’ and Uncle Mark said it was no good being hypocritical.”

The men exchanged glances. At that moment a respectable, clean-shaven man, neatly dressed in blue serge, came up to them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I am Mr. Jefferson’s valet. He is awake now and sent me to find you, as he is very anxious to see you.”

Once more they went up to Conway Jefferson’s suite. In the sitting room Adelaide Jefferson was talking to a tall, restless man who was prowling nervously about the room. He swung round sharply to view the newcomers.

“Oh, yes. Glad you’ve come. My father-in-law’s been asking for you. He’s awake now. Keep him as calm as you can, won’t you? His health’s not too good. It’s a wonder, really, that this shock didn’t do for him.”

Harper said:

“I’d no idea his health was as bad as that.”

“He doesn’t know it himself,” said Mark Gaskell. “It’s his heart, you see. The doctor warned Addie that he mustn’t be overexcited or startled. He more or less hinted that the end might come any time, didn’t he, Addie?”

Mrs. Jefferson nodded. She said:

“It’s incredible that he’s rallied the way he has.”

Melchett said dryly:

“Murder isn’t exactly a soothing incident. We’ll be as careful as we can.”

He was sizing up Mark Gaskell as he spoke. He didn’t much care for the fellow. A bold, unscrupulous, hawk-like face. One of those men who usually get their own way and whom women frequently admire.

“But not the sort of fellow I’d trust,” the Colonel thought to himself.

Unscrupulous—that was the word for him.

The sort of fellow who wouldn’t stick at anything….

III

In the big bedroom overlooking the sea, Conway Jefferson was sitting in his wheeled chair by the window.

No sooner were you in the room with him than you felt the power and magnetism of the man. It was as though the injuries which had left him a cripple had resulted in concentrating the vitality of his shattered body into a narrower and more intense focus.

He had a fine head, the red of the hair slightly grizzled. The face was rugged and powerful, deeply suntanned, and the eyes were a startling blue. There was no sign of illness or feebleness about him. The deep lines on his face were the lines of suffering, not the lines of weakness. Here was a man who would never rail against fate but accept it and pass on to victory.

He said: “I’m glad you’ve come.” His quick eyes took them in. He said to Melchett: “You’re the Chief Constable of Radfordshire? Right. And you’re Superintendent Harper? Sit down. Cigarettes on the table beside you.”

They thanked him and sat down. Melchett said:

“I understand, Mr. Jefferson, that you were interested in the dead girl?”

A quick, twisted smile flashed across the lined face.

“Yes—they’ll all have told you that! Well, it’s no secret. How much has my family said to you?”

He looked quickly from one to the other as he asked the question. It was Melchett who answered.

“Mrs. Jefferson told us very little beyond the fact that the girl’s chatter amused you and that she was by way of being a protégée. We have only exchanged half a dozen words with Mr. Gaskell.”

Conway Jefferson smiled.

“Addie’s a discreet creature, bless her. Mark would probably have been more outspoken. I think, Melchett, that I’d better tell you some facts rather fully. It’s important, in order that you should understand my attitude. And, to begin with, it’s necessary that I go back to the big tragedy of my life. Eight years ago I lost my wife, my son, and my daughter in an aeroplane accident. Since then I’ve been like a man who’s lost half himself—and I’m not speaking of my physical plight! I was a family man. My daughter-in-law and my son-in-law have been very good to me. They’ve done all they can to take the place of my flesh and blood. But I’ve realized—especially of late, that they have, after all, their own lives to live.

“So you must understand that, essentially, I’m a lonely man. I like young people. I enjoy them. Once or twice I’ve played with the idea of adopting some girl or boy. During this last month I got very friendly with the child who’s been killed. She was absolutely natural—completely naïve. She chattered on about her life and her experiences—in pantomime, with touring companies, with Mum and Dad as a child in cheap lodgings. Such a different life from any I’ve known! Never complaining, never seeing it as sordid. Just a natural, uncomplaining, hardworking child, unspoilt and charming. Not a lady, perhaps, but, thank God, neither vulgar nor—abominable word—‘lady-like.’

“I got more and more fond of Ruby. I decided, gentlemen, to adopt her legally. She would become—by law—my daughter. That, I hope, exp

lains my concern for her and the steps I took when I heard of her unaccountable disappearance.”

There was a pause. Then Superintendent Harper, his unemotional voice robbing the question of any offence, asked: “May I ask what your son-in-law and daughter-in-law said to that?”

Jefferson’s answer came back quickly:

“What could they say? They didn’t, perhaps, like it very much. It’s the sort of thing that arouses prejudice. But they behaved very well—yes, very well. It’s not as though, you see, they were dependent on me. When my son Frank married I turned over half my worldly goods to him then and there. I believe in that. Don’t let your children wait until you’re dead. They want the money when they’re young, not when they’re middle-aged. In the same way when my daughter Rosamund insisted on marrying a poor man, I settled a big sum of money on her. That sum passed to him at her death. So, you see, that simplified the matter from the financial angle.”

“I see, Mr. Jefferson,” said Superintendent Harper.

But there was a certain reserve in his tone. Conway Jefferson pounced upon it.

“But you don’t agree, eh?”

“It’s not for me to say, sir, but families, in my experience, don’t always act reasonably.”

“I dare say you’re right, Superintendent, but you must remember that Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson aren’t, strictly speaking, my family. They’re not blood relations.”

“That, of course, makes a difference,” admitted the Superintendent.

For a moment Conway Jefferson’s eyes twinkled. He said: “That’s not to say that they didn’t think me an old fool! That would be the average person’s reaction. But I wasn’t being a fool. I know character. With education and polishing, Ruby Keene could have taken her place anywhere.”

Melchett said:

“I’m afraid we’re being rather impertinent and inquisitive, but it’s important that we should get at all the facts. You proposed to make full provision for the girl—that is, settle money upon her, but you hadn’t already done so?”

Jefferson said:

“I understand what you’re driving at—the possibility of someone’s benefiting by the girl’s death? But nobody could. The necessary formalities for legal adoption were under way, but they hadn’t yet been completed.”

Melchett said slowly:

“Then, if anything happened to you—?”

He left the sentence unfinished, as a query. Conway Jefferson was quick to respond.

“Nothing’s likely to happen to me! I’m a cripple, but I’m not an invalid. Although doctors do like to pull long faces and give advice about not overdoing things. Not overdoing things! I’m as strong as a horse! Still, I’m quite aware of the fatalities of life—my God, I’ve good reason to be! Sudden death comes to the strongest man—especially in these days of road casualties. But I’d provided for that. I made a new will about ten days ago.”

“Yes?” Superintendent Harper leaned forward.