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Content Warning: This section of the guide features discussion of death, graphic violence, gender discrimination, and cursing.
Since Danemouth lies in Glenshire County, Superintendent Harper of the Glenshire Police offers to assist Melchett and Slack in their questioning. Mr. Prestcott, the hotel manager, claims to have hardly known Ruby Keene, who only began working there a month ago. Her cousin Josie, however, won his esteem as an excellent handler of people, especially as a bridge hostess, where she excelled at “smoothing over” the guests’ quarrels and other unpleasantness. Ruby, he says, was fairly popular with the guests, and could even pass as “pretty” with the aid of makeup. He adds quickly that Ruby didn’t appear to have any regular boyfriends or strong admirers. Conway, however, was very fond of her and used to take her for drives. Prestcott says that Conway, being old and disabled, naturally enjoys the company of young, lively people, and was particularly “amused” by Ruby. With lingering annoyance, he recounts how Conway got all “worked up” when Ruby disappeared, insisting on calling the police, with no thought of how it might embarrass the hotel. The three policemen concur that their next step should be to question Conway.
As they ascend to Conway’s spacious suite, Prestcott tells the policemen that the old man is extremely wealthy and always orders the best of everything. Prestcott introduces the three men to Adelaide Jefferson, Conway’s daughter-in-law. About 35 years old, Adelaide has a radiant smile, sympathetic voice, and beautiful hazel eyes. Saying her father-in-law is napping, she tells them that Ruby’s death was a “terrible shock” to him. As she tells them of her father-in-law’s fondness for her, Melchett detects a strange undercurrent, as of something left unsaid.
Describing the events of the previous night, Adelaide says that she, Conway, Josie, and her brother-in-law Mark Gaskell were preparing to play bridge, as usual, when Ruby began her dance performance with Raymond, Josie’s dance partner, at 10:30 pm. Afterward, Ruby joined them at their table, then agreed to dance with a young man who was a guest at the hotel. Engrossed in the bridge game, Adelaide glimpsed Ruby only once through the glass partition. Then, at midnight, Ruby failed to show for her second scheduled dance. Raymond was very upset, but Josie made excuses for her cousin, saying she probably had a “headache.” Finally, Josie danced with Raymond in Ruby’s place, despite the pain in her ankle.
Mr. Jefferson was greatly distressed by Ruby’s absence, but they managed to calm him down, saying she probably went for a drive and had a flat tire. By the next morning, however, they were out of excuses, and Conway insisted on calling the police. Earnestly, Adelaide says she knows nothing more about it. Both Melchett and Superintendent Harper seem to trust her implicitly. Next, they look up George Bartlett, the young guest whom Ruby danced with, the last person known to have seen her alive. George, a lanky, nervous fellow, has trouble gathering his thoughts and stutters throughout the interview. He cannot settle on the time of his dance with Ruby, thinking it could have been anytime between 10 o’clock and 11 o’clock. He says he’s a poor dancer and thinks Ruby was bored with him, since she spoke little and “yawned a bit.” Soon, complaining of a headache, she went upstairs. Asked what he did after she left, George struggles to remember, finally stammering that he must have gone for a walk outside and returned around the time Josie was doing her dance. In other words, he must have strolled around outside for over an hour, which Melchett finds doubtful. Pressed about whether he owns a car, George says he does and that he left it parked in the courtyard in case he wanted to go for a spin; frantically, he denies Melchett’s suggestion that he took Ruby Keene for a “spin.” After they let him go, Melchett mutters, “Brainless young ass […] Or isn’t he?” (62).
The questioning of the hotel staff sheds very little light on the movements of either George Bartlett or Ruby Keene: No one noticed Bartlett entering or leaving the hotel, and no one saw Ruby after her dance with him. Since Ruby seems to have changed clothes in her room after her dance, the police surmise that she left the hotel by way of a side exit, so as not to be seen. After questioning the bartender, Melchett is “accosted” by Peter Carmody, Adelaide’s nine-year-old son, who excitedly tells him that he’s a big fan of detective stories. Peter is thrilled to have known a murder victim (Ruby Keene) and can’t wait to tell his friends at school. However, he says, he didn’t much like Ruby, a sentiment shared by his mother and uncle, Mark Gaskell: He says that both of them hated Ruby’s pushiness and her influence over Mr. Jefferson, who was always making a big “fuss” over her. In fact, he thinks, the two of them are “glad” she’s dead.
When Melchett finally meets Mark Gaskell, a “tall, restless” man, he distrusts him at once, finding him arrogant and “unscrupulous”-looking. On the other hand, Conway, who has awakened from his nap, impresses the policemen with his vigor and “magnetism,” despite his disabled condition. He tells Melchett and Harper that his interest in Ruby Keene arose from his deep loneliness after losing his children and wife in the plane crash; Mark and Adelaide, he says, are good company, but they have their own lives to live. For a while, he’d wanted to adopt a child, and then Ruby came along. He only knew her for a few weeks, but loved to listen to her talk: Her rough upbringing in the entertainment world fascinated him, and her childlike lack of pretense or self-pity touched his heart. He planned to adopt her and leave her most of his money. Mark and Adelaide didn’t like it, but he’d already settled large sums of money on them, so they would still be comfortable. If Ruby had lived and the adoption had gone through, he says, she would have inherited £50,000 upon his death.
The conversation turns to the house where Ruby’s body was found. Conway seems stunned by the connection to the Bantrys, since he happened to meet them abroad years ago. He says he had no idea they lived in the area or that the Colonel dined at the Majestic the previous week. Nevertheless, Conway doubts they have anything to do with the murder, which he thinks was probably the work of a random sex maniac. If Ruby had had a boyfriend, he says, she surely would have told him. After the policemen leave, Conway tells his butler to contact a person named Sir Henry Clithering and ask him to come down at once.
Once alone, Harper and Melchett discuss the possibility of one or both of Conway’s in-laws having murdered Ruby for the £50,000. Mark Gaskell and Adelaide Jefferson seem to be financially well-off, as well as having a rock-solid alibi: Both were seen playing bridge from about 10:30 pm to midnight, the window of Ruby’s disappearance and murder. Though Melchett clings to his sinister impression of Mark’s character, he concedes that the two are probably not guilty. Rather, Harper theorizes that some as-yet-unknown boyfriend of Ruby’s killed her in a rage, then drove the 18 miles to St. Mary Mead to dump her body in the Bantrys’ house (Gossington Hall) as a red herring. Agreeing, Melchett adds, “Cherchez l’homme” (look for the man).
As the two policemen head for their rendezvous with Inspector Slack, they are “waylaid” by George Bartlett, who stammers to them that his car has disappeared. As before, his memory is very foggy, but he thinks he last saw his car around lunchtime the previous day, in the hotel’s courtyard, where he parked it. He says his car was a Minoan 14, a fictional make and model described as popular and inexpensive.
Ruby’s and Josie’s rooms are by far the “poorest” in the hotel, at the end of a “dingy” corridor, and Melchett notes that their obscure location would have made it easy for Ruby to slip away without being seen. No useful evidence is found in her room. The “foamy pink” dress she wore for dancing still lies on a chair, as if hastily discarded for a quick change and departure. Slack concurs with the other detectives that Ruby was seeing a “tough guy” on the sly, keeping her dates with him a secret from both Conway and Josie. Searching Ruby’s bathroom, Melchett is astounded by the abundance and variety of her makeup and beauty aids, but Slack says that’s typical for female performers, who create a different “look” for each routine. Melchett tells Harper to question Raymond Starr, Josie’s dancing partner, and reiterates his suspicions about George Bartlett, whose story about his car seems “fishy.”
Superintendent Harper, who has never enjoyed collaborating with the police of other counties, is relieved to be able to question Raymond all by himself. Raymond tells him there’s little to say about Ruby, whom he knew only a month and found to be “rather stupid,” but upon hearing of Conway’s plan to adopt her, he says, “The clever little devil! Oh well, there’s no fool like an old fool” (86). He adds his own suspicion that Ruby’s (smarter) cousin Josie planned Conway’s infatuation with Ruby from the very beginning so they could share the inheritance. Harper agrees that this theory could explain why Josie invited Ruby to fill in for her and why Josie seems angry at Ruby even after her death. In fact, when Ruby didn’t show up for her dance at midnight, Raymond remembers Josie saying, “Damned little fool. […] It will ruin all her chances” (87). Then Josie asked him about a “film man” who’d danced with Ruby once or twice at the hotel, a “theatrical”-looking character with long dark hair. Josie’s query puzzled Raymond, who thinks Ruby hardly knew that fellow, whose name he doesn’t recall. Then, Josie told him that it was very “important” that they smooth Ruby’s absence over with the audience, particularly Mr. Jefferson.
Leaving his interview with Raymond, Harper hears from an underling that a burned-out car has just been found in an abandoned quarry a couple of miles away, with a charred body inside. The make is a Minoan 14, the same as George Bartlett’s missing car.
Later that day, Sir Henry Clithering, former head of Scotland Yard, arrives at the Majestic Hotel, summoned by an urgent request from his old friend Conway Jefferson. Sir Henry is stunned to hear that their mutual friends the Bantrys are somehow connected to the murder of a young girl. Conway, not believing in coincidences, feels that his own acquaintance with the couple must be the link. Though Sir Henry considers this “far-fetched,” he agrees to put his Scotland Yard expertise to work as a sort of private detective for Conway, whose mobility is greatly limited by his disability. Then Sir Henry surprises him with the news that an amateur detective named Miss Marple has just arrived at the hotel, apparently for the same reason as himself: to solve the murder of Ruby Keene. Marple, he tells his friend, is also a friend of the Bantrys, and has had enormous success at solving cases by way of “parallels from village life” (93). Even though Ruby Keene grew up in a “theatrical milieu” far from any village, Sir Henry asserts his total confidence in Marple, who he says is a far better detective than himself.
In the lobby, Sir Henry learns from Miss Marple that she and Dolly Bantry have checked into the hotel to have a go at the case. Colonel Bantry, however, has secluded himself at home, like a “tortoise,” as he often does when troubled by misfortunes. When Dolly marvels at Conway’s strong attachment to Ruby Keene, Marple cites the case of an elderly neighbor named Mr. Harbottle, who, feeling lonely and neglected by his sister, became infatuated with a young housemaid. She adds that well-to-do gentlemen often enjoy elevating a lower-class woman in their affections. Conway Jefferson, she thinks, sensed that his two in-laws, Mark and Adelaide, had become less attentive and affectionate to him as they began to yearn again for the married life. This growing distance led to his infatuation with Ruby. As for her murder, Miss Marple agrees that the “most plausible” culprit is a secret boyfriend who resented being thrown over for a rich old man.
Miss Marple stresses the importance of solving the murder before local gossip destroys Colonel Bantry’s standing in the village—tarring him as Ruby’s adulterous lover, at the very least. Before long, the Bantrys will find themselves snubbed and avoided by their neighbors, which will “break” both of them; especially the Colonel, who, like most retired military men, is “abnormally sensitive.” Summarizing what they know, Marple says that within the span of an hour and 20 minutes—between 10:40 pm and midnight—Ruby, whether living or dead, was somehow transported 18 miles, from Danemouth to Gossington Hall. She thinks that her removal was carefully planned, up to a point, but then that something went wrong. Before Marple can fully explain what she means, Mrs. Bantry arrives with Adelaide Jefferson.
As the novel shifts from the provincial bubble of St. Mary Mead, almost a time-capsule of the Victorian/Edwardian age, to the relatively cosmopolitan resort of Danemouth, a more slippery world emerges, in which the old social order has partly broken down. At the Majestic Hotel, where wealthy guests dance closely with the staff and sometimes form strong attachments to them, class divisions, gender roles, and familial relationships are considerably more fluid. Josie and Ruby, who lodge in the hotel’s dingiest rooms, rub elbows with the rich as part of their daily work and soon find themselves aspiring to a more luxurious life. By Josie’s account, she brought Ruby to the hotel to keep her job safe from other dancers, but the detectives soon suspect that she was after Mr. Jefferson’s inheritance through Ruby. Raymond Starr, a hotel dancer who nurses his own ambitions of marrying a rich woman, offers begrudging admiration: “She’s got a head on her, that girl” (86).
Conway, in fact, had planned to legally adopt the working-class Ruby as his daughter and disinherit his two in-laws for her sake. (As Miss Marple notes, Ruby’s working-class status actually increased her allure for Conway, making the wealthy older man feel “benevolent.”) Ruby’s cousin Josie, it turns out later, has taken full advantage of the loosening of class boundaries, secretly marrying Conway’s son-in-law to get her hands on the old man’s money, illustrating the power of Social Inequality as a Motive for Deception. But with the new social mobility come rivalry and danger: Josie’s and Ruby’s high-stakes “dance” of social advancement has turned the two working-class cousins against each other, with deadly results.
Neither is the cloistered village of St. Mary Mead entirely safe from the shifting tides of modernity. Basil Blake, an iconoclastic serpent in this would-be Eden, willfully outrages the village status quo with his decadent parties, his “ghastly modern” cottage, and (most shocking) his cohabitation with a platinum-blonde woman who doesn’t share his last name. Emblematic of a new generation, Basil has sloughed most of his highborn status to pursue a bohemian lifestyle, and he moves to sleepy St. Mary Mead to flaunt his comparative freedom. To some villagers, including Colonel Bantry, Basil’s sneering abrogation of class responsibility, mores, and simple decorum makes him capable of the worst crimes, even murder. Which is not to say that the censorious watchdogs of St. Mary Mead are themselves paragons of virtue: Within an hour of the discovery of the body in the Bantrys’ library, the village gossips have all but tarred and feathered the Colonel with their wagging tongues. As a result, the stakes of the murder case are raised considerably, since the resulting scandal, if not quelled, may well claim another life—that of the “abnormally sensitive” Colonel Bantry, who has already begun to spiral into depression.
Local gossip centers not only on Colonel Bantry, but also on the purported murder victim, Ruby Keene. Aside from the infatuated Conway Jefferson, nearly everyone in town disparages Ruby as shallow, greedy, manipulative, and (in the words of nine-year-old Peter Carmody) “rather stupid.” This classist and misogynist consensus reflects the reactionary attitudes that characterize the village, illustrating The Two Sides of Gossip: While local gossip is beneficial in helping Marple understand and solve the case, it is often a deeply harmful force restricting the lives of St. Mary Mead’s residents. Virtually no one mourns Ruby’s death, and by novel’s end, Conway himself concedes that his affection for her was largely delusional, though there is never any evidence that she was guilty of anything worse than class ambition. However, in a Christie mystery, there is almost always a second murder, and by the novel’s midpoint, a charred body turns up in a burnt-out car. All signs point to it being that of Pamela Reeves, a 16-year-old Girl Guide whose betrayed innocence adds new urgency to the mystery; while making the “gold-digger” Ruby look, by contrast, even worse. As Superintendent Harper muses, “Ruby Keene […] might have asked what was coming to her, but Pamela Reeves was quite another story” (124). The contrast in attitudes toward Ruby and Pamela reflects the gender and class prejudices of the novel’s setting. As an “innocent,” middle-class child, Pamela is treated as a victim worthy of the public’s sympathy, whereas the ambitious Ruby is seen as deserving what she got.
Unusually for a Miss Marple novel, The Body in the Library has long stretches in which Marple barely appears. Perhaps because its canvas is larger than usual (St. Mary Mead, Gossington Hall, Danemouth, Medchester, and an abandoned quarry), the police do most of the legwork, even if they make little progress in interpreting the facts they gather. Following the money, they conclude that Mark Gaskell and Adelaide Jefferson, Conway’s two in-laws, are the only suspects who have a clear motive—yet their alibis, inconveniently, are air-tight. Fortunately, Superintendent Harper, the policeman from Glenshire County, seems wiser than Inspector Slack; recognizing Marple’s abilities, he gives her a larger role in the case. And soon, Conway calls in his old friend Sir Henry Clithering, a former director of Scotland Yard, who coincidentally is a great admirer of Marple as well. Thanks to them and to Mrs. Bantry, Marple remains at the heart of the murder case even after the investigation has moved to another county. It is she who will splice together the facts gathered by the men, using intuition, psychology, and homespun village lore as her stitching.



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