Diana Glass
The Help
‘I suppose this snowstorm can’t last forever,’ Mrs Bantry says.
Miss Marple, Mrs Bantry and I are sitting in the small private sitting room adjoining Mrs Bantry’s bedroom.
A maid entered a short while ago to light the little fire in the grate and beyond the window pane the snow spirals down so thick and fast that it makes one lose all sense of perspective.
Snowflakes press themselves in wet kisses against the panes.
The mountains have completely disappeared.
It feels as though the world has shrunk to encompass only this building and the people within it. I shiver, in spite of myself.
Mrs Bantry continues: ‘And then the proper authorities will be here. For some reason I imagine the Swiss police wearing great plumed hats and a sort of colourful jester’s uniform …’
‘I think that may be the Swiss Guard, dear,’ Miss Marple says, lightly. ‘The ones that patrol the Vatican in Rome.’
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Bantry says, thoughtfully. ‘That must be it.’
‘One imagines the Swiss police will be very efficient,’ Miss Marple says.
‘Unlike their English counterparts, you mean?’ Mrs Bantry asks.
‘I’m not sure I meant that precisely,’ Miss Marple says.
‘Our men tend to be very clever, I’m sure.
Though I wonder sometimes if it is possible to be a little too clever.
The Great Minds at Scotland Yard like to have their theories, and yet what use is a theory for a simple case of petty jealousy, or rage, or wanton greed?
Sometimes a more provincial ? well, simple ? approach is actually what is required.
So many criminals are really so very stupid. ’
A few moments pass. And then: ‘It’s better being up here, I think,’ Mrs Bantry says. ‘The atmosphere downstairs is positively febrile. People are nervous, yes, but one also senses a kind of prurient excitement which I find extremely distasteful.’
She produces a tin of Huntley & Palmers biscuits. ‘Here, from my emergency supply. In times of strain only English biscuits will do, don’t you find?’ And then, sitting forward a little in her chair, ‘So, do you think it could be murder, Jane?’
‘Oh, my dear,’ Miss Marple says sorrowfully, ‘I am afraid to say that I think it a possibility. Even a strong possibility. A man in the prime of health and vigour? The flask … we know that it was left on the desk in Reception to be filled with the coffee and then collected. I would like to have a look at the flask. Of course it could have been a suicide, but it seems unlikely to me that one would go to all the effort of getting dressed for skiing. And he seemed in high spirits, by all accounts. No, the whole thing carries about it a sense of wrongdoing.’
Mrs Bantry shakes her head. ‘Such a horrible thing to happen in such a beautiful, tranquil place, too. I know it couldn’t have been foreseen, but I feel guilty that I brought us here …’
‘Please, do not concern yourself, Dolly.’ Miss Marple puts out a consoling hand. ‘As you know, some of the most terrible things happen on one’s own doorstep.’
‘All the same,’ Mrs Bantry says, ‘it was my—’ But her words are cut off as a scream sounds like a siren from down the hall.