THE AFFAIR AT THE BUNGALOW1
“ I ’ve thought of something,” said Jane Helier.
Her beautiful face was lit up with the confident smile of a child expecting approbation2. It was a smile such asmoved audiences nightly in London, and which had made the fortunes of photographers.
“It happened,” she went on carefully, “to a friend of mine.”
Everyone made encouraging but slightly hypocritical noises. Colonel Bantry, Mrs. Bantry, Sir Henry Clithering,Dr. Lloyd and old Miss Marple were one and all convinced that Jane’s “friend” was Jane herself. She would have beenquite incapable3 of remembering or taking an interest in anything affecting anyone else.
“My friend,” went on Jane, “(I won’t mention her name) was an actress—a very well-known actress.”
No one expressed surprise. Sir Henry Clithering thought to himself: “Now I wonder how many sentences it will bebefore she forgets to keep up the fiction, and says ‘I’ instead of ‘She?’”
“My friend was on tour in the provinces—this was a year or two ago. I suppose I’d better not give the name of theplace. It was a riverside town not very far from London. I’ll call it—”
She paused, her brows perplexed4 in thought. The invention of even a simple name appeared to be too much forher. Sir Henry came to the rescue.
“Shall we call it Riverbury?” he suggested gravely.
“Oh, yes, that would do splendidly. Riverbury, I’ll remember that. Well, as I say, this—my friend—was atRiverbury with her company, and a very curious thing happened.”
She puckered5 her brows again.
“It’s very difficult,” she said plaintively6, “to say just what you want. One gets things mixed up and tells the wrongthings first.”
“You’re doing it beautifully,” said Dr. Lloyd encouragingly. “Go on.”
“Well, this curious thing happened. My friend was sent for to the police station. And she went. It seemed there hadbeen a burglary at a riverside bungalow and they’d arrested a young man, and he told a very odd story. And so theysent for her.
“She’d never been to a police station before, but they were very nice to her—very nice indeed.”
“They would be, I’m sure,” said Sir Henry.
“The sergeant7—I think it was a sergeant—or it may have been an inspector—gave her a chair and explainedthings, and of course I saw at once that it was some mistake—”
“Aha,” thought Sir Henry. “I. Here we are. I thought as much.”
“My friend said so,” continued Jane, serenely8 unconscious of her self-betrayal. “She explained she had beenrehearsing with her understudy at the hotel and that she’d never even heard of this Mr. Faulkener. And the sergeantsaid, ‘Miss Hel—’”
She stopped and flushed.
“Miss Helman,” suggested Sir Henry with a twinkle.
“Yes—yes, that would do. Thank you. He said, ‘Well, Miss Helman, I felt it must be some mistake, knowing thatyou were stopping at the Bridge Hotel,’ and he said would I have any objection to confronting—or was it beingconfronted? I can’t remember.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” said Sir Henry reassuringly9.
“Anyway, with the young man. So I said, ‘Of course not.’ And they brought him and said, ‘This is Miss Helier,’
and—Oh!” Jane broke off openmouthed.
“Never mind, my dear,” said Miss Marple consolingly. “We were bound to guess, you know. And you haven’tgiven us the name of the place or anything that really matters.”
“Well,” said Jane. “I did mean to tell it as though it happened to someone else. But it is difficult, isn’t it! I meanone forgets so.”
Everyone assured her that it was very difficult, and soothed11 and reassured12, she went on with her slightly involvednarrative.
“He was a nice-looking man—quite a nice-looking man. Young, with reddish hair. His mouth just opened when hesaw me. And the sergeant said, ‘Is this the lady?’ And he said, ‘No, indeed it isn’t. What an ass10 I have been.’ And Ismiled at him and said it didn’t matter.”
“I can picture the scene,” said Sir Henry.
Jane Helier frowned.
“Let me see—how had I better go on?”
“Supposing you tell us what it was all about, dear,” said Miss Marple, so mildly that no one could suspect her ofirony. “I mean what the young man’s mistake was, and about the burglary.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane. “Well, you see, this young man—Leslie Faulkener, his name was—had written a play. He’dwritten several plays, as a matter of fact, though none of them had ever been taken. And he had sent this particularplay to me to read. I didn’t know about it, because of course I have hundreds of plays sent to me and I read very few ofthem myself—only the ones I know something about. Anyway, there it was, and it seems that Mr. Faulkener got aletter from me—only it turned out not to be really from me—you understand—”
She paused anxiously, and they assured her that they understood.
“Saying that I’d read the play, and liked it very much and would he come down and talk it over with me. And itgave the address—The Bungalow, Riverbury. So Mr. Faulkener was frightfully pleased and he came down and arrivedat this place—The Bungalow. A parlourmaid opened the door, and he asked for Miss Helier, and she said Miss Helierwas in and expecting him and showed him into the drawing room, and there a woman came to him. And he acceptedher as me as a matter of course—which seems queer because after all he had seen me act and my photographs are verywell-known, aren’t they?”
“Over the length and breadth of England,” said Mrs. Bantry promptly13. “But there’s often a lot of differencebetween a photograph and its original, my dear Jane. And there’s a great deal of difference between behind thefootlights and off the stage. It’s not every actress who stands the test as well as you do, remember.”
“Well,” said Jane slightly mollified, “that may be so. Anyway, he described this woman as tall and fair with bigblue eyes and very good-looking, so I suppose it must have been near enough. He certainly had no suspicions. She satdown and began talking about his play and said she was anxious to do it. Whilst they were talking cocktails15 werebrought in and Mr. Faulkener had one as a matter of course. Well—that’s all he remembers—having this cocktail14.
When he woke up, or came to himself, or whatever you call it—he was lying out in the road, by the hedge, of course,so that there would be no danger of his being run over. He felt very queer and shaky—so much so that he just got upand staggered along the road not quite knowing where he was going. He said if he’d had his sense about him he’dhave gone back to The Bungalow and tried to find out what had happened. But he felt just stupid and mazed16 andwalked along without quite knowing what he was doing. He was just more or less coming to himself when the policearrested him.”
“Why did the police arrest him?” asked Dr. Lloyd.
“Oh! didn’t I tell you?” said Jane opening her eyes very wide. “How very stupid I am. The burglary.”
“You mentioned a burglary—but you didn’t say where or what or why,” said Mrs. Bantry.
“Well, this bungalow—the one he went to, of course—it wasn’t mine at all. It belonged to a man whose name was—”
Again Jane furrowed17 her brows.
“Do you want me to be godfather again?” asked Sir Henry. “Pseudonyms supplied free of charge. Describe thetenant and I’ll do the naming.”
“It was taken by a rich city man—a knight18.”
“Sir Herman Cohen,” suggested Sir Henry.
“That will do beautifully. He took it for a lady—she was the wife of an actor, and she was also an actress herself.”
“We’ll call the actor Claud Leason,” said Sir Henry, “and the lady would be known by her stage name, I suppose,so we’ll call her Miss Mary Kerr.”
“I think you’re awfully19 clever,” said Jane. “I don’t know how you think of these things so easily. Well, you seethis was a sort of weekend cottage for Sir Herman—did you say Herman?—and the lady. And, of course, his wifeknew nothing about it.”
“Which is so often the case,” said Sir Henry.
“And he’d given this actress woman a good deal of jewellery including some very fine emeralds.”
“Ah!” said Dr. Lloyd. “Now we’re getting at it.”
“This jewellery was at the bungalow, just locked up in a jewel case. The police said it was very careless—anyonemight have taken it.”
“You see, Dolly,” said Colonel Bantry. “What do I always tell you?”
“Well, in my experience,” said Mrs. Bantry, “it’s always the people who are so dreadfully careful who lose things.
I don’t lock mine up in a jewel case—I keep it in a drawer loose, under my stockings. I dare say if—what’s her name?
—Mary Kerr had done the same, it would never have been stolen.”
“It would,” said Jane, “because all the drawers were burst open, and the contents strewn about.”
“Then they weren’t really looking for jewels,” said Mrs. Bantry. “They were looking for secret papers. That’s whatalways happens in books.”
“I don’t know about secret papers,” said Jane doubtfully. “I never heard of any.”
“Don’t be distracted, Miss Helier,” said Colonel Bantry. “Dolly’s wild red-herrings are not to be taken seriously.”
“About the burglary,” said Sir Henry.
“Yes. Well, the police were rung up by someone who said she was Miss Mary Kerr. She said the bungalow hadbeen burgled and described a young man with red hair who had called there that morning. Her maid had thought therewas something odd about him and had refused him admittance, but later they had seen him getting out through awindow. She described the man so accurately20 that the police arrested him only an hour later and then he told his storyand showed them the letter from me. And as I told you, they fetched me and when he saw me he said what I told you—that it hadn’t been me at all!”
“A very curious story,” said Dr. Lloyd. “Did Mr. Faulkener know this Miss Kerr?”
“No, he didn’t—or he said he didn’t. But I haven’t told you the most curious part yet. The police went to thebungalow of course, and they found everything as described—drawers pulled out and jewels gone, but the whole placewas empty. It wasn’t till some hours later that Mary Kerr came back, and when she did she said she’d never rung themup at all and this was the first she’d heard of it. It seemed that she had had a wire that morning from a manageroffering her a most important part and making an appointment, so she had naturally rushed up to town to keep it.
When she got there, she found that the whole thing was a hoax21. No telegram had ever been sent.”
“A common enough ruse22 to get her out of the way,” commented Sir Henry. “What about the servants?”
“The same sort of thing happened there. There was only one, and she was rung up on the telephone—apparentlyby Mary Kerr, who said she had left a most important thing behind. She directed the maid to bring up a certainhandbag which was in the drawer of her bedroom. She was to catch the first train. The maid did so, of course lockingup the house; but when she arrived at Miss Kerr’s club, where she had been told to meet her mistress, she waited therein vain.”
“H’m,” said Sir Henry. “I begin to see. The house was left empty, and to make an entry by one of the windowswould present few difficulties, I should imagine. But I don’t quite see where Mr. Faulkener comes in. Who did ring upthe police, if it wasn’t Miss Kerr?”
“That’s what nobody knew or ever found out.”
“Curious,” said Sir Henry. “Did the young man turn out to be genuinely the person he said he was?”
“Oh, yes, that part of it was all right. He’d even got the letter which was supposed to be written by me. It wasn’tthe least bit like my handwriting—but then, of course, he couldn’t be supposed to know that.”
“Well, let’s state the position clearly,” said Sir Henry. “Correct me if I go wrong. The lady and the maid aredecoyed from the house. This young man is decoyed down there by means of a bogus letter—colour being lent to thislast by the fact that you actually are performing at Riverbury that week. The young man is doped, and the police arerung up and have their suspicions directed against him. A burglary actually has taken place. I presume the jewels weretaken?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Were they ever recovered?”
“No, never. I think, as a matter of fact, Sir Herman tried to hush24 things up all he knew how. But he couldn’tmanage it, and I rather fancy his wife started divorce proceedings25 in consequence. Still, I don’t really know aboutthat.”
“What happened to Mr. Leslie Faulkener?”
“He was released in the end. The police said they hadn’t really got enough against him. Don’t you think the wholething was rather odd?”
“Distinctly odd. The first question is whose story to believe? In telling it, Miss Helier, I noticed that you inclinetowards believing Mr. Faulkener. Have you any reason for doing so beyond your own instinct in the matter?”
“No-no,” said Jane unwillingly26. “I suppose I haven’t. But he was so very nice, and so apologetic for havingmistaken anyone else for me, that I feel sure he must have been telling the truth.”
“I see,” said Sir Henry smiling. “But you must admit that he could have invented the story quite easily. He couldwrite the letter purporting27 to be from you himself. He could also dope himself after successfully committing theburglary. But I confess I don’t see where the point of all that would be. Easier to enter the house, help himself, anddisappear quietly—unless just possibly he was observed by someone in the neighbourhood and knew himself to havebeen observed. Then he might hastily concoct28 this plan for diverting suspicion from himself and accounting29 for hispresence in the neighbourhood.”
“Was he well-off?” asked Miss Marple.
“I don’t think so,” said Jane. “No, I believe he was rather hard up.”
“The whole thing seems curious,” said Dr. Lloyd. “I must confess that if we accept the young man’s story as true,it seems to make the case very much more difficult. Why should the unknown woman who pretended to be MissHelier drag this unknown man into the affair? Why should she stage such an elaborate comedy?”
“Tell me, Jane,” said Mrs. Bantry. “Did young Faulkener ever come face to face with Mary Kerr at any stage ofthe proceedings?”
“I don’t quite know,” said Jane slowly, as she puzzled her brows in remembrance.
“Because if he didn’t the case is solved!” said Mrs. Bantry. “I’m sure I’m right. What is easier than to pretendyou’re called up to town? You telephone to your maid from Paddington or whatever station you arrive at, and as shecomes up to town, you go down again. The young man calls by appointment, he’s doped, you set the stage for theburglary, overdoing30 it as much as possible. You telephone the police, give a description of your scapegoat31, and off yougo to town again. Then you arrive home by a later train and do the surprised innocent.”
“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 wantedmoney at once—old Sir Herman wouldn’t give her the cash, perhaps, so she pretends the jewels are stolen and thensells them secretly. Or she may have been being blackmailed32 by someone who threatened to tell her husband or SirHerman’s wife. Or she may have already sold the jewels and Sir Herman was getting ratty and asking to see them, soshe had to do something about it. That’s done a good deal in books. Or perhaps she was going to have them reset34 andshe’d got paste replicas35. 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 citygentleman. He’d know the sort of telegram to get the lady out of the way, and he could manage the rest easily enoughwith the help of a new lady friend. Nobody seems to have thought of asking him for an alibi36.”
“What do you think, Miss Marple?” asked Jane, turning towards the old lady who had sat silent, a puzzled frownon 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 thistime. Of course there are several questions that suggest themselves. For instance, the servant question. In—ahem—anirregular ménage of the kind you describe, the servant employed would doubtless be perfectly37 aware of the state ofthings, and a really nice girl would not take such a place—her mother wouldn’t let her for a minute. So I think we canassume that the maid was not a really trustworthy character. She may have been in league with the thieves. She wouldleave the house open for them and actually go to London as though sure of the pretence38 telephone message so as todivert suspicion from herself. I must confess that that seems the most probable solution. Only if ordinary thieves wereconcerned 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 thatwould explain things better? A deliberate attempt to get him into trouble. That’s what it looks like. And yet—that’snot entirely39 satisfactory.?.?.?.”
“Why, doctor, you haven’t said anything,” said Jane. “I’d forgotten you.”
“I’m always getting forgotten,” said the grizzled doctor sadly. “I must have a very inconspicuous personality.”
“Oh, no!” said Jane. “Do tell us what you think.”
“I’m rather in the position of agreeing with everyone’s solutions—and yet with none of them. I myself have a far-fetched and probably totally erroneous theory that the wife may have had something to do with it. Sir Herman’s wife, Imean. I’ve no grounds for thinking so—only you would be surprised if you knew the extraordinary—really veryextraordinary things that a wronged wife will take it into her head to do.”
“Oh! Dr. Lloyd,” cried Miss Marple excitedly. “How clever of you. And I never thought of poor Mrs. Pebmarsh.”
Jane stared at her.
“Mrs. Pebmarsh? Who is Mrs. Pebmarsh?”
“Well—” Miss Marple hesitated. “I don’t know that she really comes in. She’s a laundress. And she stole an opalpin that was pinned into a blouse and put it in another woman’s house.”
Jane looked more fogged than ever.
“And that makes it all perfectly clear to you, Miss Marple?” said Sir Henry, with his twinkle.
But to his surprise Miss Marple shook her head.
“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. I must confess myself completely at a loss. What I do realize is that women must sticktogether—one should, in an emergency, stand by one’s own sex. I think that’s the moral of the story Miss Helier hastold us.”
“I must confess that that particular ethical40 significance of the mystery has escaped me,” said Sir Henry gravely.
“Perhaps I shall see the significance of your point more clearly when Miss Helier has revealed the solution.”
“Eh?” said Jane looking rather bewildered.
“I was observing that, in childish language, we ‘give it up.’ You and you alone, Miss Helier, have had the highhonour of presenting such an absolutely baffling mystery that even Miss Marple has to confess herself defeated.”
“You all give it up?” asked Jane.
“Yes.” After a minute’s silence during which he waited for the others to speak, Sir Henry constituted himselfspokesman once more. “That is to say we stand or fall by the sketchy42 solutions we have tentatively advanced. Oneeach for the mere43 men, two for Miss Marple, and a round dozen from Mrs. B.”
“It was not a dozen,” said Mrs. Bantry. “They were variations on a main theme. And how often am I to tell youthat I will not be called Mrs. B?”
“So you all give it up,” said Jane thoughtfully. “That’s very interesting.”
She leaned back in her chair and began to polish her nails rather absentmindedly.
“Well,” said Mrs. Bantry. “Come on, Jane. What is the solution?”
“The solution?”
“Yes. What really happened?”
Jane stared at her.
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“What?”
“I’ve always wondered. I thought you were all so clever one of you would be able to tell me.”
Everybody harboured feelings of annoyance44. It was all very well for Jane to be so beautiful—but at this momenteveryone felt that stupidity could be carried too far. Even the most transcendent loveliness could not excuse it.
“You mean the truth was never discovered?” said Sir Henry.
“No. That’s why, as I say, I did think you would be able to tell me.”
Jane sounded injured. It was plain that she felt she had a grievance45.
“Well—I’m—I’m—” said Colonel Bantry, words failing him.
“You are the most aggravating46 girl, Jane,” said his wife. “Anyway, I’m sure and always will be that I was right. Ifyou just tell us the proper names of the people, I shall be quite sure.”
“I don’t think I could do that,” said Jane slowly.
“No, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Miss Helier couldn’t do that.”
“Of course she could,” said Mrs. Bantry. “Don’t be so high-minded, Jane. We older folk must have a bit ofscandal. At any rate tell us who the city magnate was.”
But Jane shook her head, and Miss Marple, in her old-fashioned way, continued to support the girl.
“It must have been a very distressing47 business,” she said.
“No,” said Jane truthfully. “I think—I think I rather enjoyed it.”
“Well, perhaps you did,” said Miss Marple. “I suppose it was a break in the monotony. What play were you actingin?”
“Smith.”
“Oh, yes. That’s one of Mr. Somerset Maugham’s, isn’t it? All his are very clever, I think. I’ve seen them nearlyall.”
“You’re reviving it to go on tour next autumn, aren’t you?” asked Mrs. Bantry.
Jane nodded.
“Well,” said Miss Marple rising. “I must go home. Such late hours! But we’ve had a very entertaining evening.
Most unusually so. I think Miss Helier’s story wins the prize. Don’t you agree?”
“I’m sorry you’re angry with me,” said Jane. “About not knowing the end, I mean. I suppose I should have said sosooner.”
Her tone sounded wistful. Dr. Lloyd rose gallantly48 to the occasion.
“My dear young lady, why should you? You gave us a very pretty problem to sharpen our wits on. I am only sorrywe could none of us solve it convincingly.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Mrs. Bantry. “I did solve it. I’m convinced I am right.”
“Do you know, I really believe you are,” said Jane. “What you said sounded so probable.”
“Which of her seven solutions do you refer to?” asked Sir Henry teasingly.
Dr. Lloyd gallantly assisted Miss Marple to put on her goloshes. “Just in case,” as the old lady explained. Thedoctor was to be her escort to her old- world cottage. Wrapped in several woollen shawls, Miss Marple wishedeveryone good night once more. She came to Jane Helier last and leaning forward, she murmured something in theactress’s ear. A startled “Oh!” burst from Jane—so loud as to cause the others to turn their heads.
Smiling and nodding, Miss Marple made her exit, Jane Helier staring after her.
“Are you coming to bed, Jane?” asked Mrs. Bantry. “What’s the matter with you? You’re staring as though you’dseen a ghost.”
With a deep sigh Jane came to herself, shed a beautiful and bewildering smile on the two men and followed herhostess up the staircase. Mrs. Bantry came into the girl’s room with her.
“Your fire’s nearly out,” said Mrs. Bantry, giving it a vicious and ineffectual poke41. “They can’t have made it upproperly. How stupid housemaids are. Still, I suppose we are rather late tonight. Why, it’s actually past one o’clock!”
“Do you think there are many people like her?” asked Jane Helier.
She was sitting on the side of the bed apparently23 wrapped in thought.
“Like the housemaid?”
“No. Like that funny old woman—what’s her name—Marple?”
“Oh! I don’t know. I suppose she’s a fairly common type in a small village.”
“Oh dear,” said Jane. “I don’t know what to do.”
She sighed deeply.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m worried.”
“What about?”
“Dolly,” Jane Helier was portentously49 solemn. “Do you know what that queer old lady whispered to me before shewent out of the door tonight?”
“No. What?”
“She said: ‘I shouldn’t do it if I were you, my dear. Never put yourself too much in another woman’s power, even ifyou do think she’s your friend at the moment.’ You know, Dolly, that’s awfully true.”
“The maxim50? Yes, perhaps it is. But I don’t see the application.”
“I suppose you can’t ever really trust a woman. And I should be in her power. I never thought of that.”
“What woman are you talking about?”
“Netta Greene, my understudy.”
“What on earth does Miss Marple know about your understudy?”
“I suppose she guessed—but I can’t see how.”
“Jane, will you kindly51 tell me at once what you are talking about?”
“The story. The one I told. Oh, Dolly, that woman, you know—the one that took Claud from me?”
Mrs. Bantry nodded, casting her mind back rapidly to the first of Jane’s unfortunate marriages — to ClaudAverbury, the actor.
“He married her; and I could have told him how it would be. Claud doesn’t know, but she’s carrying on with SirJoseph Salmon—weekends with him at the bungalow I told you about. I wanted her shown up—I would like everyoneto know the sort of woman she was. And you see, with a burglary, everything would be bound to come out.”
“Jane!” gasped52 Mrs. Bantry. “Did you engineer this story you’ve been telling us?”
Jane nodded.
“That’s why I chose Smith. I wear parlourmaid’s kit53 in it, you know. So I should have it handy. And when theysent for me to the police station it’s the easiest thing in the world to say I was rehearsing my part with my understudyat the hotel. Really, of course, we would be at the bungalow. I just have to open the door and bring in the cocktails,and Netta to pretend to be me. He’d never see her again, of course, so there would be no fear of his recognizing her.
And I can make myself look quite different as a parlourmaid; and besides, one doesn’t look at parlourmaids as thoughthey were people. We planned to drag him out into the road afterwards, bag the jewel case, telephone the police andget back to the hotel. I shouldn’t like the poor young man to suffer, but Sir Henry didn’t seem to think he would, didhe? And she’d be in the papers and everything—and Claud would see what she was really like.”
Mrs. Bantry sat down and groaned54.
“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 complacently55. “I always have been, whatever people choose to say. I didn’t givemyself away once, did I?”
“Miss Marple was right,” murmured Mrs. Bantry. “The personal element. Oh, yes, the personal element. Jane, mygood 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 turnagainst me or blackmail33 me or anything. She helped me think out the details and she professed57 to be devoted58 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 profess56 to understand your theatrical59 slang,” said Mrs. Bantry with dignity. “Do you mean this is a futureproject—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.?.?.?.”
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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perplexed
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plaintively
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sergeant
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serenely
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reassuringly
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ass
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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mazed
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| 迷惘的，困惑的 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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overdoing
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| v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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reset
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| v.重新安排，复位；n.重新放置；重放之物 | |
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replicas
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| n.复制品( replica的名词复数 ) | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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portentously
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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