I’ve done my best. I’ve talked to Sonia and I’ve talked to R.G. and I’ve got them both into a more reasonable frame of mind and then they come together and it all starts over again! You’ve no idea how tiring it is. R.G. has been making enquiries—and it does really seem as though this Stamfordis man was thoroughly undesirable.

In the meantime business is being neglected. I carry on at the office and in a way it’s rather fun because R.G. gives me a free hand. He said to me yesterday: “Thank Heaven, there’s one sane person in the world. You’re never likely to fall in love with a crook, Blackie, are you?” I said I didn’t think I was likely to fall in love with anybody. R.G. said: “Let’s start a few new hares in the City.” He’s really rather a mischievous devil sometimes and he sails terribly near the wind. “You’re quite determined to keep me on the straight and narrow path aren’t you, Blackie?” he said the other day. And I shall too! I can’t understand how people can’t see when a thing’s dishonest—but R.G. really and truly doesn’t. He only knows what is actually against the law.

Belle only laughs at all this. She thinks the fuss about Sonia is all nonsense. “Sonia has her own money,” she said. “Why shouldn’t she marry this man if she wants to?” I said it might turn out to be a terrible mistake and Belle said, “It’s never a mistake to marry a man you want to marry—even if you regret it.” And then she said, “I suppose Sonia doesn’t want to break with Randall because of money. Sonia’s very fond of money.”

No more now. How is father? I won’t say Give him my love. But you can if you think it’s better to do so. Have you seen more people? You really must not be morbid, darling.

Sonia asks to be remembered to you. She has just come in and is closing and unclosing her hands like an angry cat sharpening its claws. I think she and R.G. have had another row. Of course Sonia can be very irritating. She stares you down with that cool stare of hers.

Lots of love, darling, and buck up. This iodine treatment may make a lot of difference. I’ve been enquiring about it and it really does seem to have good results.

Your loving sister,

Letitia.

Miss Marple folded the letter and handed it back. She looked abstracted.

“Well, what do you think about her?” Craddock urged. “What picture do you get of her?”

“Of Sonia? It’s difficult, you know, to see anyone through another person’s mind … Determined to get her own way—that, definitely, I think. And wanting the best of two worlds….”