Long practice had made Miss Marple quite an adept at dealing with that one. "I don't really feel that I've got sufficient experience to judge. I'm afraid I've led rather a sheltered life."
"And so you should, dear lady, so you should," cried Major Palgrave gallantly. "You've had such a very varied life," went on Miss Marple, determined to make amends for her former pleasurable inattention.
"Not bad," said Major Palgrave, complacently. "Not bad at all." He looked round him appreciatively. "Lovely place, this."
"Yes, indeed," said Miss Marple and was then unable to stop herself going on: "Does anything ever happen here, I wonder?"
Major Palgrave stared. "Oh rather. Plenty of scandals-eh what? Why, I could tell you-" But it wasn't really scandals Miss Marple wanted. Nothing to get your teeth into in scandals nowadays. Just men and women changing partners, and calling attention to it, instead of trying decently to hush it up and be properly ashamed of themselves.
"There was even a murder here a couple of years ago. Man called Harry Western. Made a big splash in the papers. Daresay you remember it."
Miss Marple nodded without enthusiasm. It had not been her kind of murder. It had made a big splash because everyone concerned had been very rich. It had seemed likely enough that Harry Western had shot the Count de Ferrari, his wife's lover, and equally likely that his well-arranged alibi had been bought and paid for. Everyone seemed to have been drunk, and there was a fine scattering of dope addicts. Not really interesting people, thought Miss Marple-although no doubt very spectacular and attractive to look at. But definitely not her cup of tea. "And if you ask me, that wasn't the only murder about that time." He nodded and winked. "I had my suspicions-well-" Miss Marple dropped her ball of wool, and the Major stooped and picked it up for her.