Body in the Library - Agatha Christie [54]
Mrs. Bantry was silent for a minute or two. Then she said in a different tone of voice:
“I told you, didn’t I, that I didn’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy myself over this case. A real murder in my own house! The sort of thing that will never happen again.”
“I hope not,” said Miss Marple.
“Well, so do I, really. Once is enough. But it’s my murder, Jane; I want to enjoy myself over it.”
Miss Marple shot a glance at her.
Mrs. Bantry said belligerently:
“Don’t you believe that?”
Miss Marple said sweetly:
“Of course, Dolly, if you tell me so.”
“Yes, but you never believe what people tell you, do you? You’ve just said so. Well, you’re quite right.” Mrs. Bantry’s voice took on a sudden bitter note. She said: “I’m not altogether a fool. You may think, Jane, that I don’t know what they’re saying all over St. Mary Mead—all over the county! They’re saying, one and all, that there’s no smoke without fire, that if the girl was found in Arthur’s library, then Arthur must know something about it. They’re saying that the girl was Arthur’s mistress—that she was his illegitimate daughter—that she was blackmailing him. They’re saying anything that comes into their damned heads! And it will go on like that! Arthur won’t realize it at first—he won’t know what’s wrong. He’s such a dear old stupid that he’d never believe people would think things like that about him. He’ll be cold-shouldered and looked at askance (whatever that means!) and it will dawn on him little by little and suddenly he’ll be horrified and cut to the soul, and he’ll fasten up like a clam and just endure, day after day, in misery.
“It’s because of all that’s going to happen to him that I’ve come here to ferret out every single thing about it that I can! This murder’s got to be solved! If it isn’t, then Arthur’s whole life will be wrecked—and I won’t have that happen. I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!”
She paused for a minute and said:
“I won’t have the dear old boy go through hell for something he didn’t do. That’s the only reason I came to Danemouth and left him alone at home—to find out the truth.”
“I know, dear,” said Miss Marple. “That’s why I’m here too.”
Fourteen
I
In a quiet hotel room Edwards was listening deferentially to Sir Henry Clithering.
“There are certain questions I would like to ask you, Edwards, but I want you first to understand quite clearly my position here. I was at one time Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard. I am now retired into private life. Your master sent for me when this tragedy occurred. He begged me to use my skill and experience in order to find out the truth.”
Sir Henry paused.
Edwards, his pale intelligent eyes on the other’s face, inclined his head. He said: “Quite so, Sir Henry.”
Clithering went on slowly and deliberately:
“In all police cases there is necessarily a lot of information that is held back. It is held back for various reasons—because it touches on a family skeleton, because it is considered to have no bearing on the case, because it would entail awkwardness and embarrassment to the parties concerned.”
Again Edwards said:
“Quite so, Sir Henry.”
“I expect, Edwards, that by now you appreciate quite clearly the main points of this business. The dead girl was on the point of becoming Mr. Jefferson’s adopted daughter. Two people had a motive in seeing that this should not happen. Those two people are Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson.”
The valet’s eyes displayed a momentary gleam. He said: “May I ask if they are under suspicion, sir?”
“They are in no danger of arrest, if that is what you mean. But the police are bound to be suspicious of them and will continue to be so until the matter is cleared up.”
“An unpleasant position for them, sir.”
“Very unpleasant. Now to get at the truth one must have all the facts of the case. A lot depends, must depend, on the reactions, the words and gestures, of Mr. Jefferson