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By Root 469 0

dear—a perfect dear. It’s the saddest story imaginable. Had a son and daughter, both of whom he loved dearly. They were both married, but they still spent a lot of time at home. His wife, too, was the sweetest woman, and he was devoted to her. They were flying home one year from France and there was an accident. They were all killed: the pilot, Mrs. Jefferson, Rosamund, and Frank. Conway had both legs so badly injured they had to be amputated. And he’s been wonderful—his courage, his pluck! He was a very active man and now he’s a helpless cripple, but he never complains. His daughter-in-law lives with him—she was a widow when Frank Jefferson married her and she had a son by her first marriage—Peter Carmody. They both live with Conway. And Mark Gaskell, Rosamund’s husband, is there too most of the time. The whole thing was the most awful tragedy.”

“And now,” said Miss Marple, “there’s another tragedy—”

Mrs. Bantry said: “Oh yes—yes—but it’s nothing to do with the Jeffersons.”

“Isn’t it?” said Miss Marple. “It was Mr. Jefferson who went to the police.”

“So he did … You know, Jane, that is curious….”

Five

I

Colonel Melchett was facing a much annoyed hotel manager. With him was Superintendent Harper of the Glenshire Police and the inevitable Inspector Slack—the latter rather disgruntled at the Chief Constable’s wilful usurpation of the case.

Superintendent Harper was inclined to be soothing with the almost tearful Mr. Prestcott—Colonel Melchett tended towards a blunt brutality.

“No good crying over spilt milk,” he said sharply. “The girl’s dead—strangled. You’re lucky that she wasn’t strangled in your hotel. This puts the inquiry in a different county and lets your establishment down extremely lightly. But certain inquiries have got to be made, and the sooner we get on with it the better. You can trust us to be discreet and tactful. So I suggest you cut the cackle and come to the horses. Just what exactly do you know about the girl?”

“I knew nothing of her—nothing at all. Josie brought her here.”

“Josie’s been here some time?”

“Two years—no, three.”

“And you like her?”

“Yes, Josie’s a good girl—a nice girl. Competent. She gets on with people, and smoothes over differences—bridge, you know, is a touchy sort of game—” Colonel Melchett nodded feelingly. His wife was a keen but an extremely bad bridge player. Mr. Prestcott went on: “Josie was very good at calming down unpleasantnesses. She could handle people well—sort of bright and firm, if you know what I mean.”

Again Melchett nodded. He knew now what it was Miss Josephine Turner had reminded him of. In spite of the makeup and the smart turnout there was a distinct touch of the nursery governess about her.

“I depend upon her,” went on Mr. Prestcott. His manner became aggrieved. “What does she want to go playing about on slippery rocks in that damn’ fool way? We’ve got a nice beach here. Why couldn’t she bathe from that? Slipping and falling and breaking her ankle. It wasn’t fair on me! I pay her to dance and play bridge and keep people happy and amused—not to go bathing off rocks and breaking her ankle. Dancers ought to be careful of their ankles—not take risks. I was very annoyed about it. It wasn’t fair to the hotel.”

Melchett cut the recital short.

“And then she suggested this girl—her cousin—coming down?”

Prestcott assented grudgingly.

“That’s right. It sounded quite a good idea. Mind you, I wasn’t going to pay anything extra. The girl could have her keep; but as for salary, that would have to be fixed up between her and Josie. That’s the way it was arranged. I didn’t know anything about the girl.”

“But she turned out all right?”

“Oh yes, there wasn’t anything wrong with her—not to look at, anyway. She was very young, of course—rather cheap in style, perhaps, for a place of this kind, but nice manners—quiet and wellbehaved. Danced well. People liked her.”

“Pretty?”

It had been a question hard to answer from a view of the blue swollen face.

Mr. Prestcott considered.

“Fair to middling. Bit weaselly, if you know what I mean. Wouldn’t have been