The Body in the Library (Miss Marple 3)

“Yes, but—”

Colonel Melchett left the sentence unfinished. Harper, however, understood him.

“You don’t think it’s likely in this case? Well, I don’t either, as far as that goes. But it’s got to be gone into all the same.”

“Oh, of course.”

Harper went on:

“If, as Mr. Jefferson says, Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson are already well provided for and in receipt of a comfortable income, well, it’s not likely they’d set out to do a brutal murder.”

“Quite so. Their financial standing will have to be investigated, of course. Can’t say I like the appearance of Gaskell much—looks a sharp, unscrupulous sort of fellow—but that’s a long way from making him out a murderer.”

“Oh, yes, sir, as I say, I don’t think it’s likely to be either of them, and from what Josie said I don’t see how it would have been humanly possible. They were both playing bridge from twenty minutes to eleven until midnight. No, to my mind there’s another possibility much more likely.”

Melchett said: “Boy friend of Ruby Keene’s?”

“That’s it, sir. Some disgruntled young fellow—not too strong in the head, perhaps. Someone, I’d say, she knew before she came here. This adoption scheme, if he got wise to it, may just have put the lid on things. He saw himself losing her, saw her being removed to a different sphere of life altogether, and he went mad and blind with rage. He got her to come out and meet him last night, had a row with her over it, lost his head completely and did her in.”

“And how did she come to be in Bantry’s library?”

“I think that’s feasible. They were out, say, in his car at the time. He came to himself, realized what he’d done, and his first thought was how to get rid of the body. Say they were near the gates of a big house at the time. The idea comes to him that if she’s found there the hue and cry will centre round the house and its occupants and will leave him comfortably out of it. She’s a little bit of a thing. He could easily carry her. He’s got a chisel in the car. He forces a window and plops her down on the hearthrug. Being a strangling case, there’s no blood or mess to give him away in the car. See what I mean, sir?”

“Oh, yes, Harper, it’s all perfectly possible. But there’s still one thing to be done. Cherchez l’homme.”

“What? Oh, very good, sir.”

Superintendent Harper tactfully applauded his superior’s joke, although, owing to the excellence of Colonel Melchett’s French accent he almost missed the sense of the words.

II

“Oh—er—I say—er—c-could I speak to you a minute?” It was George Bartlett who thus waylaid the two men. Colonel Melchett, who was not attracted to Mr. Bartlett and who was anxious to see how Slack had got on with the investigation of the girl’s room and the questioning of the chambermaids, barked sharply:

“Well, what is it—what is it?”

Young Mr. Bartlett retreated a step or two, opening and shutting his mouth and giving an unconscious imitation of a fish in a tank.

“Well—er—probably isn’t important, don’t you know—thought I ought to tell you. Matter of fact, can’t find my car.”

“What do you mean, can’t find your car?”

Stammering a good deal, Mr. Bartlett explained that what he meant was that he couldn’t find his car.

Superintendent Harper said:

“Do you mean it’s been stolen?”

George Bartlett turned gratefully to the more placid voice.

“Well, that’s just it, you know. I mean, one can’t tell, can one? I mean someone may just have buzzed off in it, not meaning any harm, if you know what I mean.”

“When did you last see it, Mr. Bartlett?”

“Well, I was tryin’ to remember. Funny how difficult it is to remember anything, isn’t it?”

Colonel Melchett said coldly:

“Not, I should think, to a normal intelligence. I understood you to say just now that it was in the courtyard of the hotel last night—”

Mr. Bartlett was bold enough to interrupt. He said:

“That’s just it—was it?”

“What do you mean by ‘was it’? You said it was.”

“Well—I mean I thought it was. I mean—well, I didn’t go out and look, don’t you see?”

Colonel Melchett sighed. He summoned all his patience. He said:

“Let’s get this quite clear. When was the last time you saw—actually saw your car? What make is it, by the way?”

“Minoan 14.”

“And you last saw it—when?”

George Bartlett’s Adam’s apple jerked convulsively up and down.

“Been trying to think. Had it before lunch yesterday. Was going for a spin in the afternoon. But somehow, you know how it is, went to sleep instead. Then, after tea, had a game of squash and all that, and a bathe afterwards.”

“And the car was then in the courtyard of the hotel?”

“Suppose so. I mean, that’s where I’d put it. Thought, you see, I’d take someone for a spin. After dinner, I mean. But it wasn’t my lucky evening. Nothing doing. Never took the old bus out after all.”

Harper said:

“But, as far as you knew, the car was still in the courtyard?”

“Well, naturally. I mean, I’d put it there—what?”

“Would you have noticed if it had not been there?”

Mr. Bartlett shook his head.

“Don’t think so, you know. Lots of cars going and coming and all that. Plenty of Minoans.”

Superintendent Harper nodded. He had just cast a casual glance out of the window. There were at that moment no less than eight Minoan 14s in the courtyard—it was the popular cheap car of the year.

“Aren’t you in the habit of putting your car away at night?” asked Colonel Melchett.

“Don’t usually bother,” said Mr. Bartlett. “Fine weather and all that, you know. Such a fag putting a car away in a garage.”

Glancing at Colonel Melchett, Superintendent Harper said: “I’ll join you upstairs, sir. I’ll just get hold of Sergeant Higgins and he can take down particulars from Mr. Bartlett.”

“Right, Harper.”

Mr. Bartlett murmured wistfully:

“Thought I ought to let you know, you know. Might be important, what?”

III