Dr Maverick, looking, Miss Marple decided, distinctly abnormal himself, came out to meet them.

'Thank you, Miss Believer,' he said. 'Now, Miss - er oh yes, Miss Marple - I'm sure you're going to be interested in what we're doing here. In our splendid approach to this great problem. Mr Serrocold is a man of great insight - great vision. And we've got Sir John Stillwell behind us - my old chief. He was at the Home Office until he retired and his influence turned the scales in getting this started. It's a medical problem - that's what we've got to get the legal authorities to understand.

Psychiatry came into its own in the war. The one positive good that did come out of it - Now first of all I want you to see our initial approach to the problem. Look up ' Miss Marple looked up at the words carved over the large arched doorway:

'Isn't that splendid! Isn't that just the right note to strike. You don't want to scold these lads - or punish them. That's what they're hankering after half the time, punishment. We want to make them feel what fine fellows they are.' 'Like Edgar Lawson?' said Miss Marple.

'Interesting case, that. Have you been talking to him?' 'He has been talking to me,' said Miss Marple. She added apologetically, 'I wondered if, perhaps, he isn't a little mad?.' Dr Maverick laughed cheerfully.

'We're all mad, dear lady,' he said as he ushered her in through the door. 'That's the secret of existence. We're all a little mad.'

On the whole it was rather an exhausting day.

Enthusiasm in itself can be extremely wearing, Miss Marple thought. She felt vaguely dissatisfied with herself and her own reactions. There was a pattern here perhaps several patterns, and yet she herself could obtain no clear glimpse of it or them. Any vague disquietude she felt centred round the pathetic but inconspicuous personality of Edgar Lawson. If she could only find in her memory the right parallel.

Painstakingly she rejected the curious behaviour of Mr Selkirk's delivery van - the absent-minded postman - the gardener who worked on Whit Monday - and that very curious affair of the summer weight combinations.

Something that she could not quite put her finger on was wrong about Edgar Lawson - something that went beyond the observed and admitted facts. But for the life of her, Miss Marple did not see how that wrongness, whatever it was, affected her friend Carrie Louise. In the confused patterns of life at Stonygates people's troubles and desires impinged on each other. But none of them (again as far as she could see) impinged on Carrie Louise.

Carrie Louise… Suddenly Miss Marple realized that it was she alone, except for the absent Ruth, who used that name. To her husband, she was Caroline. To Miss Believer, Cara. Stephen Restarick usually addressed her as Madonna. To Wally she was formally Mrs Serrocold, and Gina elected to address her as Grandam - a mixture, she had explained, of Grande Dame and Grandmamma.

Was there some significance, perhaps, in the various names that were found for Caroline Louise Serrocold?

Was she to all of them a symbol and not quite a real person?

When on the following morning Carrie Louise, drag-ging her feet a little as she walked, came and sat down on the garden seat beside her friend and asked her what she was thinking about, Miss Marple replied promptly: 'You, Carrie Louise.' 'What about me?'

'Tell me honestly - is there anything here that worries you?'

'Worries me?' The woman raised wondering clear blue eyes. 'But Jane, what should worry me?'

'Well, most of us have worries.' Miss Marple's eyes twinkled a little. 'I have. Slugs, you know - and the difficulty of getting linen properly darned - and not being able to get sugar candy for making my damson gin. Oh, lots of little things - it seems unnatural that you shouldn't have any worries at all.'

'I. suppose I must have really,' said Mrs Serrocold vaguely. 'Lewis works too hard, and Stephen forgets his meals slaving at the theatre, and Gina is very jumpy - but I've never been able to alter people - I don't see how you can. So it wouldn't be any good worrying, would it?' 'Mildred's not very happy, either, is she?'

'Oh no,' said Carrie Louise. 'Mildred never is happy.

She wasn't as a child. Quite unlike Pippa, who was always radiant.'

'Perhaps,' suggested Miss Marple, 'Mildred had cause not to be happy?' Carrie Louise said quietly: 'Because of being jealous? Yes, I daresay. But people don't really need a cause for feeling what they do feel.

They're just made that way. Don't you think so, Jane?' Miss Marple thought briefly of Miss Moncrieff, a slave to a tyrannical invalid mother. Poor Miss Moncrieff who longed for travel and to see the world. And of how St Mary Mead in a decorous way had rejoiced when Mrs Moncrieff was laid in the churchyard and Miss Moncrieff, with a nice little income, was free at last. And of how Miss Moncrieff, starting on her travels, had got no farther than Hyres where, calling to see one of'mother's oldest friends,' she had been so moved by the plight of an elderly hypochondriac that she had cancelled her travel reservations and taken up her abode in the villa to be bullied, over-worked, and to long wistfully, once more, for the joys of a wider horizon.

Miss Marple said: 'I expect you're right, Carrie Louise.' 'Of course my being so free from cares is partly due to Jolly. Dear Jolly. She came to me when Johnnie and I were just married and was wonderful from the first. She takes care of me as though I were a baby and quite helpless. She'd do anything for me. I feel quite ashamed sometimes. I really believe Jolly would murder someone for me, Jane. Isn't that an awful thing to say?' 'She's certainly very devoted,' agreed Miss Marple.

'She gets so indignant.' Mrs Serrocold's silvery laugh rang out. 'She'd like me to be always ordering wonderful clothes, and surrounding myself with luxuries, and she thinks everybody ought to put me first and to dance attendance on me. She's the one person who's absolutely unimpressed by Lewis's enthusiasm. All our poor boys are in her view pampered young criminals and not worth taking trouble over. She thinks this place is damp and bad for my rheumatism, and that I ought to go to Egypt or somewhere warm and dry.'

'Do you suffer much from rheumatism?'

'It's got much worse lately. I find it difficult to walk.

Horrid cramps in my legs. Oh well -' gain there came that bewitching elfin smile, 'age must tell.'

Miss Believer came out of the french windows and hurried across to them.

'A telegram, Cara, just come over the telephone.

Arriving this afternoon, Christian Gulbrandsen.'

'hristian?' Carrie Louise looked very surprised. 'I'd no i!ea he was in England.'

'The oak suite, I suppose?'

'Yes,%p!ase, Jolly. Then there will be no stairs.' Miss Believer nodded and turned back to the house.

'Christian Gulbrandsen is my stepson,' said Carrie Louise. 'Eric's eldest son. Actually he's two years older than I am. FIe's one of the trustees of the Institute - the principal trustee. How very annoying that Lewis is away.

Christian hardly ever stays longer than ode night. He's an immensely busy man. And there are sure to be so many things they would want to discuss.'

Christian Gulbrandsen arrived that afternoon in time for tea. He was a big heavy-featured ma, with a slow methodical way of talking. He greeted Crrie Louise with every sign of affection.

'And how is our little Carrie Louise? You do not look a day older. Not a day.'

His hands on her shoulders - he stood smiling down at her. A hand tugged his sleeve.

'Christian!' 'Ah,' he turned - 'it is Mildred? How are you, Mildred?'