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“Extraordinary’s the word!” Aloud he said:
    â€œDo you know a Colonel or Mrs. Bantry?”
    Again Josie shook her head.
    â€œOr a Mr. Basil Blake?”
    She frowned slightly.
    â€œI think I’ve heard that name. Yes, I’m sure I have—but I don’t remember anything about him.”
    The diligent Inspector Slack slid across to his superior officer a page torn from his notebook. On it was pencilled:
    â€œCol. Bantry dined at Majestic last week.”
    Melchett looked up and met the Inspector’s eye. The Chief Constable flushed. Slack was an industrious and zealous officer andMelchett disliked him a good deal. But he could not disregard the challenge. The Inspector was tacitly accusing him of favouring his own class—of shielding an “old school tie.”
    He turned to Josie.
    â€œMiss Turner, I should like you, if you do not mind, to accompany me to Gossington Hall.”
    Coldly, defiantly, almost ignoring Josie’s murmur of assent, Melchett’s eyes met Slack’s.

Four
    I
    S t. Mary Mead was having the most exciting morning it had known for a long time.
    Miss Wetherby, a long-nosed, acidulated spinster, was the first to spread the intoxicating information. She dropped in upon her friend and neighbour Miss Hartnell.
    â€œForgive me coming so early, dear, but I thought, perhaps, you mightn’t have heard the news. ”
    â€œWhat news?” demanded Miss Hartnell. She had a deep bass voice and visited the poor indefatigably, however hard they tried to avoid her ministrations.
    â€œAbout the body in Colonel Bantry’s library—a woman’s body—”
    â€œIn Colonel Bantry’s library? ”
    â€œYes. Isn’t it terrible? ”
    â€œHis poor wife.” Miss Hartnell tried to disguise her deep and ardent pleasure.
    â€œYes, indeed. I don’t suppose she had any idea.”
    Miss Hartnell observed censoriously:
    â€œShe thought too much about her garden and not enough about her husband. You’ve got to keep an eye on a man—all the time—all the time,” repeated Miss Hartnell fiercely.
    â€œI know. I know. It’s really too dreadful.”
    â€œI wonder what Jane Marple will say. Do you think she knew anything about it? She’s so sharp about these things.”
    â€œJane Marple has gone up to Gossington.”
    â€œWhat? This morning?”
    â€œVery early. Before breakfast.”
    â€œBut really! I do think! Well, I mean, I think that is carrying things too far. We all know Jane likes to poke her nose into things—but I call this indecent!”
    â€œOh, but Mrs. Bantry sent for her.”
    â€œMrs. Bantry sent for her?”
    â€œWell, the car came—with Muswell driving it.”
    â€œDear me! How very peculiar….”
    They were silent a minute or two digesting the news.
    â€œWhose body?” demanded Miss Hartnell.
    â€œYou know that dreadful woman who comes down with Basil Blake?”
    â€œThat terrible peroxide blonde?” Miss Hartnell was slightly behind the times. She had not yet advanced from peroxide to platinum. “The one who lies about in the garden with practically nothing on?”
    â€œYes, my dear. There she was—on the hearthrug— strangled! ”
    â€œBut what do you mean—at Gossington? ”
    Miss Wetherby nodded with infinite meaning.
    â€œThen—Colonel Bantry too —?”
    Again Miss Wetherby nodded.
    â€œOh!”
    There was a pause as the ladies savoured this new addition to village scandal.
    â€œWhat a wicked woman!” trumpeted Miss Hartnell with righteous wrath.
    â€œQuite, quite abandoned, I’m afraid!”
    â€œAnd Colonel Bantry—such a nice quiet man—”
    Miss Wetherby said zestfully:
    â€œThose quiet ones are often the worst. Jane Marple always says so.”
    II
    Mrs. Price Ridley was among the last to hear the news.
    A rich and dictatorial widow, she lived in