II

Miss Marple, clasping a small black book with pencilled entries in it,walked briskly along the village street until she came to the crossroads.

Here she turned to the left and walked past the Blue Boar until she came toChatsworth, alias “Mr. Booker’s new house.”

She turned in at the gate, walked up to the front door and knockedbriskly.

The door was opened by the blonde young woman named Dinah Lee.

She was less carefully made- up than usual, and in fact looked slightlydirty. She was wearing grey slacks and an emerald jumper.

“Good morning,” said Miss Marple briskly and cheerfully. “May I justcome in for a minute?”

She pressed forward as she spoke, so that Dinah Lee, who was some-what taken aback at the call, had no time to make up her mind.

“Thank you so much,” said Miss Marple, beaming amiably at her and sit-ting down rather gingerly on a “period” bamboo chair.

“Quite warm for the time of year, is it not?” went on Miss Marple, stillexuding geniality.

“Yes, rather. Oh, quite,” said Miss Lee.

At a loss how to deal with the situation, she opened a box and offered itto her guest. “Er—have a cigarette?”

“Thank you so much, but I don’t smoke. I just called, you know, to see if Icould enlist your help for our Sale of Work next week.”

“Sale of Work?” said Dinah Lee, as one who repeats a phrase in a foreignlanguage.

“At the vicarage,” said Miss Marple. “Next Wednesday.”

“Oh!” Miss Lee’s mouth fell open. “I’m afraid I couldn’t—”

“Not even a small subscription—half a crown perhaps?”

Miss Marple exhibited her little book.

“Oh—er—well, yes, I dare say I could manage that.”

The girl looked relieved and turned to hunt in her handbag.

Miss Marple’s sharp eyes were looking round the room.

She said:

“I see you’ve no hearthrug in front of the fire.”

Dinah Lee turned round and stared at her. She could not but be awareof the very keen scrutiny the old lady was giving her, but it aroused in herno other emotion than slight annoyance. Miss Marple recognized that. Shesaid:

“It’s rather dangerous, you know. Sparks fly out and mark the carpet.”

“Funny old Tabby,” thought Dinah, but she said quite amiably if some-what vaguely:

“There used to be one. I don’t know where it’s got to.”

“I suppose,” said Miss Marple, “it was the fluffy, woolly kind?”

“Sheep,” said Dinah. “That’s what it looked like.”

She was amused now. An eccentric old bean, this.

She held out a half crown. “Here you are,” she said.

“Oh, thank you, my dear.”

Miss Marple took it and opened the little book.

“Er—what name shall I write down?”

Dinah’s eyes grew suddenly hard and contemptuous.

“Nosey old cat,” she thought, “that’s all she came for—prying around forscandal!”

She said clearly and with malicious pleasure:

“Miss Dinah Lee.”

Miss Marple looked at her steadily.

She said:

“This is Mr. Basil Blake’s cottage, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and I’m Miss Dinah Lee!”

Her voice rang out challengingly, her head went back, her blue eyesflashed.

Very steadily Miss Marple looked at her. She said:

“Will you allow me to give you some advice, even though you may con-sider it impertinent?”

“I shall consider it impertinent. You had better say nothing.”

“Nevertheless,” said Miss Marple, “I am going to speak. I want to adviseyou, very strongly, not to continue using your maiden name in the vil-lage.”

Dinah stared at her. She said:

“What—what do you mean?”

Miss Marple said earnestly:

“In a very short time you may need all the sympathy and goodwill youcan find. It will be important to your husband, too, that he shall bethought well of. There is a prejudice in old- fashioned country districtsagainst people living together who are not married. It has amused youboth, I dare say, to pretend that that is what you are doing. It kept peopleaway, so that you weren’t bothered with what I expect you would call ‘oldfrumps.’ Nevertheless, old frumps have their uses.”

Dinah demanded:

“How did you know we are married?”

Miss Marple smiled a deprecating smile.

“Oh, my dear,” she said.

Dinah persisted.

“No, but how did you know? You didn’t — you didn’t go to SomersetHouse?”

A momentary flicker showed in Miss Marple’s eyes.

“Somerset House? Oh, no. But it was quite easy to guess. Everything, youknow, gets round in a village. The—er—the kind of quarrels you have—typical of early days of marriage. Quite—quite unlike an illicit relation-ship. It has been said, you know (and, I think, quite truly), that you canonly really get under anybody’s skin if you are married to them. Whenthere is no—no legal bond, people are much more careful, they have tokeep assuring themselves how happy and halcyon everything is. Theyhave, you see, to justify themselves. They dare not quarrel! Marriedpeople, I have noticed, quite enjoy their battles and the—er—appropriatereconciliations.”

She paused, twinkling benignly.

“Well, I—” Dinah stopped and laughed. She sat down and lit a cigarette.

“You’re absolutely marvellous!” she said.

Then she went on:

“But why do you want us to own up and admit to respectability?”

Miss Marple’s face was grave. She said:

“Because, any minute now, your husband may be arrested for murder.”