‘But why should she steal her own jewels, Dolly?’

‘They always do,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘And anyway, I can think of hundreds of reasons. She may have wanted money at once—old Sir Herman wouldn’t give her the cash, perhaps, so she pretends the jewels are stolen and then sells them secretly. Or she may have been being blackmailed by someone who threatened to tell her husband or Sir Herman’s wife. Or she may have already sold the jewels and Sir Herman was getting ratty and asking to see them, so she had to do something about it. That’s done a good deal in books. Or perhaps she was going to have them reset and she’d got paste replicas. Or—here’s a very good idea—and not so much done in books—she pretends they are stolen, gets in an awful state and he gives her a fresh lot. So she gets two lots instead of one. That kind of woman, I am sure, is most frightfully artful.’

‘You are clever, Dolly,’ said Jane admiringly. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘You may be clever, but she doesn’t say you’re right,’ said Colonel Bantry. ‘I incline to suspicion of the city gentleman. He’d know the sort of telegram to get the lady out of the way, and he could manage the rest easily enough with the help of a new lady friend. Nobody seems to have thought of asking him for an alibi.’

‘What do you think, Miss Marple?’ asked Jane, turning towards the old lady who had sat silent, a puzzled frown on her face.

‘My dear, I really don’t know what to say. Sir Henry will laugh, but I recall no village parallel to help me this time. Of course there are several questions that suggest themselves. For instance, the servant question. In—ahem—an irregular ménage of the kind you describe, the servant employed would doubtless be perfectly aware of the state of things, and a really nice girl would not take such a place—her mother wouldn’t let her for a minute. So I think we can assume that the maid was not a really trustworthy character. She may have been in league with the thieves. She would leave the house open for them and actually go to London as though sure of the pretence telephone message so as to divert suspicion from herself. I must confess that that seems the most probable solution. Only if ordinary thieves were concerned it seems very odd. It seems to argue more knowledge than a maidservant was likely to have.’

Miss Marple paused and then went on dreamily:

‘I can’t help feeling that there was some—well, what I must describe as personal feeling about the whole thing. Supposing somebody had a spite, for instance? A young actress that he hadn’t treated well? Don’t you think that that would explain things better? A deliberate attempt to get him into trouble. That’s what it looks like. And yet—that’s not entirely satisfactory…’

‘Why, doctor, you haven’t said anything,’ said Jane. ‘I’d forgotten you.’