And so-well, so these people didn't look real. But the point was that they were real. Selina Hazy was real. And that rather handsome old military man in the corner was real-she had met him once, although she did not recall his name-and the Bishop (dear Robbie!) was dead.

Miss Marple glanced at her little clock. It was eightthirty. Time for her breakfast.

She examined the instructions given by the hotel- splendid big print so that it wasn't necessary to put one's spectacles on.

Meals could be ordered through the telephone by asking for room service, or you could press the bell labelled Chambermaid.

Miss Marple did the latter. Talking to room service always flustered her.

The result was excellent. In no time at all there was a tap on the door and a highly satisfactory chambermaid appeared. A real chambermaid looking unreal, wearing a striped lavender print dress and actually a cap, a freshly laundered cap. A smiling, rosy, positively countrified face. Where did they find these people?

Miss Marple ordered her breakfast. Tea, poached eggs, fresh rolls. So adept was the chambermaid that she did not even mention cereals or orange juice.

Five minutes later breakfast came. A comfortable tray with a big pot-bellied teapot, creamy-looking milk, a silver hot water jug. Two beautifully poached eggs on toast, poached the proper way, not little round hard bullets shaped in tin cups, a good-sized round of butter stamped with a thistle. Marmalade, honey, and strawberry jam. Delicious-looking rolls, not the hard kind with papery interiors-they smelled of fresh bread (the most delicious smell in the world!). There were also an apple, a pear, and a banana.

Miss Marple inserted a knife gingerly but with confidence. She was not disappointed. Rich deep yellow yolk oozed out, thick and creamy. Proper eggs!

Everything piping hot. A real breakfast. She could have cooked it herself but she hadn't had to! It was brought to her as if-no, not as though she were a queen-as though she were a middle-aged lady staying in a good but not unduly expensive hotel. In fact-back to 1909. Miss Marple expressed appreciation to the chambermaid who replied smiling, "Oh, yes, madam, the chef is very particular about his breakfasts."

Miss Marple studied her appraisingly. Bertram's Hotel could certainly produce marvels. A real housemaid. She pinched her left arm surreptitiously.

"Have you been here long?" she asked.

"Just over three years, madam."

"And before that?"

"I was in a hotel at Eastbourne. Very modern and up-to-date-but I prefer an old-fashioned place like this."

Miss Marple took a sip of tea. She found herself humming in a vague way-words fitting themselves to a long-forgotten song. "Oh, where have you been all my life…"

The chambermaid was looking slightly startled.

"I was just remembering an old song," twittered Miss Marple apologetically. "Very popular at one time."

Again she sang softly. "Oh where have you been all my life…"

"Perhaps you know it?" she asked.

"Well-" The chambermaid looked rather apologetic. "Too long ago for you," said Miss Marple. "Ah well, one gets to remembering things-in a place like this."

"Yes, madam, a lot of the ladies who stay here feel like that, I think."

"It's partly why they come, I expect," said Miss Marple.

The chambermaid went out. She was obviously used to old ladies who twittered and reminisced.

Miss Marple finished her breakfast, and got up in a pleasant leisurely fashion. She had a plan ready made for a delightful morning of shopping. Not too much- to overtire herself. Oxford Street today, perhaps. And tomorrow Knightsbridge. She planned ahead happily.

It was about ten o'clock when she emerged from her room fully equipped: hat, gloves, umbrella-just in case, though it looked fine-handbag-her smartest shopping bag.

The door next but one on the corridor opened sharply and someone looked out. It was Bess Sedgwick. She withdrew back into the room and closed the door sharply.

Miss Marple wondered as she went down the stairs. She preferred the stairs to the elevator first thing in the morning. It limbered her up. Her steps grew slower and slower… she stopped.

As Colonel Luscombe strode along the passage from his room, a door at the top of the stairs opened sharply and Lady Sedgwick spoke to him.

"There you are at last! I've been on the lookout for you-waiting to pounce. Where can we go and talk? This is to say without falling over some old pussy every second."

"Well, really, Bess, I'm not quite sure-I think on the mezzanine floor there's a sort of writing room."

"You'd better come in here. Quick now, before the chambermaid gets peculiar ideas about us."

Rather unwillingly, Colonel Luscombe stepped across the threshold and had the door shut firmly behind him.

"I'd no idea you would be staying here, Bess. I hadn't the faintest idea of it."

"I don't suppose you had."

"I mean-I would never have brought Elvira here. I have got Elvira here, you know?"

"Yes, I saw her with you last night."

"But I really didn't know that you were here. It seemed such an unlikely place for you."

"I don't see why," said Bess Sedgwick coldly. "It's far and away the most comfortable hotel in London. Why shouldn't I stay here?"

"You must understand that I hadn't any idea of… I mean-"

She looked at him and laughed. She was dressed ready to go out in a well-cut dark suit and a shirt of bright emerald green. She looked gay and very much alive. Beside her, Colonel Luscombe looked rather old and faded.

"Darling Derek, don't look so worried. I'm not accusing you of trying to stage a mother and daughter sentimental meeting. It's just one of those things that happen; where people meet each other in unsuspected places. But you must get Elvira out of here, Derek. You must get her out of here at once-today."

"Oh, she's going. I mean, I only brought her here just for a couple of nights. Do a show-that sort of thing. She's going down to the Melfords tomorrow."

"Poor girl, that'll be boring for her."

Luscombe looked at her with concern. "Do you think she will be very bored?"

Bess took pity on him.

"Probably not after duress in Italy. She might even think it wildly thrilling."

Luscombe took his courage in both hands.

"Look here, Bess, I was startled to find you here, but don't you think it-well, you know, it might be meant in a way. I mean that it might be an opportunity-I don't think you really know how-well, how the girl might feel."

"What are you trying to say, Derek?"

"Well, you are her mother, you know."

"Of course I'm her mother. She's my daughter. And what good has that fact ever been to either of us, or ever will be?"

"You can't be sure. I think-I think she feels it."

"What gives you that idea?" said Bess Sedgwick sharply.

"Something she said yesterday. She asked where you were, what you were doing."

Bess Sedgwick walked across the room to the window. She stood there a moment tapping on the pane.

"You're so nice, Derek," she said. "You have such nice ideas. But they don't work, my poor angel. That's what you've got to say to yourself. They don't work and they might be dangerous."

"Oh, come now, Bess. Dangerous?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Dangerous. I'm dangerous. I've always been dangerous."

"When I think of some of the things you've done," said Colonel Luscombe.

"That's my own business," said Bess Sedgwick. "Running into danger has become a kind of habit with me. No, I wouldn't say habit. More an addiction. Like a drug. Like that nice little dollop of heroin addicts have to have every so often to make life seem bright coloured and worth living. Well, that's all right. That's my funeral-or not-as the case may be. I've never taken drugs-never needed them. Danger has been my drug. But people who live as I do can be a source of harm to others. Now don't be an obstinate old fool, Derek. You keep that girl well away from me. I can do her no good. Only harm. If possible, don't even let her know I was staying in the same hotel. Ring up the Melfords and take her down there today. Make some excuse about a sudden emergency-"