Mrs Bantry sat down and groaned.

‘Oh! my poor head. And all the time—Jane Helier, you deceitful girl! Telling us that story the way you did!’

‘I am a good actress,’ said Jane complacently. ‘I always have been, whatever people choose to say. I didn’t give myself away once, did I?’

‘Miss Marple was right,’ murmured Mrs Bantry. ‘The personal element. Oh, yes, the personal element. Jane, my good child, do you realize that theft is theft, and you might have been sent to prison?’

‘Well, none of you guessed,’ said Jane. ‘Except Miss Marple.’ The worried expression returned to her face. ‘Dolly, do you really think there are many like her?’

‘Frankly, I don’t,’ said Mrs Bantry.

Jane sighed again.

‘Still, one had better not risk it. And of course I should be in Netta’s power—that’s true enough. She might turn against me or blackmail me or anything. She helped me think out the details and she professed to be devoted to me, but one never does know with women. No, I think Miss Marple was right. I had better not risk it.’

‘But, my dear, you have risked it.’

‘Oh, no.’ Jane opened her blue eyes very wide. ‘Don’t you understand? None of this has happened yet! I was—well, trying it on the dog, so to speak.’

‘I don’t profess to understand your theatrical slang,’ said Mrs Bantry with dignity. ‘Do you mean this is a future project—not a past deed?’

‘I was going to do it this autumn—in September. I don’t know what to do now.’

‘And Jane Marple guessed—actually guessed the truth and never told us,’ said Mrs Bantry wrathfully.

‘I think that was why she said that—about women sticking together. She wouldn’t give me away before the men. That was nice of her. I don’t mind your knowing, Dolly.’

‘Well, give the idea up, Jane. I beg of you.’

‘I think I shall,’ murmured Miss Helier. ‘There might be other Miss Marples…’

Chapter 13

Death by Drowning

I

Sir Henry Clithering, Ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was staying with his friends the Bantrys at their place near the little village of St Mary Mead.

On Saturday morning, coming down to breakfast at the pleasant guestly hour of ten-fifteen, he almost collided with his hostess, Mrs Bantry, in the doorway of the breakfast room. She was rushing from the room, evidently in a condition of some excitement and distress.

Colonel Bantry was sitting at the table, his face rather redder than usual.

‘ ’Morning, Clithering,’ he said. ‘Nice day. Help yourself.’

Sir Henry obeyed. As he took his seat, a plate of kidneys and bacon in front of him, his host went on:

‘Dolly’s a bit upset this morning.’

‘Yes—er—I rather thought so,’ said Sir Henry mildly.

He wondered a little. His hostess was of a placid disposition, little given to moods or excitement. As far as Sir Henry knew, she felt keenly on one subject only—gardening.

‘Yes,’ said Colonel Bantry. ‘Bit of news we got this morning upset her. Girl in the village—Emmott’s daughter—Emmott who keeps the Blue Boar.’