“And then Lotty came and took me away—said she needed someone to help her. Of course, I was very surprised—very surprised—but then newspapers do get things wrong. How kind she was—and how sympathetic. And remembering all the old days so well … I’d do anything for her—I really would. And I try very hard, but I’m afraid sometimes I muddle things—my head’s not what it was. I make mistakes. And I forget and say foolish things. She’s very patient. What’s so nice about her is that she always pretends that I am useful to her. That’s real kindness, isn’t it?”

Miss Marple said gently: “Yes, that’s real kindness.”

“I used to worry, you know, even after I came to Little Paddocks—about what would become of me if—if anything were to happen to Miss Blacklock. After all, there are so many accidents—these motors dashing about—one never knows, does one? But naturally I never said anything—but she must have guessed. Suddenly, one day she told me that she’d left me a small annuity in her will—and—what I value far more—all her beautiful furniture. I was quite overcome … But she said nobody else would value it as I should—and that is quite true—I can’t bear to see some lovely piece of china smashed—or wet glasses put down on a table and leaving a mark. I do really look after her things. Some people—some people especially, are so terribly careless—and sometimes worse than careless!

“I’m not really as stupid as I look,” Miss Bunner continued with simplicity. “I can see, you know, when Letty’s being imposed upon. Some people—I won’t name names—but they take advantage. Dear Miss Blacklock is, perhaps, just a shade too trusting.”

Miss Marple shook her head.

“That’s a mistake.”

“Yes, it is. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world. Dear Miss Blacklock—” She shook her head.

Miss Marple thought that as the secretary of a big financier Miss Blacklock might be presumed to know the world too. But probably what Dora Bunner meant was that Letty Blacklock had always been comfortably off, and that the comfortably off do not know the deeper abysses of human nature.

“That Patrick!” said Miss Bunner with a suddenness and an asperity that made Miss Marple jump. “Twice, at least, to my knowledge, he’s got money out of her. Pretending he’s hard up. Run into debt. All that sort of thing. She’s far too generous. All she said to me when I remonstrated with her was: ‘The boy’s young, Dora. Youth is the time to have your fling.’”

“Well, that’s true enough,” said Miss Marple. “Such a handsome young man, too.”