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    At Bertram's Hotel: A Miss Marple Mystery
    At Bertram's Hotel: A Miss Marple Mystery
    At Bertram's Hotel: A Miss Marple Mystery
    Ebook273 pages4 hours

    At Bertram's Hotel: A Miss Marple Mystery

    By Agatha Christie

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    At Bertram’s Hotel the intrepid Miss Marple, on holiday in London, must solve a deadly mystery at the end of a chain of very violent events.

    An old-fashioned London hotel is not quite as reputable as it makes out to be.…

    When Miss Marple comes up from the country for a holiday in London, she finds what she’s looking for at Bertram’s Hotel: traditional decor, impeccable service, and an unmistakable atmosphere of danger behind the highly-polished veneer.

    Yet, not even Miss Marple can foresee the violent chain of events set in motion when an eccentric guest makes his way to the airport on the wrong day.…

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 28, 2003
    ISBN9780061760167
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English with another billion in over 70 foreign languages. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. She is the author of 80 crime novels and short story collections, 20 plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.

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    Reviews for At Bertram's Hotel

    4/5

    44 ratings27 reviews

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    • 4/5
      I first read this one way back in junior high school (in the *cough* 1970s), and I remember being quite puzzled about several aspects of it. I didn't really understand how hotels worked, for one thing, or what it meant to seem Edwardian, or what trains carried that made them so tempting to robbers (the Irish Mail Express? Why would thieves want to steal other people's mail?). And I didn't really appreciate Miss Marple, at least not the way I do now as I near the end of my chronological reading of the series. I'll be sorry to see the old pussy go. I've enjoyed getting to know her again and better. I can't help wishing that Christie had written more Marples and fewer Poirots, but such is life.
    • 3/5
      This is about the 5th or 6th Agatha Christie book that I've read in a row. Whole I found the plot to this book captivating, I was frustrated that the ending answered as many questions as it opened up, thus was left feeling unsatisfied. I also find that reading AC books sometimes feels (to me) like I'm reading a play. The characters are 2-dimensional and I don't really connect.
    • 2/5
      Just okay - I am not a mystery fan.
    • 4/5
      Jane Marple is traditionally based in the village of St .Mary Mead, but this case involves an extremely respectable London hotel, catering to nice old ladies and Anglican clergy.
    • 5/5
      I figured out some of the little mysteries, but the biggest plot twist ended up being a complete surprise. I love Christie and her Miss Marple character is so aware of things.
    • 4/5
      “I learned (what I suppose I really knew already) that one can never go back, that one should not ever try to go back—that the essence of life is going forward. Life is really a One Way Street, isn’t it?”

      I put a spoiler warning on this post not so much because I will discuss the details of the plot but because I will discuss some of the characters in a way that will give away much of the conclusion. If you are planning to read the book, don't read any further. You have been warned.

      At Bertram's Hotel is one of Dame Agatha's less outrageous novels starring Miss Marple. There is not a lot of action in this story but there is a lot of interaction between the characters which eventually leads to the highlight of the plot. So, in a way this book starts at the end and works towards the crime. It certainly would not be a Marple story if there was no crime.

      As mentioned, I will not go into the details of the plot and contain my observation to the following:

      1. This was one of the best Marple stories I have read. The characters were detailed and life-like and Marple did not interfere too much with the goings on at Bertram's. The structure of the book was great in that it was a mystery, but not the usual who-dunnit. I.e. Christie delivered a story that was built on the mere suggestion that something was wrong, but the actual crime was a result of the interaction of the characters, whereas usually the crime precedes this.

      2. I really don't like Miss Marple. Really. Can't stand her.

      3. I'm still perplexed as to how Christie's books get away with some of the most patronising, misogynist, xenophobic, judgmental attitudes without getting much more flak for it.

      So, here's my main problem: The characters are mostly stereotypical. This would be fine as I'm used to Dame Agatha's casting by now, but then you get the division between the British characters, the Americans, the Irish, and the rest of the world.

      The British ones are all straight-laced, except for one or two, but even these are described and treated respectfully.

      The American ones are described as curiosities and are slightly mocked for their being tourists in London and for being fascinated by the quaint English things around them.

      The Irish one, a decorated veteran, is a lovable rogue but also a blackmailer.

      And then there is the French-Polish-Italian racing driver, who is described as someone who looks like he is up to no good and undoubtedly will be trouble to all involved with him, even though there is little to evidence this. It is purely Miss Marple's impression that he is a most unsuitable young man.

      Despite the stereotyping, Bertram's Hotel is full of fabulous characters. One of my favourites - and probably one of my favourite Christie characters - is Bess Sedgwick.

      "Bess Sedgwick was a name that everyone in England knew. For over thirty years now, Bess Sedgwick had been reported by the Press as doing this or that outrageous or extraordinary thing. For a good part of the war she had been a member of the French Resistance, and was said to have six notches on her gun representing dead Germans. She had flown solo across the Atlantic years ago, had ridden on horseback across Europe, and fetched up at Lake Van. She had driven racing cars, had once saved two children from a burning house, had several marriages to her credit and discredit and was said to be second-best dressed woman in Europe. It was also said that she had successfully smuggled herself aboard a nuclear submarine on its test voyage..."

      I rooted for Bess all the way through the book. So, reading the ending was a huge let down. Not only in the way the story ended but also in the way that Marple, or is it Christie, at one point described Bess a "nymphomaniac" even though she wrote to say that Marple would not call her that, but would call her a woman who "is too fond of men".

      And the Miss Marple's counter-part, who is just as sanctimonious as Marple, describes Bess as "wild" and destined for ruin because she will not submit to society.

      I was already raging at this point when Marple finished it off with this:

      “Yes,” said Miss Marple. “The children of Lucifer are often beautiful—And as we know, they flourish like the green bay tree.”

      Oh, get lost, Marple.

      The part that eludes me is that Dame Agatha seemed to be rather progressive for her time. There were a lot of turns in her autobiography that I would not have expected. The last thing I expected was for Christie to describe a woman as "wild" just because she was fond of racing cars, sports, and adventures, because if this truly was Christie's attitude, then she herself was beyond redemption.

      So, what I am taking forward to the next Christie book is that her characters may have standards and values that are consistent within the characters (and the social mores of the time) but are not necessarily consistent with the values of the author. I'm told that this is something that can happen.
    • 4/5
      I have seen the TV versions of the novel several times and in fact did wonder whether it was worth my while reading the book, it being next in my list for the Agatha Christie Reading Challenge.I hadn't realised how much the story had been modified for television, with characters left out, and others inserted. There are a number of plot changes.The main import of the novel is that nothing at Bertram's Hotel in 1955 is as its seems: all is a facade, from the appearance of the hotel, to the people who visit it, to the people who run it. Miss Marple realises that it is a mistake to try to step back to pre-war days. In fact the Bertram's Hotel she remembers is much older than that, a memory from her childhood.The story also illustrates Agatha Christie's conviction of the prevalence of organised crime rings that underpinned facades of normality. The police inspector who carries out the investigation into Bertram's shady dealings and the disappearance of Canon Pennyfather is an avuncular old chap who has seen it all, but he is not the same as the bouncing lad of the television production. Nor is there the romantic element that TV gave us for public consumption.I don't think Miss Marple comes out of thebook particularly well - Christie portrays her as an old busybody who eavesdrops on people's conversations when she can. On the other hand she does recognise evil when she sees it and she demonstrates an understanding of the foibles of the elderly. For example she knows that Canon Pennyfather had mistaken the day he should be flying to Lucerne, and when he returns to Bertram's Hotel, she instantly knows he is not the person she saw descending the stairs at 3 am.So an interesting read. Perhaps not Christie's best.
    • 3/5
      This is very different from anything I've read by Christie. It's out there in terms of scope of the plot and the investigation is a lot of police procedural with a tiny bit of detection thrown in. However, it's still a book I couldn't put down as usual with the author. You can feel the end is near though as many characters comment on how much society has changed, even down to the outing of the ritual of afternoon tea. I didn't love At Bertram's Hotel but it did manage to entertain me more than most books.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this particular story very much. Not the most imaginative beginning to a review but that's the first thing I wanted to say! Gone here, are the orderly presentations of suspects. Mrs Agatha Christie here departs from her usual structure-although the style is as sterling as ever- and I can't for the life of me imagine who was she copying with such a fearless endeavor.While reading the bits where Miss Marple appears, I was regretting that she doesn't exist-she is a relic as much as the Hotel Bertram itself was. Pardon the irrelevancy, but I'd be interested in reading even a fan fiction of her, regardless of genre or quality! Miss Marple is witness to 2 or 3 crucial occurrences that propel Inspector Davy (Father) to fulfill the completion of bringing a criminal gang to justice, to stop an entire organisation in its tracks. But Miss Marple herself never takes center stage, she is a glorified witness, who understands what she sees. Very different beast, this book is.I like old fashioned detective stories most when the motive for the murder is money. Thankfully here this is the case. But the murderer needs the money for her lover. This was, I think, an unnecessary addition. It makes the dated(in a good way) scenery more theatrical, and that is not so good. Take Lady Sedgwick, one of the main suspects, she doesn't to me, come across as a believable person. The way she exits the story is laughable and not convincing, plus it's oh so melodramatic. I felt nothing for her. I couldn't view her as a believable adventuress, mother, or mastermind. But maybe that's just me. I kept my focus throughout this book. No part of it was tedious because you felt that bits of the puzzle would ultimately come together. And the revelations, interceded between blurbs of Lady Sedgewick, kept coming till the very end.
    • 3/5
      This one was quite nice. I loved the description of the hotel -- it's really really vivid: I could imagine it perfectly. It was a bit slow to kick off, in terms of action, though, and Miss Marple wasn't terribly central. I wasn't sure what the real point was going to be; it didn't seem as neatly tied together as I would like. I did enjoy it, though, and the last few pages were really rather good.
    • 3/5
      Miss Jane Marple takes a two week holiday at Bertram’s Hotel, of which she has fond childhood memories. So! At Bertram's Hotel, Agatha ChristieIt’s 1965 and Bertram’s hasn’t changed since King Edward V’s time. And that, dear reader, is part of the mystery. Although the hotel seems charming at first, it takes on a sinister face. There’s a great cast of vintage Christie characters, but Jane Marple plays only a peripheral part in the whole investigation.Read this if: you’d like to see Christie acknowledge the modern world encroaching on her country-house-cozy formula that was successful and more or less unchanged for decades. 3 stars
    • 2/5
      Not my favorite Miss Marple - probably because she is hardly in the book. It seems like Agatha Christie had a great idea for a murder mystery and added Miss Marple as an afterthought.
    • 4/5
      Classic Ms. Marple -- what's not to love?
    • 4/5
      A quiet select hotel with an excellent Mayfair location, Bertram’s Hotel has been in business for many years. It’s like a small slice of Edwardian London and it’s appeal is growing among American tourists as well as the older clientele that it has been serving for generations. Offering the perfect English tea, glowing coal fires, quiet studies, and impeccable staff, Bertram’s seems too good to be true.Miss Jane Marple is enjoying her stay at Bertram‘s, as usual she sits quietly in a corner, knitting and sipping her tea and observing all the comings and goings. Yes, things aren’t all what they seem at this exclusive hotel. From a missing clergyman, to a young impressionable heiress, and a flamboyant woman who lives her life on the gossip pages, Miss Marple has a lot to ponder upon.Another excellent Agatha Christie mystery story where the mystery isn’t nearly as important as the atmosphere or the characters. I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Bertram's Hotel.
    • 4/5
      It is perhaps rather surprising that I have previously had such little contact with Agatha Christie. She is apparently the most published author of all time and in any language (excepting Shakespeare and the Bible) and I am an avid reader with a particular tendency towards crime writing. Yet, apart from reading ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ in my teens, I had avoided reading her – not consciously, but more through a lack of genuine interest. However, I always vaguely intended to read her one day and, when she turned out to be this month’s crime writer for my reading group, I was rather pleased. Why is this writer so popular? I looked forward to finding out. Would I be disappointed? (After all, Jodi Picoult’s books are hugely *popular*; it doesn’t mean that I enjoy reading them. And I still refuse to even begin Harry Potter.) I was given one of her Miss Marple books and soon settled down to read it.Bertram’s Hotel…is rather unusual. Miss Marple, apparently enjoying a few days away to relax after her last sleuthing escapade, is pleased to be able to experience life in the respectable London hotel as she did sixty years previously as a mere girl, but soon feels something isn’t quite right. Why does an old acquaintance, Selina Hazy, think she sees so many familiar faces who turn out, on closer inspection, not to be familiar at all? How is the hotel able to survive with so many guests on a pension? And where do they get such fabulous staff from? Initially these questions, voiced by various characters, seem almost irrelevant, but as the plot develops they all develop a sharp pertinence.The opening, as you might have guessed from the above questions, is rather slow and yet somehow I feel as if I’m doing the story a disservice by noting it. The pace is certainly gentle, but it wasn’t irritating (and I’m the first to become impatient when I feel writers are dragging things out). The opening chapters felt like I was being gathered into the life of the hotel and its characters. Gradually, the relationships between the characters begin to develop a clearer shape and they become convincing (if perhaps rather one-dimensional) people. This may sound dull and I agree that it wasn’t compelling, but the interesting setting and the clear sense of time and place meant that I felt sufficiently engaged to keep reading. I was never bored.Interestingly, the ‘action’ seems to start rather a long way through the story (although there is a robbery very early on that is dealt with in one short chapter). A forgetful man disappears. At first, no one is worried; Canon Pennyfather is the sort of chap who stands in the Church and tries to remember whether he has just given the service or is about to do so. Indeed, his worried Housekeeper soon realises that he had tried to go to the airport to catch a flight on the wrong day. But where did he go after that? After three days with no word, it seems something serious has occurred… Even then, this disappearance seems a rather slight premise for a crime novel.And yet, by the end, when all the threads of the story came together, I realised that important things had been simmering and happening all along. I felt a real sense of satisfaction on reaching the end of the novel. There were suitably sedate twists and turns, a rather old fashioned denouement and a good level of explanation. Some readers might find the plotting a little too contrived but I really liked the way everything came together at the end.Miss MarpleWhat really surprised me was Miss Marple’s involvement in the mystery. I had understood that she was an amateur sleuth who often embarrassed local police officers by using her insight into human nature to make connections that they had missed. However, in this story she really does seem to be little more than a nosy old woman who happens to overhear and see a few intriguing incidents. The real detective is, well, the detective. Chief-Inspector Davey, to be precise (who is rather bizarrely known to other officers at Scotland Yard as ‘father’). Davey knowledgeably puts pieces of the puzzle side by side before anyone else even realises they are part of a puzzle and Miss Marple’s role is reduced almost to a Watson-esque position: she notices things but the great man puts them together.I found this slightly disappointing, simply because it wasn’t what I’d expected. I think this may be atypical of books featuring Miss Marple but do not know for certain. However, it was interesting to follow Davey’s insights and often gently amusing to read of their conversations. Take the following:“[Miss Marple reveals an important detail about the victim to ‘Father’. He repeats this, rather stunned at the revelation.]‘Yes,’ said Miss Marple and added: ‘I thought it was odd at the time.’Father looked at her for some moments.‘Miss Marple,’ he said, ‘why haven’t you told anyone this before?’‘Nobody asked me,’ said Miss Marple simply.”I found the idea of the respected detective being momentarily flummoxed by an elderly lady (and her age is really emphasised in this story) mildly entertaining. Although Miss Marple did not take the leading role, the narrative often follows her actions and the way the mystery was resolved was focused on an understanding of people and their nature, rather than simply physical clues, so I think it was typical of the series in that respect.Final thoughtsI found this quietly enjoyable. While it wasn’t a compelling read, I liked the book more because it didn’t depend upon shocking cliffhangers and terribly detailed descriptions of violence. It all felt rather genteel (there is one moment near the end which seems rather shockingly underemphasised). I liked the sense that I had entered into another world, and not just because of the inevitable difference in social attitudes which naturally permeate a book written in 1965. The hotel and its characters were convincingly created and there was sufficient mystery to engage and keep my interest. I felt the ending was satisfying though some readers might find the style and complexity slightly irritating. I would certainly read another book by Agatha Christie and would recommend this to anyone who enjoys the kind of crime writing that focuses on motives and personalities rather than forensics and embittered, lonely detectives.This edition is a nice size to hold for reading and, at £6.99 RRP, seems reasonably priced for 320 pages, especially since one could happily reread this and enjoy noticing all the clues one may not have really focused on the first time round. That said, I’m sure it could be found much cheaper second-hand or even just online. (My copy belongs to my lovely local library!) I also liked the way the Miss Marple books were listed discreetly and chronologically on the back next to the blurb and the title of this book was printed in red. A fan of Christie could create a very nice set using these, despite the rather depressing shade of green chosen for the cover of this one.
    • 1/5
      I'm a fan of Christie's work, but I really can't recommend this. It's almost incorrect to call this a Marple mystery, since she features in it so little, and is hardly involved in the solving of the mystery at all, a solution in which I found myself completely uninterested. Dull.
    • 4/5
      Bertram's, a central London hotel, attracts a wealthy and staid clientele. It specializes in creating an old-world ambiance for those who want to relive days past. But not all is right at the hotel, which Miss Marple discovers when she spends a holiday in its quarters. What exactly is amiss in the hotel is unraveled over the course of the book. This book was somewhat different from the other Christies I've read. Most begin with a murder, and the rest of the book is spent sorting out whodunit. When I'd reached the halfway point of this book, I realized that no one had died yet; quite unusual for Christie. Instead, much of Miss Marple's time is spent trying to determine what, if anything is wrong. Several parallel story lines converge by the end of the book at Bertram's. The unique format makes a nice diversion for the Christie fan, though I don't think that this is one of her best, it is still solid.
    • 4/5
      At Bertram's Hotel is an interesting story but lacks in the mystery department. I can see why it isn't overly popular compared to others. It's actually more of a tale about the hotel than an actual murder mystery.
    • 4/5
      Bertram’s Hotel is located in London’s fashionable West End; Mayfair to be precise. A stay at Bertram’s is like a visit to the past; Late Victorian England to be precise. Miss Marple arrives for a two-week visit and indulges (to a surprising degree) in nostalgic trips around London to the places of her girlhood (many of which are no longer extant). Bertram’s is pricey, clearly beyond Marple’s meager pocketbook, but her niece picks up the tab. When her niece initially suggests a stay at Bournemouth (an old resort town on the south coast), Marple characteristically rejects that sleepy destination and states her preference for a trip to the capital instead.Anyway, something isn’t quite right about Bertram’s. It’s too good to be true in its defiance of the march of time and progress. Of course, while Marple is thinking that something is fishy, the reader gets to indulge in Christie’s descriptions of a bygone time and place. And Christie populates her tale with charming stock characters, such as the forgetful cleric and the out-of-touch uncle. Marple is right about Bertram’s, of course, and in the end we find out what is really behind the place. Christie acknowledges that time marches on, while simultaneously juxtaposing the old values with the new much to the detriment of the new. The yearning for the past is no surprise and certainly no impediment to enjoying the story. The biggest problem I have with this story is the insufficient amounts of Marple. She resides in the periphery of the story until about the last fifth of the book when she helps the old chief inspector (known as ‘Father’) solve the crime. Jane and Father don’t like all the changes in society, but are flinty-eyed realists. Not bad, but not first rate Christie.
    • 3/5
      I had watched the BBC version of At Bertram's Hotel before I read the book, so I already knew who did it at the beginning of the book. The story and characters are different enough that most of it was new to me. However, I did not like the characters as much as I did in the BBC version. I also felt that the ending of the story was too abrupt.
    • 4/5
      All is not as it seems…Agatha Christie mysteries always provide an intriguing cast of characters that are so lively, you can picture them sitting across the table from you. The sense of place is another wonderful feature of these novels, and nowhere is that more pronounced and remarkable than in this book – At Bertram’s Hotel.I found this to be a different kind of mystery with some interesting characteristics. The book certainly held my interest, but surprisingly not because of the plot, which I find okay. For me, this was a slower, more disjointed, and meandering plot and mystery. There are a number of places where I thought the story could have been tightened up and better focused, but it is a charming one still. What really struck me and has stayed with me is the sense of place. Bertram’s Hotel is an enigma – a place out of time. As the world has sped up and sped by, it is an oasis of old-fashioned traditions and values. It is remarkably unchanged and has become a popular spot for those people, now elderly, who knew it from years gone by, as well as tourists seeking a taste of authentic and original London. However, as we all know, time touches on everything. Bertram’s Hotel may seem unchanged on the surface, but as you peel away the layers, and peer behind the veil as it were, all is not as it once was. To remain a place suspended out of time, other things must change, and change they have. There is the core of the mystery of this book.Only through the keen observation of Miss Marple, her notice of the minutest of details, do we get to uncover what is really going At Bertam’s Hotel. There are very sinister goings-on, but there is also a larger social and societal shift underway, one that left me with a distinct melancholy for what is sometimes lost to time, and a sadness that we cannot stop it from happening. A thought-provoking and worthy read.Rai Aren, co-author of Secret of the Sands
    • 3/5
      I've always had a special place in my heart for Agatha Christie, despite not actually reading many of her books. In fact, I don't think I've read one since elementary school. There's just something about her stories that are classic. I listened to this one, and it was more a radio play than a straight reading, which just made it even more sweet and quaint somehow. There's a very Scooby-Doo like explanation of the events at the end, but it works.
    • 5/5
      This is one of my favourite Christie novels. Miss Marple's nephew has paid for her to spend a couple of weeks at her favourite London hotel Bertram's, which has remained marvellously unchanged despite the passing years and the always on the ball Miss Marple, who is enjoying her nostaligic journey wonders why and how this has been achieved. As always Miss Marple's curiosity and interest in others gets her involved in the emotional entanglements of others which inevitably lead to murder.
    • 3/5
      Nice standard Aggie - read it to remind myself of the actual story after watching and entertaining piece of fluff on the TV which had many of the same characters, a hotel called Bertrams and an almost completely different plot! But all the Miss Marple recent TV dramas muck up the plots - perhaps the dears in the script department think we can't cope with the originals - how patronising!
    • 3/5
      A luxurious London hotel serves as the backdrop for a tale of high crime.This book begins very well and has atmosphere aplenty. Christie has suceeded in capturing the feel of this place and the moods of those who inhabit it. Unfortunately, the plotting doesn't quite live up to the rest of it. To my mind, Christie's best work deals with smaller, personal crimes. Stories such as this one, which deals with a series of heists, usually fall flat. At Bertram's Hotel is no exception. All the ingredients are there, but they just don't come together as well as one might hope.This isn't a bad novel by any means, but it's far from essential Christie.
    • 3/5
      This is a lively romp of a mystery involving guests at a luxurious hotel. Only every one has his or her little secrets. Of course, these are not too opaque for Miss Marple to see through. It is not a remarkable book; but if you enjoy Agatha Cristie, then by all means read this one too.
    • 4/5
      One of Christie's later works, At Bertram's Hotel is more an elegy for an age of lost elegance and social order than an actual murder mystery. Christie never really got comfortable with the 1960s, and this uneasiness stands out here on every page. Miss Marple goes to stay in the eponymous hotel, and although it's a carefully-preserved Edwardian dream, she soon realizes it's too good to be true. This is a poor effort in terms of plot intricacies or twists, but it remains one of my favorite Christies for its reminiscing on a world long lost.

    Book preview

    At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie

    Chapter One

    In the heart of the West End, there are many quiet pockets, unknown to almost all but taxi drivers who traverse them with expert knowledge, and arrive triumphantly thereby at Park Lane, Berkeley Square or South Audley Street.

    If you turn off on an unpretentious street from the Park, and turn left and right once or twice, you will find yourself in a quiet street with Bertram’s Hotel on the right-hand side. Bertram’s Hotel has been there a long time. During the war, houses were demolished on the right of it, and a little farther down on the left of it, but Bertram’s itself remained unscathed. Naturally it could not escape being, as house agents would say, scratched, bruised and marked, but by the expenditure of only a reasonable amount of money it was restored to its original condition. By 1955 it looked precisely as it had looked in 1939—dignified, unostentatious, and quietly expensive.

    Such was Bertram’s, patronized over a long stretch of years by the higher échelons of the clergy, dowager ladies of the aristocracy up from the country, girls on their way home for the holidays from expensive finishing schools. ("So few places where a girl can stay alone in London but of course it is quite all right at Bertram’s. We have stayed there for years.")

    There had, of course, been many other hotels on the model of Bertram’s. Some still existed, but nearly all had felt the wind of change. They had had necessarily to modernize themselves, to cater for a different clientele. Bertram’s, too, had had to change, but it had been done so cleverly that it was not at all apparent at the first casual glance.

    Outside the steps that led up to the big swing doors stood what at first sight appeared to be no less than a Field Marshal. Gold braid and medal ribbons adorned a broad and manly chest. His deportment was perfect. He received you with tender concern as you emerged with rheumatic difficulty from a taxi or a car, guided you carefully up the steps and piloted you through the silently swinging doorway.

    Inside, if this was the first time you had visited Bertram’s, you felt, almost with alarm, that you had reentered a vanished world. Time had gone back. You were in Edwardian England once more.

    There was, of course, central heating, but it was not apparent. As there had always been, in the big central lounge, there were two magnificent coal fires; beside them big brass coal scuttles shone in the way they used to shine when Edwardian housemaids polished them, and they were filled with exactly the rightsized lumps of coal. There was a general appearance of rich red velvet and plushy cosiness. The armchairs were not of this time and age. They were well above the level of the floor, so that rheumatic old ladies had not to struggle in an undignified manner in order to get to their feet. The seats of the chairs did not, as in so many modern high-priced armchairs, stop halfway between the thigh and the knee, thereby inflicting agony on those suffering from arthritis and sciatica; and they were not all of a pattern. There were straight backs and reclining backs, different widths to accommodate the slender and the obese. People of almost any dimension could find a comfortable chair at Bertram’s.

    Since it was now the tea hour, the lounge hall was full. Not that the lounge hall was the only place where you could have tea. There was a drawing room (chintz), a smoking room (by some hidden influence reserved for gentlemen only), where the vast chairs were of fine leather, two writing rooms, where you could take a special friend and have a cosy little gossip in a quiet corner—and even write a letter as well if you wanted to. Besides these amenities of the Edwardian age, there were other retreats, not in anyway publicized, but known to those who wanted them. There was a double bar, with two bar attendants, an American barman to make the Americans feel at home and to provide them with bourbon, rye, and every kind of cocktail, and an English one to deal with sherries and Pimm’s No. 1, and to talk knowledgeably about the runners at Ascot and Newbury to the middle-aged men who stayed at Bertram’s for the more serious race meetings. There was also, tucked down a passage, in a secretive way, a television room for those who asked for it.

    But the big entrance lounge was the favourite place for the afternoon tea drinking. The elderly ladies enjoyed seeing who came in and out, recognizing old friends, and commenting unfavourably on how these had aged. There were also American visitors fascinated by seeing the titled English really getting down to their traditional afternoon tea. For afternoon tea was quite a feature of Bertram’s.

    It was nothing less than splendid. Presiding over the ritual was Henry, a large and magnificent figure, a ripe fifty, avuncular, sympathetic, and with the courtly manners of that long vanished species: the perfect butler. Slim youths performed the actual work under Henry’s austere direction. There were large crested silver trays, and Georgian silver teapots. The china, if not actually Rockingham and Davenport, looked like it. The Blind Earl services were particular favourites. The tea was the best Indian, Ceylon, Darjeeling, Lapsang, etc. As for eatables, you could ask for anything you liked—and get it!

    On this particular day, November the 17th, Lady Selina Hazy, sixty-five, up from Leicestershire, was eating delicious well-buttered muffins with all an elderly lady’s relish.

    Her absorption with muffins, however, was not so great that she failed to look up sharply every time the inner pair of swing doors opened to admit a newcomer.

    So it was that she smiled and nodded to welcome Colonel Luscombe—erect, soldierly, race glasses hanging round his neck. Like the old autocrat that she was, she beckoned imperiously and, in a minute or two, Luscombe came over to her.

    Hallo, Selina, what brings you up to Town?

    Dentist, said Lady Selina, rather indistinctly, owing to muffin. "And I thought as I was up, I might as well go and see that man in Harley Street about my arthritis. You know who I mean."

    Although Harley Street contained several hundreds of fashionable practitioners for all and every ailment, Luscombe did know whom she meant.

    Do you any good? he asked.

    I rather think he did, said Lady Selina grudgingly. Extraordinary fellow. Took me by the neck when I wasn’t expecting it, and wrung it like a chicken. She moved her neck gingerly.

    Hurt you?

    It must have done, twisting it like that, but really I hadn’t time to know. She continued to move her neck gingerly. Feels all right. Can look over my right shoulder for the first time in years.

    She put this to a practical test and exclaimed, Why I do believe that’s old Jane Marple. Thought she was dead years ago. Looks a hundred.

    Colonel Luscombe threw a glance in the direction of Jane Marple thus resurrected, but without much interest: Bertram’s always had a sprinkling of what he called fluffy old dears.

    Lady Selina was continuing.

    "Only place in London you can still get muffins. Real muffins. Do you know when I went to America last year they had something called muffins on the breakfast menu. Not real muffins at all. Kind of teacake with raisins in them. I mean, why call them muffins?"

    She pushed in the last buttery morsel and looked round vaguely. Henry materialized immediately. Not quickly or hurriedly. It seemed that, just suddenly, he was there.

    Anything further I can get you, my lady? Cake of any kind?

    Cake? Lady Selina thought about it, was doubtful.

    We are serving very good seed cake, my lady. I can recommend it.

    "Seed cake? I haven’t eaten seed cake for years. It is real seed cake?"

    Oh, yes, my lady. The cook has had the recipe for years. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.

    Henry gave a glance at one of his retinue, and the lad departed in search of seed cake.

    I suppose you’ve been at Newbury, Derek?

    Yes. Darned cold, I didn’t wait for the last two races. Disastrous day. That filly of Harry’s was no good at all.

    Didn’t think she would be. What about Swanhilda?

    Finished fourth. Luscombe rose. Got to see about my room.

    He walked across the lounge to the reception desk. As he went he noted the tables and their occupants. Astonishing number of people having tea here. Quite like old days. Tea as a meal had rather gone out of fashion since the war. But evidently not at Bertram’s. Who were all these people? Two Canons and the Dean of Chislehampton. Yes, and another pair of gaitered legs over in the corner, a Bishop, no less! Mere Vicars were scarce. Have to be at least a Canon to afford Bertram’s, he thought. The rank and file of the clergy certainly couldn’t, poor devils. As far as that went, he wondered how on earth people like old Selina Hazy could. She’d only got twopence or so a year to bless herself with. And there was old Lady Berry, and Mrs. Posselthwaite from Somerset, and Sybil Kerr—all poor as church mice.

    Still thinking about this he arrived at the desk and was pleasantly greeted by Miss Gorringe the receptionist. Miss Gorringe was an old friend. She knew every one of the clientele and, like Royalty, never forgot a face. She looked frumpy but respectable. Frizzled yellowish hair (old-fashioned tongs, it suggested), black silk dress, a high bosom on which reposed a large gold locket and a cameo brooch.

    Number fourteen, said Miss Gorringe. I think you had fourteen last time, Colonel Luscombe, and liked it. It’s quiet.

    How you always manage to remember these things, I can’t imagine, Miss Gorringe.

    We like to make our old friends comfortable.

    Takes me back a long way, coming in here. Nothing seems to have changed.

    He broke off as Mr. Humfries came out from an inner sanctum to greet him.

    Mr. Humfries was often taken by the uninitiated to be Mr. Bertram in person. Who the actual Mr. Bertram was, or indeed, if there ever had been a Mr. Bertram was now lost in the mists of antiquity. Bertram’s had existed since about 1840, but nobody had taken any interest in tracing its past history. It was just there, solid, in fact. When addressed as Mr. Bertram, Mr. Humfries never corrected the impression. If they wanted him to be Mr. Bertram he would be Mr. Bertram. Colonel Luscombe knew his name, though he didn’t know if Humfries was the manager or the owner. He rather fancied the latter.

    Mr. Humfries was a man of about fifty. He had very good manners, and the presence of a Junior Minister. He could, at any moment, be all things to all people. He could talk racing shop, cricket, foreign politics, tell anecdotes of Royalty, give Motor Show information, knew the most interesting plays on at present—advise on places Americans ought really to see in England however short their stay. He had knowledgeable information about where it would suit persons of all incomes and tastes to dine. With all this, he did not make himself too cheap. He was not on tap all the time. Miss Gorringe had all the same facts at her fingertips and could retail them efficiently. At brief intervals Mr. Humfries, like the sun, made his appearance above the horizon and flattered someone by his personal attention.

    This time it was Colonel Luscombe who was so honoured. They exchanged a few racing platitudes, but Colonel Luscombe was absorbed by his problem. And here was the man who could give him the answer.

    Tell me, Humfries, how do all these old dears manage to come and stay here?

    Oh you’ve been wondering about that? Mr. Humfries seemed amused. Well, the answer’s simple. They couldn’t afford it. Unless—

    He paused.

    Unless you make special prices for them? Is that it?

    "More or less. They don’t know, usually, that they are special prices, or if they do realize it, they think it’s because they’re old customers."

    And it isn’t just that?

    "Well, Colonel Luscombe, I am running a hotel. I couldn’t afford actually to lose money."

    But how can that pay you?

    "It’s a question of atmosphere…Strangers coming to this country (Americans, in particular, because they are the ones who have the money) have their own rather queer ideas of what England is like. I’m not talking, you understand, of the rich business tycoons who are always crossing the Atlantic. They usually go to the Savoy or the Dorchester. They want modern décor, American food, all the things that will make them feel at home. But there are a lot of people who come abroad at rare intervals and who expect this country to be—well, I won’t go back as far as Dickens, but they’ve read Cranford and Henry James, and they don’t want to find this country just the same as their own! So they go back home afterwards and say: ‘There’s a wonderful place in London; Bertram’s Hotel, it’s called. It’s just like stepping back a hundred years. It just is old England! And the people who stay there! People you’d never come across anywhere else. Wonderful old Duchesses. They serve all the old English dishes, there’s a marvellous old-fashioned beefsteak pudding! You’ve never tasted anything like it; and great sirloins of beef and saddles of mutton, and an old-fashioned English tea and a wonderful English breakfast. And of course all the usual things as well. And it’s wonderfully comfortable. And warm. Great log fires.’"

    Mr. Humfries ceased his impersonation and permitted himself something nearly approaching a grin.

    I see, said Luscombe thoughtfully. "These people; decayed aristocrats, impoverished members of the old County families, they are all so much mise en scène?"

    Mr. Humfries nodded agreement.

    I really wonder no one else has thought of it. Of course I found Bertram’s ready-made, so to speak. All it needed was some rather expensive restoration. All the people who come here think it’s something that they’ve discovered for themselves, that no one else knows about.

    I suppose, said Luscombe, "that the restoration was quite expensive?"

    "Oh yes. The place has got to look Edwardian, but it’s got to have the modern comforts that we take for granted in these days. Our old dears—if you will forgive me referring to them as that—have got to feel that nothing has changed since the turn of the century, and our travelling clients have got to feel they can have period surroundings, and still have what they are used to having at home, and can’t really live without!"

    Bit difficult sometimes? suggested Luscombe.

    Not really. Take central heating for instance. Americans require—need, I should say—at least ten degrees Fahrenheit higher than English people do. We actually have two quite different sets of bedrooms. The English we put in one lot, the Americans in the other. The rooms all look alike, but they are full of actual differences—electric razors, and showers as well as tubs in some of the bathrooms, and if you want an American breakfast, it’s there—cereals and iced orange juice and all—or if you prefer you can have the English breakfast.

    Eggs and bacon?

    As you say—but a good deal more than that if you want it. Kippers, kidneys and bacon, cold grouse, York ham. Oxford marmalade.

    I must remember all that tomorrow morning. Don’t get that sort of thing anymore at home.

    Humfries smiled.

    Most gentlemen only ask for eggs and bacon. They’ve—well, they’ve got out of the way of thinking about the things there used to be.

    Yes, yes…I remember when I was a child…Sideboards groaning with hot dishes. Yes, it was a luxurious way of life.

    We endeavour to give people anything they ask for.

    Including seed cake and muffins—yes, I see. To each according to his need—I see…Quite Marxian.

    I beg your pardon?

    Just a thought, Humfries. Extremes meet.

    Colonel Luscombe turned away, taking the key Miss Gorringe offered him. A page boy sprang to attention and conducted him to the lift. He saw in passing that Lady Selina Hazy was now sitting with her friend Jane Something or other.

    Chapter Two

    "And I suppose you’re still living at that dear St. Mary Mead? Lady Selina was asking. Such a sweet unspoilt village. I often think about it. Just the same as ever, I suppose?"

    Well, not quite. Miss Marple reflected on certain aspects of her place of residence. The new Building Estate. The additions to the Village Hall, the altered appearance of the High Street with its up-to-date shop fronts—She sighed. One has to accept change, I suppose.

    Progress, said Lady Selina vaguely. "Though it often seems to me that it isn’t progress. All these smart plumbing fixtures they have nowadays. Every shade of colour and superb what they call ‘finish’—but do any of them really pull? Or push, when they’re that kind. Every time you go to a friend’s house, you find some kind of a notice in the loo—‘Press sharply and release,’ ‘Pull to the left,’ ‘Release quickly.’ But in the old days, one just pulled up a handle any kind of way, and cataracts of water came at once—There’s the dear Bishop of Medmenham, Lady Selina broke off to say, as a handsome, elderly cleric passed by. Practically quite blind, I believe. But such a splendid militant priest."

    A little clerical talk was indulged in, interspersed by lady Selina’s recognition of various friends and acquaintances, many of whom were not the people she thought they were. She and Miss Marple talked a little of old days, though Miss Marple’s upbringing, of course, had been quite different from Lady Selina’s, and their reminiscences were mainly confined to the few years when Lady Selina, a recent widow of severely straitened means, had taken a small house in the village of St. Mary Mead during the time her second son had been stationed at an airfield nearby.

    Do you always stay here when you come up, Jane? Odd I haven’t seen you here before.

    Oh no, indeed. I couldn’t afford to, and anyway, I hardly ever leave home these days. No, it was a very kind niece of mine who thought it would be a treat for me to have a short visit to London. Joan is a very kind girl—at least perhaps hardly a girl. Miss Marple reflected with a qualm that Joan must now be close on fifty. She is a painter, you know. Quite a well-known painter. Joan West. She had an exhibition not long ago.

    Lady Selina had little interest in painters, or indeed in anything artistic. She regarded writers, artists and musicians as a species of clever performing animal; she

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