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broke off. He got up.
    'This is all confidential,' he said. 'You do understand that, don't you? But if you notice anyone following me... spying, I mean - you might let me know who it is!'
    He went away, then - neat, pathetic, insignificant. Miss Marple watched him and wondered...
    A voice spoke.
    'Nuts,' it said. 'Just nuts.'
    Walter Hudd was standing beside her. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he was frowning as he stared after Edgar's retreating figure.
    'What kind of a joint is this, anyway?' he said. 'They're all bughouse, the whole lot of them.'
    Miss Marple said nothing and Walter went on:
    'That Edgar guy - what do you make of him? Says his father's really Lord Montgomery. Doesn't seem likely to me. Not Monty! Not from all I've heard about him.'
    'No,' said Miss Marple. 'It doesn't seem very likely.'
    'He told Gina something quite different - some bunk about being really the heir to the Russian throne - said he was some Grand Duke's son or other. Hell, doesn't the chap know who his father really was?'
    'I should imagine not,' said Miss Marple. 'That is probably just the trouble.'
    Walter sat down beside her, dropping his body on to the seat with a slack movement. He repeated his former statement.
    'They're all bughouse here.'
    'You don't like being at Stonygates?'
    The young man frowned.
    'I simply don't get it - that's all! I don't get it. Take this place - the house - the whole set-up. They're rich, these people. They don't need dough - they've got it. And look at the way they live. Cracked antique china and cheap plain stuff all mixed up. No proper upper-class servants - just some casual hired help. Tapestries and drapes and chair-covers all satin and brocade and stuff - and it's falling to pieces! Big silver tea urns and what do you know - all yellow and tarnished for want of cleaning. Mrs Serrocold just doesn't care. Look at that dress she had on last night. Darned under the arms, nearly worn out - and yet she could go to a store and order what she liked. Bond Street or wherever it is. Dough? They're rolling in dough.'
    He paused and sat, deliberating.
    'I understand being poor. There's nothing much wrong with it. If you're young and strong and ready to work. I never had much money, but I was all set to get where I wanted. I was going to open a garage. I'd got a bit of money put by. I talked to Gina about it. She listened. She seemed to understand. I didn't know much about her. All those girls in uniform, they look about the same. I mean you can't tell from looking at them who's got dough and who hasn't. I thought she was a cut above me, perhaps, education and all that. But it didn't seem to matter: We fell for each other. We got married. I'd got my bit put by and Gina had some too, she told me. We were going to set up a gas station back home - Gina was willing. Just a couple of crazy kids we were - mad about each other. Then that snooty aunt of Gina's started making trouble... And Gina wanted to come here to England to see her grandmother. Well, that seemed fair enough. It was her home, and I was curious to see England anyway. I'd heard a lot about it. So we came. Just a visit - that's what I thought.'
    The frown became a scowl.
    'But it hasn't turned out like that. We're caught up in this crazy business. Why don't we stay here - make our home here - that's what they say? Plenty of jobs for me. Jobs! I don't want a job feeding candy to gangster kids and helping them play at kids' games, what's the sense of it all? This place could be swell - really swell. Don't people who've got money understand their luck? Don't they understand that most of the world can't have a swell place like this and that they've got one? Isn't it plain crazy to kick your luck when you've got it? I don't mind working if I've got to. But I'll work the way I like and at what I like - and I'll work to get somewhere. This place makes me feel I'm tangled up in a spider's web. And Gina - I can't make Gina out. She's not the same girl