‘There’s Gina’s husband, isn’t there?’

‘Yes,’ said Lewis gravely. ‘There is Gina’s husband.’

‘You don’t really know much about him. And one can’t help seeing that he’s a very unhappy young man.’

Lewis sighed.

‘He hasn’t fitted in here — no. He’s no interest in or sympathy for what we’re trying to do. But after all, why should he? He’s young, crude, and he comes from a country where a man is esteemed by the success he makes of life.’

‘Whilst here we are so very fond of failures,’ said Miss Marple.

Lewis Serrocold looked at her sharply and suspiciously.

She flushed a little and murmured rather incoherently:

‘I think sometimes, you know, one can overdo things the other way…I mean the young people with a good heredity, and brought up wisely in a good home — and with grit and pluck and the ability to get on in life — well, they are really, when one comes down to it — the sort of people a country needs.’

Lewis frowned and Miss Marple hurried on, getting pinker and pinker and more and more incoherent.

‘Not that I don’t appreciate — I do indeed — you and Carrie Louise — a really noble work — real compassion — and one should have compassion — because after all it’s what people are that counts — good and bad luck — and much more expected (and rightly) of the lucky ones. But I do think sometimes one’s sense of proportion — oh, I don’t mean you, Mr Serrocold. Really I don’t know what I mean — but the English are rather odd that way. Even in war, so much prouder of their defeats and their retreats than of their victories. Foreigners never can understand why we’re so proud of Dunkirk. It’s the sort of thing they’d prefer not to mention themselves. But we always seem to be almost embarrassed by a victory — and treat it as though it weren’t quite nice to boast about it. And look at all our poets! The Charge of the Light Brigade, and the little Revenge went down in the Spanish Main. It’s really a very odd characteristic when you come to think of it!’

Miss Marple drew a fresh breath.

‘What I really mean is that everything here must seem rather peculiar to young Walter Hudd.’

‘Yes,’ Lewis allowed. ‘I see your point. And Walter has certainly a fine war record. There’s no doubt about his bravery.’

‘Not that that helps,’ said Miss Marple candidly. ‘Because war is one thing, and everyday life is quite another. And actually to commit a murder, I think you do need bravery — or perhaps, more often, just conceit. Yes, conceit.’

‘But I would hardly say that Walter Hudd had a sufficient motive.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ said Miss Marple. ‘He hates it here. He wants to get away. He wants to get Gina away. And if it’s really money he wants, it would be important for Gina to get all the money before she — er — definitely forms an attachment to someone else.’