Chapter Twenty-six
C anon Pennyfather had been sent on his way in a taxi to the British Museum. Miss Marple had been ensconced in thelounge by the Chief-Inspector¹. Would she mind waiting for him there for about ten minutes? Miss Marple had notminded. She welcomed the opportunity to sit and look around her and think.
Bertram’s Hotel. So many memories…The past fused itself with the present. A French phrase came back to her.
Plus ?a change, plus c’est la même chose. She reversed the wording. Plus c’est la même chose, plus ?a change. Bothtrue, she thought.
She felt sad—for Bertram’s Hotel and for herself. She wondered what Chief-Inspector Davy wanted of her next.
She sensed in him the excitement of purpose. He was a man whose plans were at last coming to fruition. It was Chief-Inspector Davy’s D-Day.
The life of Bertram’s went on as usual. No, Miss Marple decided², not as usual. There was a difference, though shecould not have defined where the difference lay. An underlying³ uneasiness, perhaps?
“All set?” he inquired genially⁴.
“Where are you taking me now?”
“We’re going to pay a call on Lady Sedgwick.”
“Is she staying here?”
“Yes. With her daughter.”
Miss Marple rose to her feet. She cast a glance round her and murmured: “Poor Bertram’s.”
“What do you mean—poor Bertram’s?”
“I think you know quite well what I mean.”
“Well—looking at it from your point of view, perhaps I do.”
“It is always sad when a work of art has to be destroyed.”
“You call this place a work of art?”
“Certainly I do. So do you.”
“I see what you mean,” admitted Father.
“It is like when you get ground elder really badly in a border. There’s nothing else you can about it—except dig thewhole thing up.”
“I don’t know much about gardens. But change the metaphor⁵ to dry rot and I’d agree.”
They went up in the lift and along a passage to where Lady Sedgwick and her daughter had a corner

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