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By Root 431 0

sold up after it had been in the family for three hundred years? Yes, it was rather. Still, our kind have to go, I suppose. We’ve outlived our usefulness. My elder brother went to New York. He’s in publishing—doing well. The rest of us are scattered up and down the earth. I’ll say it’s hard to get a job nowadays when you’ve nothing to say for yourself except that you’ve had a public-school education! Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get taken on as a reception clerk at an hotel. The tie and the manner are an asset there. The only job I could get was showman in a plumbing establishment. Selling superb peach and lemon-coloured porcelain baths. Enormous showrooms, but as I never knew the price of the damned things or how soon we could deliver them—I got fired.

“The only things I could do were dance and play tennis. I got taken on at an hotel on the Riviera. Good pickings there. I suppose I was doing well. Then I overheard an old Colonel, real old Colonel, incredibly ancient, British to the backbone and always talking about Poona. He went up to the manager and said at the top of his voice:

“‘Where’s the gigolo? I want to get hold of the gigolo. My wife and daughter want to dance, yer know. Where is the feller? What does he sting yer for? It’s the gigolo I want.’”

Raymond went on:

“Silly to mind—but I did. I chucked it. Came here. Less pay but pleasanter work. Mostly teaching tennis to rotund women who will never, never, never be able to play. That and dancing with the neglected wallflower daughters of rich clients. Oh well, it’s life, I suppose. Excuse today’s hard-luck story!”

He laughed. His teeth flashed out white, his eyes crinkled up at the corners. He looked suddenly healthy and happy and very much alive.

Sir Henry said:

“I’m glad to have a chat with you. I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”

“About Ruby Keene? I can’t help you, you know. I don’t know who killed her. I knew very little about her. She didn’t confide in me.”

Miss Marple said: “Did you like her?”

“Not particularly. I didn’t dislike her.”

His voice was careless, uninterested.

Sir Henry said:

“So you’ve no suggestions to offer?”

“I’m afraid not … I’d have told Harper if I had. It just seems to me one of those things! Petty, sordid little crime—no clues, no motive.”

“Two people had a motive,” said Miss Marple.

Sir Henry looked at her sharply.

“Really?” Raymond looked surprised.

Miss Marple looked insistently at Sir Henry and he said rather unwillingly:

“Her death probably benefits Mrs. Jefferson and Mr. Gaskell to the amount of fifty thousand pounds.”

“What?” Raymond looked really startled—more than startled—upset. “Oh, but that’s absurd—absolutely absurd—Mrs. Jefferson—neither of them—could have had anything to do with it. It would be incredible to think of such a thing.”

Miss Marple coughed. She said gently:

“I’m afraid, you know, you’re rather an idealist.”

“I?” he laughed. “Not me! I’m a hard-boiled cynic.”

“Money,” said Miss Marple, “is a very powerful motive.”

“Perhaps,” Raymond said hotly. “But that either of those two would strangle a girl in cold blood—” He shook his head.

Then he got up.

“Here’s Mrs. Jefferson now. Come for her lesson. She’s late.” His voice sounded amused. “Ten minutes late!”

Adelaide Jefferson and Hugo McLean were walking rapidly down the path towards them.

With a smiling apology for her lateness, Addie Jefferson went on to the court. McLean sat down on the bench. After a polite inquiry whether Miss Marple minded a pipe, he lit it and puffed for some minutes in silence, watching critically the two white figures about the tennis court.

He said at last:

“Can’t see what Addie wants to have lessons for. Have a game, yes. No one enjoys it better than I do. But why lessons?”

“Wants to improve her game,” said Sir Henry.

“She’s not a bad player,” said Hugo. “Good enough, at all events. Dash it all, she isn’t aiming to play at Wimbledon.”

He was silent for a minute or two. Then he said:

“Who is this Raymond fellow? Where do they come from, these pros? Fellow looks like a dago to me.”

“He’s one of the Devonshire