The Thirteen Problems - Agatha Christie [79]
‘Still, one had better not risk it. And of course I should be in Netta’s power—that’s true enough. She might turn against me or blackmail me or anything. She helped me think out the details and she professed to be devoted to me, but one never does know with women. No, I think Miss Marple was right. I had better not risk it.’
‘But, my dear, you have risked it.’
‘Oh, no.’ Jane opened her blue eyes very wide. ‘Don’t you understand? None of this has happened yet! I was—well, trying it on the dog, so to speak.’
‘I don’t profess to understand your theatrical slang,’ said Mrs Bantry with dignity. ‘Do you mean this is a future project—not a past deed?’
‘I was going to do it this autumn—in September. I don’t know what to do now.’
‘And Jane Marple guessed—actually guessed the truth and never told us,’ said Mrs Bantry wrathfully.
‘I think that was why she said that—about women sticking together. She wouldn’t give me away before the men. That was nice of her. I don’t mind your knowing, Dolly.’
‘Well, give the idea up, Jane. I beg of you.’
‘I think I shall,’ murmured Miss Helier. ‘There might be other Miss Marples…’
Chapter 13
Death by Drowning
I
Sir Henry Clithering, Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their place near the little village of St Mary Mead.
On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten-fifteen, he almost collided with his hostess, Mrs Bantry, in the doorway of the breakfast room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in a condition of some excitement and distress.
Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual.
‘ ’Morning, Clithering,’ he said. ‘Nice day. Help yourself.’
Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys and bacon in front of him, his host went on:
‘Dolly’s a bit upset this morning.’
‘Yes—er—I rather thought so,’ said Sir Henry mildly.
He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid disposition, little given to moods or excitement. As far as Sir Henry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only—gardening.
‘Yes,’ said Colonel Bantry. ‘Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village—Emmott’s daughter—Emmott who keeps the Blue Boar.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘Ye-es,’ said Colonel Bantry ruminatively. ‘Pretty girl. Got herself into trouble. Usual story. I’ve been arguing with Dolly about that. Foolish of me. Women never see sense. Dolly was all up in arms for the girl—you know what women are—men are brutes—all the rest of it, etcetera. But it’s not so simple as all that—not in these days. Girls know what they’re about. Fellow who seduces a girl’s not necessarily a villain. Fifty-fifty as often as not. I rather liked young Sandford myself. A young ass rather than a Don Juan, I should have said.’
‘It is this man Sandford who got the girl into trouble?’
‘So it seems. Of course I don’t know anything personally,’ said the Colonel cautiously. ‘It’s all gossip and chat. You know what this place is! As I say, I know nothing. And I’m not like Dolly—leaping to conclusions, flinging accusations all over the place. Damn it all, one ought to be careful in what one says. You know—inquest and all that.’
‘Inquest?’
Colonel Bantry stared.
‘Yes. Didn’t I tell you? Girl drowned herself. That’s what all the pother’s about.’
‘That’s a nasty business,’ said Sir Henry.
‘Of course it is. Don’t like to think of it myself. Poor pretty little devil. Her father’s a hard man by all accounts. I suppose she just felt she couldn’t face the music.’
He paused.
‘That’s what’s upset Dolly so.’
‘Where did she drown herself?’
‘In the river. Just below the mill it runs pretty fast. There’s a footpath and a bridge across. They think she threw herself off that. Well, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
And with a portentous rustle, Colonel Bantry opened his newspaper and proceeded to distract his mind from painful matters by an absorption in the newest iniquities of the government.
Sir Henry was only mildly interested by the village tragedy. After breakfast, he established