The Body in the Library

“It was a cheap, tawdry, flamboyant figure—most incongruous in the solid old-fashioned comfort of Colonel Bantry’s library.”

In the Foreword to The Body in the Library, Christie explains how she deliberately set a challenge for herself by using the “well-known theme” of the title: The library must be extremely ordinary and “conventional,” as contrast to the “wildly improbable and highly sensational body” (vii). Unlike the typical whodunnit that might use this premise, the victim seems completely out of place: neither a resident of the house nor a likely visitor. The staid little world of the elderly, wealthy Bantrys, as exemplified by their musty library replete with stodgy décor and drab furnishings, seems to have no possible intersection with the garish demimonde of the “tawdry”-looking victim. Thus the mystery: not so much the strangulation itself as the incongruity and unlikeliness of such a body in such a room.

“But you’re very good at murders. […] What I feel is that if one has got to have a murder actually happen in one’s house, one might as well enjoy it, if you know what I mean.”

Mrs. Bantry, the lady of the house where the body turns up, continues the in-joke of the premise, humorously treating the murder as a delicious puzzle that has fallen into her lap rather than as a flesh-and-blood tragedy. She invites Miss Marple, an old hand at solving murders, to test her wits with it, as if inviting a friend who’s “very good” at sewing to a quilting bee. Mrs. Bantry’s desire to “enjoy” the murder slyly acknowledges the “coziness” of Christie’s mysteries, wherein murder functions largely as brain-teasing entertainment.

“That was a local case, that was, sir. The old lady knows everything that goes on in the village, that’s true enough. But she’ll be out of her depth here.”

Inspector Slack last encountered Miss Marple in Christie’s Murder at the Vicarage (the “local case” Slack refers to here), in which Marple bested him by solving the murder of Colonel Protheroe. Here, Slack claims that Marple relied on local gossip to solve that first case, which unfolded in her own village, and that consequently she’ll be “out of her depth” in trying to investigate the murder of someone from outside her town. As later events show, Marple, unbeknownst to Slack, has drawn from her village experiences an acute knowledge of human psychology, which turns out to be eminently applicable to victims (and murderers) of all places and walks of life.

“‘Pamela Reeves, sixteen, missing from her home last night, had attended Girl Guide rally, dark-brown hair in pigtail, five feet five—’ […] ‘Don’t go on reading idiotic details, Slack. This wasn’t a schoolgirl.’”

Colonel Melchett, the local Chief Constable, berates Slack for dwelling on a teenage girl who has disappeared. Melchett’s haste to dismiss her “details,” however, hints that Pamela Reeves will be more important to the case than he realizes. Indeed, the “body in the library” will turn out to be Pamela (in disguise), proving Marple’s axiom that you shouldn’t accept anything at face value.

“‘Oh, yes, I’ve got an explanation,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Quite a feasible one. But of course it’s only my own idea. Tommy Bond,’ she continued, ‘and Mrs. Martin, our new schoolmistress. She went to wind up the clock and a frog jumped out.’”

Contemplating the mystery of how Ruby Keene’s body could have turned up in a stranger’s library, Marple refers cryptically to a long-ago event in her village, in which a live frog turned up where it wasn’t supposed to be (in a clock). Marple is, as usual, applying village lore to the mystery at hand, and later events prove her right: The body was placed in the Bantrys’ library as a joke. Marple’s mystifying remark, which she doesn’t explain until much later, increases the story’s suspense; while Josephine’s reaction is an example of how the other characters tend to underestimate the amateur detective, whom they stereotype as a “spinster,” often to their undoing.

“She’s not grieving in any way. But I do think, very definitely, that the thought of that girl, Ruby Keene, makes her angry. And the interesting point is: Why?”

The plot thickens as Marple puzzles over Josie Turner’s rather heartless response to the brutal murder. Josephine has just identified the body of the strangled teenager as her younger cousin, who had been living and working with her at a seaside hotel; but her manner suggests something “left unsaid,” some residual anger that the girl’s terrible fate has done nothing to mollify. This minor mystery amplifies the story’s suspense, while identifying Josie as a possible suspect.

“So you must understand that, essentially, I’m a lonely man. I like young people. I enjoy them. Once or twice I’ve played with the idea of adopting some girl or boy.”

Conway Jefferson, an elderly rich man who pays long visits to the Majestic Hotel in Danemouth, explains his plan to adopt Ruby Keene, the murdered girl, who was working as a dancer at the hotel. By specifying “girl or boy,” he emphasizes that his interest in her was not romantic but simply that of a lonely, grieving father seeking to replace one of the two children lost to him in the accident that also claimed both of his legs. Since Conway also has two in-laws (the spouses of his dead children), who stand to lose a sizable inheritance if he adopts, a possible motive for Ruby’s murder comes to light.

“Well—er—probably isn’t important, don’t you know—thought I ought to tell you. Matter of fact, I can’t find my car.”

This is one of many instances of misdirection in the novel. George Bartlett’s vague story, combined with the fact that he was the last person to be seen with Ruby before her disappearance, would normally make him a leading suspect. His nervous, “brainless” manner leads the police to doubt his involvement, but Colonel Melchett suggests it may be an act. With clues pointing in multiple directions, the reader is uncertain whom or what to believe. As for the missing car: In a whodunnit, when a character says something “probably isn’t important,” it is almost guaranteed to be of vital importance.

“Half an hour ago they found a burnt-out car near a quarry. Venn’s Quarry about two miles from here. Traces of a charred body inside.”

The shoe drops shortly later, when Bartlett’s car turns up in an abandoned quarry with the second of the story’s bodies nestled inside, burned beyond recognition. This is a mystifying development, since no one else (besides Ruby) has gone missing from the Majestic Hotel or from St. Mary Mead. However, astute readers will remember Slack’s mention of a teenage girl who vanished the previous night after a Girl Guide rally.

“It’s like King Cophetua and the beggar maid. If you’re really rather a lonely tired old man, and if, perhaps, your own family have been neglecting you […] It makes you feel a much greater person, a beneficent monarch! The recipient is more likely to be dazzled, and that, of course, is a pleasant feeling for you.”

Citing a fairytale, as well as anecdotes from her village, Marple puts her finger on the allure of cross-class relationships to explain Conway Jefferson’s infatuation with the lower-class Ruby Keene. She turns out to be right, as usual: Conway had been feeling ignored by his in-laws when he took up with Ruby; and after her death, he wakes up from his spell, as if from a daydream of his own beneficence.

“A slight here, and a snub there, and invitations that are refused, and excuses that are made, and then, little by little, it will dawn upon him, and he’ll retire into his shell and get terribly morbid and miserable.”

Miss Marple prophesizes the catastrophic damage to Colonel Bantry’s reputation (and life) if Ruby Keene’s murder goes unsolved. Living in a small town and extremely sensitive to gossip, Bantry will wither and die under the whispered opprobrium and social slights of his neighbors, who will suspect, at the very least, an affair between him and the young dancer. The murder of Ruby, in other words, will claim another innocent victim. This raises the stakes of the murder mystery considerably and illustrating The Two Sides of Gossip.

“See, it’s a fingernail. Her fingernail. I’m going to label it Fingernail of the Murdered Woman and take it back to school. It’s a good souvenir, don’t you think?”

Peter Carmody, Conway Jefferson’s nine-year-old step-grandson, continues the vein of humor begun by Mrs. Bantry, treating the murder as a thrilling novelty rather than a sordid tragedy. His claiming of the victim’s fingernail as a “souvenir,” reminds Miss Marple of the unusual state of the dead girl’s nails, giving her an important clue.

“‘I’m not considering Mrs. Jefferson.’ […] ‘No, sir, I know you’re not. And, anyway, the alibi holds for both of them. They couldn’t have done it. Just that.’”

One difficulty in the case, from the detectives’ standpoint, is that the two suspects who stood to gain the most from Ruby’s death (Mark Gaskell and Adelaide Jefferson) have an airtight alibi for the presumed time of the murder. According to numerous witnesses, both were engaged in a bridge game at the hotel that lasted until well after midnight. But as Miss Marple later points out, this alibi depends on a series of false assumptions; first, that the body in the library was correctly identified.

“No, you couldn’t stretch it. When I say she was killed before midnight I mean before midnight, and don’t try and tamper with the medical evidence.”

Dr. Haydock, the police surgeon at St. Mary Mead, rightly refuses to “stretch” his estimate of the time of Ruby’s death just to make things easier for the police, who suspect Mark Gaskell. Later telling Melchett, “I know your ways” (131), he suggests darkly that the police would be happy to fudge his scientific evidence in order to “fit a rope round the neck” of their prime suspect (131). In any murder mystery, a precise window for the time of death is a crucial plot point, since it allows the detectives (and reader) to map out plausible narratives of the murder according to the suspects’ alibis. To “stretch” it would be like moving the goalposts of a playing field late in the game, violating the rules of the genre.

“‘I shouldn’t dream of laughing at you. You’ve had the laugh on me too many times.’ […] ‘One does see so much evil in a village,’ murmured Miss Marple in an explanatory voice.”

When Miss Marple volunteers to question the Girl Guides about Pamela Reeves’ movements after the rally, Sir Henry defers to her hands-on knowledge of the deceptions practiced by young girls. As Marple explains, her life in the village brings her into frequent contact with Brownies, Girl Guides, Sunday School students, orphans, etc. Counterintuitively, she cites this as a reason for her familiarity with “evil”: In Marple’s view, evil is evil, regardless of the scale. For this reason, the average country village (e.g., St. Mary Mead) encompasses as rich a tapestry of dishonesty and vice as the most decadent big city.

“Mrs. Bantry turned startled and incredulous eyes on her. ‘You mean you know now who killed Ruby Keene?’ […] ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I know that!’”

Miss Marple casually informs Mrs. Bantry that she knows the identity of the murderer but can tell her no more. In effect, this is a tease by the author, since Marple does not reveal the murderer’s name for another five chapters. But with this partial reveal, Christie both increases the story’s suspense and lets her readers know that all of the clues have been provided for them to guess the identity of the murderer themselves.

“She was going into Danemouth for a film test after the 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 looking for.”

Pamela Reeves’s friend from Girl Guides offers a vital clue about her disappearance. If Pamela was lured to Danemouth by a stranger, then her murder must have been premeditated, not a case of her randomly overhearing something to do with Ruby Keene. The “Hollywood” story casts suspicion on Basil Blake, a rakish local who frequently blusters about his ties to the film industry.

“There is a prejudice in old-fashioned country districts against people living together who are not married. It has amused you both, I dare say, to pretend that that is what you are doing. It kept people away, so that you weren’t bothered with what I expect you would call ‘old frumps.’ Nevertheless, old frumps have their uses.”

Confronting Basil Blake’s wife Dinah, Miss Marple deduces that she and Basil have been acting the part of a scandalously unwed couple merely to amuse themselves by scandalizing the socially conservative townspeople. Marple’s comment that “old frumps have their uses” slyly pushes back against the stereotypes that apply to Marple herself. Despite being the kind of person that Basil would likely consider an “old frump,” she has quite possibly saved his life by effectively eliminating him as a suspect even as the police move to arrest him for Ruby Keene’s murder. Marple offers an ironic lesson for Dinah and Basil, who have shown themselves to be more judgmental and narrow-minded, in their rebelliousness, than some of the “old frumps” they look down upon.

“I was a bit drunk, you know, at the time. It really seemed positively amusing to me. Old Bantry with a dead blonde.”

Basil settles the mystery of the body’s presence in the Bantrys’ library, confessing that he placed it there himself as a “joke.” Intoxicated, and blinded by his contempt for the staid gentry of his town, he never considered the dire consequences of his actions, for himself and others. Like his other attempts to shock the “frumps” (e.g., concealing his marriage to Dinah), his prank has come back to haunt him.

“The light switched on, and from his pillows Conway Jefferson looked grimly at the murderer of Ruby Keene.”

The police trap the murderer with an elaborate ruse devised by Miss Marple. Luckily, they’re able to restrain the intruder, who was seconds away from injecting Conway with a deadly hypodermic needle. With this dramatic sentence, the chapter ends, without revealing the killer—as usual, Christie keeps the reader in suspense until the book’s very last pages. She does provide a further clue, though: Conway’s look is “grim” because his would-be murderer has turned out to be someone he once liked and trusted.

“The truth is, you see, that most people, and I don’t exclude policemen, are far too trusting for this wicked world. They believe what is told them. I never do. I’m afraid I always like to prove a thing for myself.”

Miss Marple, an elderly, mild-mannered woman from a small village, lectures her policeman friends, including a former director of Scotland Yard, on the duplicity of the “wicked world.” This irony recurs throughout The Body in the Library, as Marple repeatedly shows her reflexive leeriness of the “official story” and of seemingly forthright people, while the police are taken in. The tidy, genteel environs of St. Mary Mead, where people guard their secrets and lacerate each other with whispered gossip, has made Marple more hardboiled and discerning than many seasoned big-city detectives, illustrating The Two Sides of Gossip.

“It wasn’t a question of only Mr. Gaskell or Mrs. Jefferson; there was the further possibility of marriage. If either of those two was married, or even was likely to marry, then the other party to the marriage contract was involved too.”

Confronting Dinah about her secret marriage, combined with Dinah’s mention of Somerset House (where marriages are registered), gave Marple the idea that Josie might be secretly married as well—to Mark Gaskell. A quick visit to Somerset House gave her the connection between Josie Turner and Conway Jefferson’s fortune, demonstrating The Contrast Between Appearance and Reality.

“Mark Gaskell talked too much. He was speaking of Ruby and he said, her teeth ran down her throat, but the dead girl in Colonel Bantry’s library had teeth that stuck out.”

Always garrulous, Mark Gaskell couldn’t help describing, in cruel detail, the physical shortcomings of the “cheap” dancer who almost deprived him of £25,000. Unfortunately for him and Josie, one of those traits (receding teeth) was not shared by the Girl Guide whom he murdered and tried to pass off as Ruby’s corpse. With characteristic attention to detail, Miss Marple recognized this dental discrepancy as proof that the body in the library was not what it seemed. Gaskell, insistent on his right to say what he likes, has condemned himself with his own words.