The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie

Henry listened without interrupting. Both men were accustomed to grasping the gist of a matter. Sir Henry, during his term as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, had been renowned for his quick grip on essentials.
    â€œIt’s an extraordinary business,” he commented when the other had finished. “How do the Bantrys come into it, do you think?”
    â€œThat’s what worries me. You see, Henry, it looks to me as though possibly the fact that I know them might have a bearing on the case. That’s the only connection I can find. Neither of them, I gather, ever saw the girl before. That’s what they say, and there’s no reason to disbelieve them. It’s most unlikely they should know her. Then isn’t it possible that she was decoyed away and her body deliberately left in the house of friends of mine?”
    Clithering said:
    â€œI think that’s far-fetched.”
    â€œIt’s possible, though,” persisted the other.
    â€œYes, but unlikely. What do you want me to do?”
    Conway Jefferson said bitterly:
    â€œI’m an invalid. I disguise the fact—refuse to face it—but now it comes home to me. I can’t go about as I’d like to, asking questions, looking into things. I’ve got to stay here meekly grateful for such scraps of information as the police are kind enough to dole out to me. Do you happen to know Melchett, by the way, the Chief Constable of Radfordshire?”
    â€œYes, I’ve met him.”
    Something stirred in Sir Henry’s brain. A face and figure notedunseeingly as he passed through the lounge. A straight-backed old lady whose face was familiar. It linked up with the last time he had seen Melchett.
    He said:
    â€œDo you mean you want me to be a kind of amateur sleuth? That’s not my line.”
    Jefferson said:
    â€œYou’re not an amateur, that’s just it.”
    â€œI’m not a professional anymore. I’m on the retired list now.”
    Jefferson said: “That simplifies matters.”
    â€œYou mean that if I were still at Scotland Yard I couldn’t butt in? That’s perfectly true.”
    â€œAs it is,” said Jefferson, “your experience qualifies you to take an interest in the case, and any cooperation you offer will be welcomed.”
    Clithering said slowly:
    â€œEtiquette permits, I agree. But what do you really want, Conway? To find out who killed this girl?”
    â€œJust that.”
    â€œYou’ve no idea yourself?”
    â€œNone whatever.”
    Sir Henry said slowly:
    â€œYou probably won’t believe me, but you’ve got an expert at solving mysteries sitting downstairs in the lounge at this minute. Someone who’s better than I am at it, and who in all probability may have some local dope.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œDownstairs in the lounge, by the third pillar from the left,there sits an old lady with a sweet, placid spinsterish face, and a mind that has plumbed the depths of human iniquity and taken it as all in the day’s work. Her name’s Miss Marple. She comes from the village of St. Mary Mead, which is a mile and a half from Gossington, she’s a friend of the Bantrys—and where crime is concerned she’s the goods, Conway.”
    Jefferson stared at him with thick, puckered brows. He said heavily:
    â€œYou’re joking.”
    â€œNo, I’m not. You spoke of Melchett just now. The last time I saw Melchett there was a village tragedy. Girl supposed to have drowned herself. Police quite rightly suspected that it wasn’t suicide, but murder. They thought they knew who did it. Along to me comes old Miss Marple, fluttering and dithering. She’s afraid, she says, they’ll hang the wrong person. She’s got no evidence, but she knows who did do it. Hands me a piece of paper with a name written on it. And, by God, Jefferson, she was right!”
    Conway Jefferson’s brows came