II

In the police station at Danemouth, Superintendent Harper was interview-ing Jessie Davis, Florence Small, Beatrice Henniker, Mary Price, and LilianRidgeway.

They were girls much of an age, differing slightly in mentality. Theyranged from “county” to farmers’ and shopkeepers’ daughters. One and allthey told the same story—Pamela Reeves had been just the same as usual,she had said nothing to any of them except that she was going to Wool-worth’s and would go home by a later bus.

In the corner of Superintendent Harper’s office sat an elderly lady. Thegirls hardly noticed her. If they did, they may have wondered who shewas. She was certainly no police matron. Possibly they assumed that she,like themselves, was a witness to be questioned.

The last girl was shown out. Superintendent Harper wiped his foreheadand turned round to look at Miss Marple. His glance was inquiring, butnot hopeful.

Miss Marple, however, spoke crisply.

“I’d like to speak to Florence Small.”

The Superintendent’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded and touched a bell.

A constable appeared.

Harper said: “Florence Small.”

The girl reappeared, ushered in by the constable. She was the daughterof a well-to-do farmer—a tall girl with fair hair, a rather foolish mouth,and frightened brown eyes. She was twisting her hands and lookednervous.

Superintendent Harper looked at Miss Marple, who nodded.

The Superintendent got up. He said:

“This lady will ask you some questions.”

He went out, closing the door behind him.

Florence shot an uneasy glance at Miss Marple. Her eyes looked ratherlike one of her father’s calves.

Miss Marple said: “Sit down, Florence.”

Florence Small sat down obediently. Unrecognized by herself, she feltsuddenly more at home, less uneasy. The unfamiliar and terrorizing atmo-sphere of a police station was replaced by something more familiar, theaccustomed tone of command of somebody whose business it was to giveorders. Miss Marple said:

“You understand, Florence, that it’s of the utmost importance thateverything about poor Pamela’s doings on the day of her death should beknown?”

Florence murmured that she quite understood.

“And I’m sure you want to do your best to help?”

Florence’s eyes were wary as she said, of course she did.

“To keep back any piece of information is a very serious offence,” saidMiss Marple.

The girl’s fingers twisted nervously in her lap. She swallowed once ortwice.

“I can make allowances,” went on Miss Marple, “for the fact that you arenaturally alarmed at being brought into contact with the police. You areafraid, too, that you may be blamed for not having spoken sooner. Pos-sibly you are afraid that you may also be blamed for not stopping Pamelaat the time. But you’ve got to be a brave girl and make a clean breast ofthings. If you refuse to tell what you know now, it will be a very seriousmatter indeed — very serious — practically perjury, and for that, as youknow, you can be sent to prison.”

“I—I don’t—”

Miss Marple said sharply:

“Now don’t prevaricate, Florence! Tell me all about it at once! Pamelawasn’t going to Woolworth’s, was she?”

Florence licked her lips with a dry tongue and gazed imploringly at MissMarple like a beast about to be slaughtered.

“Something to do with the films, wasn’t it?” asked Miss Marple.

A look of intense relief mingled with awe passed over Florence’s face.

Her inhibitions left her. She gasped:

“Oh, yes!”

“I thought so,” said Miss Marple. “Now I want all the details, please.”

Words poured from Florence in a gush.

“Oh! I’ve been ever so worried. I promised Pam, you see, I’d never say aword to a soul. And then when she was found all burnt up in that car—oh!

it was horrible and I thought I should die—I felt it was all my fault. I oughtto have stopped her. Only I never thought, not for a minute, that it wasn’tall right. And then I was asked if she’d been quite as usual that day and Isaid ‘Yes’ before I’d had time to think. And not having said anything then Ididn’t see how I could say anything later. And, after all, I didn’t know any-thing—not really—only what Pam told me.”

“What did Pam tell you?”

“It was as we were walking up the lane to the bus—on the way to therally. She asked me if I could keep a secret, and I said ‘Yes,’ and she mademe swear not to tell. She was going into Danemouth for a film test afterthe rally! She’d met a film producer—just back from Hollywood, he was.

He wanted a certain type, and he told Pam she was just what he was look-ing for. He warned her, though, not to build on it. You couldn’t tell, hesaid, not until you saw a person photographed. It might be no good at all.

It was a kind of Bergner part, he said. You had to have someone quiteyoung for it. A schoolgirl, it was, who changes places with a revue artistand has a wonderful career. Pam’s acted in plays at school and she’s aw-fully good. He said he could see she could act, but she’d have to have someintensive training. It wouldn’t be all beer and skittles, he told her, it wouldbe damned hard work. Did she think she could stick it?”

Florence Small stopped for breath. Miss Marple felt rather sick as shelistened to the glib rehash of countless novels and screen stories. PamelaReeves, like most other girls, would have been warned against talking tostrangers—but the glamour of the films would obliterate all that.

“He was absolutely businesslike about it all,” continued Florence. “Saidif the test was successful she’d have a contract, and he said that as she wasyoung and inexperienced she ought to let a lawyer look at it before shesigned it. But she wasn’t to pass on that he’d said that. He asked her ifshe’d have trouble with her parents, and Pam said she probably would,and he said: ‘Well, of course, that’s always a difficulty with anyone asyoung as you are, but I think if it was put to them that this was a wonder-ful chance that wouldn’t happen once in a million times, they’d seereason.’ But, anyway, he said, it wasn’t any good going into that until theyknew the result of the test. She mustn’t be disappointed if it failed. He toldher about Hollywood and about Vivien Leigh—how she’d suddenly takenLondon by storm—and how these sensational leaps into fame did happen.

He himself had come back from America to work with the Lemville Stu-dios and put some pep into the English film companies.”

Miss Marple nodded.

Florence went on:

“So it was all arranged. Pam was to go into Danemouth after the rallyand meet him at his hotel and he’d take her along to the studios (they’d gota small testing studio in Danemouth, he told her). She’d have her test andshe could catch the bus home afterwards. She could say she’d been shop-ping, and he’d let her know the result of the test in a few days, and if itwas favourable Mr. Harmsteiter, the boss, would come along and talk toher parents.

“Well, of course, it sounded too wonderful! I was green with envy! Pamgot through the rally without turning a hair—we always call her a regularpoker face. Then, when she said she was going into Danemouth to Wool-worth’s she just winked at me.

“I saw her start off down the footpath.” Florence began to cry. “I oughtto have stopped her. I ought to have stopped her. I ought to have known athing like that couldn’t be true. I ought to have told someone. Oh dear, Iwish I was dead!”

“There, there.” Miss Marple patted her on the shoulder. “It’s quite allright. No one will blame you. You’ve done the right thing in telling me.”

She devoted some minutes to cheering the child up.

Five minutes later she was telling the story to Superintendent Harper.

The latter looked very grim.

“The clever devil!” he said. “By God, I’ll cook his goose for him. This putsrather a different aspect on things.”

“Yes, it does.”

Harper looked at her sideways.

“It doesn’t surprise you?”

“I expected something of the kind.”

Superintendent Harper said curiously:

“What put you on to this particular girl? They all looked scared to deathand there wasn’t a pin to choose between them as far as I could see.”

Miss Marple said gently:

“You haven’t had as much experience with girls telling lies as I have.

Florence looked at you very straight, if you remember, and stood very ri-gid and just fidgeted with her feet like the others. But you didn’t watch heras she went out of the door. I knew at once then that she’d got somethingto hide. They nearly always relax too soon. My little maid Janet alwaysdid. She’d explain quite convincingly that the mice had eaten the end of acake and give herself away by smirking as she left the room.”

“I’m very grateful to you,” said Harper.

He added thoughtfully: “Lemville Studios, eh?”

Miss Marple said nothing. She rose to her feet.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “I must hurry away. So glad to have been able tohelp you.”

“Are you going back to the hotel?”

“Yes—to pack up. I must go back to St. Mary Mead as soon as possible.

There’s a lot for me to do there.”