Miss Marple hastily enquired after Emily.
‘Oh, poor dear, she has been very much under the weather lately. She can’t help it, of course, but it really makes things a little difficult sometimes. Wanting certain things cooked and then, when they come, saying she can’t eat now—and then wanting them again half an hour later and everything spoiled and having to be done again. It makes, of course, a lot of work—but fortunately Mary does not seem to mind at all. She’s used to waiting on invalids, she says, and understands them. It is such a comfort.’
‘Dear me,’ said Miss Marple. ‘You are fortunate.’
‘Yes, indeed. I really feel Mary has been sent to us as an answer to prayer.’
‘She sounds to me,’ said Miss Marple, ‘almost too good to be true. I should—well, I should be a little careful if I were you.’
Lavinia Skinner failed to perceive the point of this remark. She said, ‘Oh! I assure you I do all I can to make her comfortable. I don’t know what I should do if she left.’
‘I don’t expect she’ll leave until she’s ready to leave,’ said Miss Marple and stared very hard at her hostess.
Miss Lavinia said, ‘If one has no domestic worries, it takes such a load off one’s mind, doesn’t it? How is your little Edna shaping?’
‘She’s doing quite nicely. Not much head, of course. Not like your Mary. Still, I do know all about Edna because she’s a village girl.’
As she went out into the hall she heard the invalid’s voice fretfully raised. ‘This compress has been allowed to get quite dry—Doctor Allerton particularly said moisture continually renewed. There, there, leave it. I want a cup of tea and a boiled egg—boiled only three minutes and a half, remember, and send Miss Lavinia to me.’
The efficient Mary emerged from the bedroom and, saying to Lavinia, ‘Miss Emily is asking for you, madam,’ proceeded to open the door for Miss Marple, helping her into her coat and handing her her umbrella in the most irreproachable fashion.
Miss Marple took the umbrella, dropped it, tried to pick it up, and dropped her bag, which flew open. Mary politely retrieved various odds and ends—a handkerchief, an engagement book, an old-fashioned leather purse, two shillings, three pennies, and a striped piece of peppermint rock.
Miss Marple received the last with some signs of confusion.
‘Oh, dear, that must have been Mrs Clement’s little boy. He was sucking it, I remember, and he took my bag to play with. He must have put it inside. It’s terribly sticky, isn’t it?’
‘Shall I take it, madam?’
‘Oh, would you? Thank you so much.’
Mary stooped to retrieve the last item, a small mirror, upon recovering which Miss Marple exclaimed fervently, ‘How lucky, now, that that isn’t broken.’
She thereupon departed, Mary standing politely by the door holding a piece of striped rock with a completely expressionless face.
IV
For ten days longer St Mary Mead had to endure hearing of the excellencies of Miss Lavinia’s and Miss Emily’s treasure.
On the eleventh day, the village awoke to its big thrill.
Mary, the paragon, was missing! Her bed had not been slept in, and the front door was found ajar. She had slipped out quietly during the night.
And not Mary alone was missing! Two brooches and five rings of Miss Lavinia’s; three rings, a pendant, a bracelet, and four brooches of Miss Emily’s were missing, also!
It was the beginning of a chapter of catastrophe.
Young Mrs Devereux had lost her diamonds which she kept in an unlocked drawer and also some valuable furs given to her as a wedding present. The judge and his wife also had had jewellery taken and a certain amount of money. Mrs Carmichael was the greatest sufferer. Not only had she some very valuable jewels but she also kept in the flat a large sum of money which had gone. It had been Janet’s evening out, and her mistress was in the habit of walking round the gardens at dusk calling to the birds and scattering crumbs. It seemed clear that Mary, the perfect maid, had had keys to fit all the flats!
There was, it must be confessed, a certain amount of ill-natured pleasure in St Mary Mead. Miss Lavinia had boasted so much of her marvellous Mary.
‘And all the time, my dear, just a common thief!’
Interesting revelations followed. Not only had Mary disappeared into the blue, but the agency who had provided her and vouched for her credentials was alarmed to find that the Mary Higgins who had applied to them and whose references they had taken up had, to all intents and purposes, never existed. It was the name of a bona fide servant who had lived with the bona fide sister of a dean, but the real Mary Higgins was existing peacefully in a place in Cornwall.
‘Damned clever, the whole thing,’ Inspector Slack was forced to admit. ‘And, if you ask me, that woman works with a gang. There was a case of much the same kind in Northumberland a year ago. Stuff was never traced, and they never caught her. However, we’ll do better than that in Much Benham!’
Inspector Slack was always a confident man.
Nevertheless, weeks passed, and Mary Higgins remained triumphantly at large. In vain Inspector Slack redoubled that energy that so belied his name.
Miss Lavinia remained tearful. Miss Emily was so upset, and felt so alarmed by her condition that she actually sent for Doctor Haydock.
The whole of the village was terribly anxious to know what he thought of Miss Emily’s claims to ill health, but naturally could not ask him. Satisfactory data came to hand on the subject, however, through Mr Meek, the chemist’s assistant, who was walking out with Clara, Mrs Price-Ridley’s maid. It was then known that Doctor Haydock had prescribed a mixture of asafoetida and valerian which, according to Mr Meek, was the stock remedy for malingerers in the army!
Soon afterwards it was learned that Miss Emily, not relishing the medical attention she had had, was declaring that in the state of her health she felt it her duty to be near the specialist in London who understood her case. It was, she said, only fair to Lavinia.
The flat was put up for subletting.
V
It was a few days after that that Miss Marple, rather pink and flustered, called at the police station in Much Benham and asked for Inspector Slack.
Inspector Slack did not like Miss Marple. But he was aware that the Chief Constable, Colonel Melchett, did not share that opinion. Rather grudgingly, therefore, he received her.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Marple, what can I do for you?’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Miss Marple, ‘I’m afraid you’re in a hurry.’
‘Lots of work on,’ said Inspector Slack, ‘but I can spare a few moments.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I hope I shall be able to put what I say properly. So difficult, you know, to explain oneself, don’t you think? No, perhaps you don’t. But you see, not having been educated in the modern style—just a governess, you know, who taught one the dates of the kings of England and general knowledge—Doctor Brewer—three kinds of diseases of wheat—blight, mildew—now what was the third—was it smut?’
‘Do you want to talk about smut?’ asked Inspector Slack and then blushed.
‘Oh, no, no.’ Miss Marple hastily disclaimed any wish to talk about smut. ‘Just an illustration, you know. And how needles are made, and all that. Discursive, you know, but not teaching one to keep to the point. Which is what I want to do. It’s about Miss Skinner’s maid, Gladys, you know.’
‘Mary Higgins,’ said Inspector Slack.
‘Oh, yes, the second maid. But it’s Gladys Holmes I mean—rather an impertinent girl and far too pleased with herself but really strictly honest, and it’s so important that that should be recognized.’
‘No charge against her so far as I know,’ said the inspector.