Dolly Bantry - Mistress of Gossington Hall, and wife of Colonel Arthur Bantry who was caught in a chain of circumstances that nearly proved too much for him. 

Jane Marple - Her uncanny predilection for village parallels enabled her to solve mysterious crimes. 

Colonel Melchett - Chief Constable of the County. 

Inspector Slack - An energetic, and somewhat tactless, police official. 

Basil Blake - A very rude, spirited young man, whose studied insolence covered a great fear. 

Dinah Lee - Blake's equally spirited girl friend, who had a secret of her own. 

Ruby Keene - A young dancer reported missing from the Majestic Hotel at Danemouth. 

Josephine Turner - Professional dancer and hostess at the Majestic Hotel; Ruby Keene's distant cousin and sponsor. 

Superintendent Harper - Of the Glenshire Police; he was inclined to be soothing. 

Adelaide Jefferson - Conway Jefferson's daughter-in-law, who could have told much more than she chose. 

George Bartlett - A guest at the

Majestic, he was young, single, and almost too famous. 

Peter Carmody - Conway Jefferson's grandson, who had a keen interest in criminology. 

Mark Gaskell - Conway Jefferson's son-in-law, keen, ruthless, and disarmingly frank. 

Conway Jefferson - A dynamic personality confined to a wheelchair. 

Raymond Starr - Young tennis and dance pro at the Majestic, he was suave, smooth, and personable, with an eye for the main chance. 

Sir Henry Clithering - Retired ex-commissioner of the Metropolitan

Police; a friend of Conway Jefferson and the Bantrys, with great respect for Miss Marple's "ability."

Mrs. Bantry was dreaming. Her sweet peas had just taken a First at the flower show. The vicar, dressed in cassock and surplice, was giving out the prizes in church. His wife wandered past, dressed in a bathing suit, but, as is the blessed habit of dreams, this fact did not arouse the disapproval of the parish in the way it would assuredly have done in real life. Mrs. Bantry was enjoying her dream a good deal.

She usually did enjoy those early-morning dreams that were terminated by the arrival of early-morning tea. Somewhere in her inner consciousness was an awareness of the usual early-morning noises of the household. The rattle of the curtain rings on the stairs as the housemaid drew them, the noises of the second housemaid's dustpan and brush in the passage outside. In the distance the heavy noise of the front-door bolt being drawn back.

Another day was beginning. In the meantime she must extract as much pleasure as possible from the flower show, for already its dreamlike quality was becoming apparent.

Below her was the noise of the big wooden shutters in the drawing room being opened. She heard it, yet did not hear it. For quite half an hour longer the usual household noises would go on, discreet, subdued, not disturbing because they were so familiar. They would culminate in a swift, controlled sound of footsteps along the passage, the rustle of a print dress, the subdued chink of tea things as the tray was deposited on the table outside, then the soft knock and the entry of Mary to draw the curtains. In her sleep Mrs. Bantry frowned. Something disturbing was penetrating through the dream state, something out of its time. Footsteps along the passage, footsteps that were too hurried and too soon. Her ears listened unconsciously for the chink of china, but there was no chink of china. The knock came at the door. Automatically, from the depths of her dream, Mrs. Bantry said, "Come in." The door opened; now there would be the chink of curtain ring as the curtains were drawn back.

But there was no chink of curtain rings. Out of the dull green light Mary's voice came, breathless, hysterical. "Oh, ma'am, oh, ma'am, there's a body in the library!" And then, with a hysterical burst of sobs, she rushed out of the room again.

Mrs. Bantry sat up in bed. Either her dream had taken a very odd turn or else - or else Mary had really rushed into the room and had said - incredibly fantastic! - that there was a body in the library. "Impossible," said Mrs. Bantry to herself. "I must have been dreaming." But even as she said it, she felt more and more certain that she had not been dreaming; that Mary, her superior self-controlled Mary, had actually uttered those fantastic words. Mrs. Bantry reflected a minute and then applied an urgent conjugal elbow to her sleeping spouse. "Arthur, Arthur, wake up." Colonel Bantry grunted, muttered and rolled over on his side. "Wake up, Arthur. Did you hear what she said?"

"Very likely," said Colonel Bantry indistinctly. "I quite agree with you. Dolly," and promptly went to sleep again.

Mrs. Bantry shook him. "You've got to listen. Mary came in and said that there was a body in the library." "Eh, what?" "A body in the library" "Who said so?" "Mary."

Colonel Bantry collected his scattered faculties and proceeded to deal with the situation. He said, "Nonsense, old girl! You've been dreaming."

"No, I haven't. I thought so, too, at first. But I haven't. She really came in and said so."

"Mary came in and said there was a body in the library?" "Yes." "But there couldn't be," said Colonel Bantry. "No no, I suppose not," said Mrs. Bantry doubtfully. Rallying, she went on, "But then why did Mary say there was?" "She can't have." "She did." "You must have imagined it." "I didn't imagine it." Colonel Bantry was by now thoroughly awake and prepared to deal with the situation on its merits. He said kindly, "You've been dreaming. Dolly. It's that detective story you were reading The Clue of the Broken Match. You know. Lord Edgbaston finds a beautiful blonde dead on the library hearth rug Bodies are always being found in libraries in books. I've never known a case in real life."

"Perhaps you will now," said Mrs. Bantry, "Anyway Arthur, you've got to get up and see."

"But really. Dolly, it must have been a dream. Dreams often do seem wonderfully vivid when you first wake up. You feel quite sure they're true."

"I was having quite a different sort of dream about a flower show and the vicar's wife in a bathing dress, something like that." Mrs. Bantry jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains. The light of a fine autumn day flooded the room. "I did not dream it," said Mrs. Bantry firmly. "Get up at once, Arthur, and go downstairs and see about it."

"You want me to go downstairs and ask if there's a body in the library? I shall look a fool."

"You needn't ask anything," said Mrs. Bantry. "If there is a body and of course it's just possible that Mary's gone mad and thinks she sees things that aren't there well, somebody will tell you soon enough. You won't have to say a word."

Grumbling, Colonel Bantry wrapped himself in his dressing gown and left the room. He went along the passage and down the staircase. At the foot of it was a little knot of huddled servants; some of them were sobbing. The butler stepped forward impressively. "I'm glad you have come, sir. I have directed that nothing should be done until you came. Will it be in order for me to ring up the police, sir?"

"Ring 'em up about what?"

The butler cast a reproachful glance over his shoulder at the tall young woman who was weeping hysterically on the cook's shoulder. "I understood, sir, that Mary had already informed you. She said she had done so."

Mary gasped out, "I was so upset, I don't know what I said! It all came over me again and my legs gave way and my insides turned over! Finding it like that. Oh, oh, oh!"