The Body in the Library. Агата Кристи

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      ‘That,’ she murmured, ‘is what makes it so very interesting.’

      ‘Come now, Miss Marple,’ said Colonel Melchett good-humouredly, ‘haven’t you got an explanation?’

      ‘Oh yes, I’ve got an explanation,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Quite a feasible one. But of course it’s only my own idea. Tommy Bond,’ she continued, ‘and Mrs Martin, our new schoolmistress. She went to wind up the clock and a frog jumped out.’

      Josephine Turner looked puzzled. As they all went out of the room she murmured to Mrs Bantry: ‘Is the old lady a bit funny in the head?’

      ‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Bantry indignantly.

      Josie said: ‘Sorry; I thought perhaps she thought she was a frog or something.’

      Colonel Bantry was just coming in through the side door. Melchett hailed him, and watched Josephine Turner as he introduced them to each other. But there was no sign of interest or recognition in her face. Melchett breathed a sigh of relief. Curse Slack and his insinuations!

      In answer to Mrs Bantry’s questions Josie was pouring out the story of Ruby Keene’s disappearance.

      ‘Frightfully worrying for you, my dear,’ said Mrs Bantry.

      ‘I was more angry than worried,’ said Josie. ‘You see, I didn’t know then that anything had happened to her.’

      ‘And yet,’ said Miss Marple, ‘you went to the police. Wasn’t that—excuse me—rather premature?’

      Josie said eagerly:

      ‘Oh, but I didn’t. That was Mr Jefferson—’

      Mrs Bantry said: ‘Jefferson?’

      ‘Yes, he’s an invalid.’

      ‘Not Conway Jefferson? But I know him well. He’s an old friend of ours. Arthur, listen—Conway Jefferson. He’s staying at the Majestic, and it was he who went to the police! Isn’t that a coincidence?’

      Josephine Turner said:

      ‘Mr Jefferson was here last summer too.’

      ‘Fancy! And we never knew. I haven’t seen him for a long time.’ She turned to Josie. ‘How—how is he, nowadays?’

      Josie considered.

      ‘I think he’s wonderful, really—quite wonderful. Considering, I mean. He’s always cheerful—always got a joke.’

      ‘Are the family there with him?’

      ‘Mr Gaskell, you mean? And young Mrs Jefferson? And Peter? Oh, yes.’

      There was something inhibiting Josephine Turner’s usual attractive frankness of manner. When she spoke of the Jeffersons there was something not quite natural in her voice.

      Mrs Bantry said: ‘They’re both very nice, aren’t they? The young ones, I mean.’

      Josie said rather uncertainly:

      ‘Oh yes—yes, they are. I—we—yes, they are, really.’

      ‘And what,’ demanded Mrs Bantry as she looked through the window at the retreating car of the Chief Constable, ‘did she mean by that? “They are, really.” Don’t you think, Jane, that there’s something—’

      Miss Marple fell upon the words eagerly.

      ‘Oh, I do—indeed I do. It’s quite unmistakable! Her manner changed at once when the Jeffersons were mentioned. She had seemed quite natural up to then.’

      ‘But what do you think it is, Jane?’

      ‘Well, my dear, you know them. All I feel is that there is something, as you say, about them which is worrying that young woman. Another thing, did you notice that when you asked her if she wasn’t anxious about the girl being missing, she said that she was angry! And she looked angry—really angry! That strikes me as interesting, you know. I have a feeling—perhaps I’m wrong—that that’s her main reaction to the fact of the girl’s death. She didn’t care for her, I’m sure. She’s not grieving in any way. But I do think, very definitely, that the thought of that girl, Ruby Keene, makes her angry. And the interesting point is—why?’

      ‘We’ll find out!’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘We’ll go over to Danemouth and stay at the Majestic—yes, Jane, you too. I need a change for my nerves after what has happened here. A few days at the Majestic—that’s what we need. And you’ll meet Conway Jefferson. He’s a 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.’

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