I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived. He looked
haggard, and, I thought, suspicious. Colonel Melchett greeted him with
something approaching cordiality.
"We want to ask you a few questions--here, on the spot," he said.
Lawrence sneered slightly.
"Isn't that a French idea? Reconstruction of the crime?"
"My dear boy," said Colonel Melchett. "Don't take that tone with us.
Are you aware that someone else has also confessed to committing the
crime which you pretend to have committed?"
The effect of these words on Lawrence was painful and immediate.
"S-s-omeone else?" he stammered. "Who--who?"
"Mrs. Protheroe," said Colonel Melchett, watching him.
"Absurd. She never did it. She couldn't have. It's impossible."
Melchett interrupted him.
"Strangely enough, we did not believe her story. Neither, I may say, do
we believe yours. Dr. Haydock says positively that the murder could not
have been committed at the time you say it was."
"Dr. Haydock says that?"
"Yes; so, you see, you are cleared whether you like it or not. And now
we want you to help us, to tell us exactly what occurred."
Lawrence still hesitated.
"You're not deceiving me about--about Mrs. Protheroe? You really don't
suspect her?"
"On my word of honour," said Colonel Melchett.
Lawrence drew a deep breath.
"I've been a fool," he said. "An absolute fool. How I could have
thought for one minute that she did it--"
"Suppose you tell us all about it?" suggested the Chief Constable.
"There's not much to tell. I--I met Mrs. Protheroe that afternoon--"
He paused.
"We know all about that," said Melchett. "You may think that your
feeling for Mrs. Protheroe and hers for you was a dead secret, but in
reality it was known and commented upon. In any case everything is
bound to come out now."
"Very well then. I expect you are right. I had promised the Vicar here"
(he glanced at me) "to--to go right away. I met Mrs. Protheroe that
evening in the studio at a quarter past six. I told her of what I had
decided. She, too, agreed, that it was the only thing to do. We--we
said good-bye to each other.
"We left the studio, and almost at once Dr. Stone joined us. Anne
managed to seem marvellously natural. I couldn't do it. I went off
with Stone to the Blue Boar and had a drink. Then I thought I'd go
home, but, when I got to the corner of this road, I changed my mind and
decided to come along and see the Vicar. I felt I wanted someone to
talk to about the matter.
"At the door, the maid told me the Vicar was out but would be in
shortly, but that Colonel Protheroe was in the study waiting for him.
Well, I didn't like to go away again--looked as though I were shirking
meeting him. So I said I'd wait too, and I went into the study."
He stopped.
"Well?" said Colonel Melchett.
"Protheroe was sitting at the writing table--just as you found him. I
went up to him. I saw that he was dead. Then I looked down and saw the
pistol lying on the floor beside him. I picked it up--_and at once saw
that it was my pistol!_
"That gave me a turn. My pistol! And then, straightway I leaped to one
conclusion. Anne must have bagged my pistol some time or other--meaning
it for herself if she couldn't bear things any longer. Perhaps she
had had it with her today. After we parted in the village she must
have come back here and--and--Oh! I suppose I was mad to think of
it. But that's what I thought. I slipped the pistol in my pocket and
came away. Just outside the Vicarage gate, I met the Vicar. He said
something nice and normal about seeing Protheroe--suddenly I had a
wild desire to laugh. His manner was so ordinary and everyday, and
there was I all strung up. I remember shouting out something absurd and
seeing his face change. I was nearly off my head, I believe. I went
walking--walking--at last I couldn't bear it any longer. If Anne had
done this ghastly thing, I was, at least, morally responsible. I went
and gave myself up."
There was a silence when he had finished. Then the Colonel said in a
businesslike voice:
"I would like to ask just one or two questions. First, did you touch or
move the body in any way?"
"No, I didn't touch it at all. One could see he was dead without
touching him."
"Did you notice a note lying on the blotter half concealed by his body?"
"No."
"Did you interfere in any way with the clock?"
"I never touched the clock. I seem to remember a clock lying overturned
on the table, but I never touched it."
"Now as to this pistol of yours, when did you last see it?"
Lawrence Redding reflected.
"It's hard to say exactly."
"Where do you keep it?"
"Oh! in a litter of odds and ends in the sitting room in my cottage. On
one of the shelves of the bookcase."
"You left it lying about carelessly?"
"Yes. I really didn't think about it. It was just there."
"So that anyone who came to your cottage could have seen it?"
"Yes."
"And you don't remember when you last saw it?"
Lawrence drew his brows together in a frown of recollection.
"I'm almost sure it was there the day before yesterday. I remember
pushing it aside to get an old pipe. I think it was the day before
yesterday--but it may have been the day before that."
"Who has been to your cottage lately?"
"Oh! crowds of people. Someone is always drifting in and out. I had a
sort of tea party the day before yesterday. Lettice Protheroe, Dennis,
and all their crowd. And then one or other of the old Pussies comes in
now and again."
"Do you lock the cottage up when you go out?"
"No, why on earth should I? I've nothing to steal. And no one does lock
his house up round here."
"Who looks after your wants there?"
"An old Mrs. Archer comes in every morning to 'do for me,' as it's
called."
"Do you think she would remember when the pistol was there last?"
"I don't know. She might. But I don't fancy conscientious dusting is
her strong point."
"It comes to this--that almost anyone might have taken that pistol?"
"It seems so--yes."
The door opened and Dr. Haydock came in with Anne Protheroe.
She started at seeing Lawrence. He, on his part, made a tentative step
towards her.
"Forgive me, Anne," he said. "It was abominable of me to think what I
did."
"I--" she faltered, then looked appealingly at Colonel Melchett. "It is
true, what Dr. Haydock told me?"
"That Mr. Redding is cleared of suspicion? Yes. And now what about this
story of yours, Mrs. Protheroe? Eh, what about it?"
She smiled rather shamefacedly.
"I suppose you think it dreadful of me?"
"Well, shall we say--very foolish? But that's all over. What I want
now, Mrs. Protheroe, is the truth--the absolute truth."
She nodded gravely.
"I will tell you. I suppose you know about--about everything."
"Yes."
"I was to meet Lawrence--Mr. Redding--that evening at the studio. At
a quarter past six. My husband and I drove into the village together.
I had some shopping to do. As we parted he mentioned casually that he
was going to see the Vicar. I couldn't get word to Lawrence, and I was
rather uneasy. I--well, it was awkward meeting him in the Vicarage
garden while my husband was at the Vicarage."
Her cheeks burned as she said this. It was not a pleasant moment for
her.
"I reflected that perhaps my husband would not stay very long. To find
this out, I came along the back lane and into the garden. I hoped
no one would see me, but of course old Miss Marple had to be in her
garden! She stopped me and we said a few words, and I explained I was
going to call for my husband. I felt I had to say something. I don't
know whether she believed me or not. She looked rather--funny.
"When I left her, I went straight across to the Vicarage and round the
corner of the house to the study window. I crept up to it very softly
expecting to hear the sound of voices. But to my surprise there were
none. I just glanced in, saw the room was empty, and hurried across the
lawn and down to the studio where Lawrence joined me almost at once."
"You say the room was empty, Mrs. Protheroe?"
"Yes; my husband was not there."
"Extraordinary."
"You mean, M'am, that you didn't see him?" said the Inspector.
"No, I didn't see him."
Inspector Slack whispered to the Chief Constable, who nodded his head.
"Do you mind, Mrs. Protheroe, just showing us exactly what you did?"
"Not at all."
She rose; Inspector Slack pushed open the window for her, and she
stepped out on the terrace and round the house to the left.
Inspector Slack beckoned me imperiously to go and sit at the writing
table.
Somehow I didn't much like doing it. It gave me an uncomfortable
feeling. But of course I complied.
Presently I heard footsteps outside; they paused for a minute, then
retreated. Inspector Slack indicated to me that I could return to the
other side of the room. Mrs. Protheroe re-entered through the window.
"Is that exactly how it was?" asked Colonel Melchett.
"I think exactly."
"Then can you tell us, Mrs. Protheroe, just exactly where the Vicar was
in the room when you looked in?" asked Inspector Slack.
"The Vicar? I--no, I'm afraid I can't. I didn't see him."
Inspector Slack nodded.
"That's how you didn't see your husband. He was round the corner of the
writing desk."
"Oh!" she paused. Suddenly her eyes grew round with horror. "It wasn't
there that--that--"
"Yes, Mrs. Protheroe. It was while he was sitting there."
"Oh!" she shivered.
He went on with his questions.
"Did you know, Mrs. Protheroe, that Mr. Redding had a pistol?"
"Yes. He told me so once."
"Did you ever have that pistol in your possession?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Did you know where he kept it?"
"I'm not sure. I think--yes, I think I've seen it on a shelf in his
cottage. Didn't you keep it there, Lawrence?"
"When was the last time you were at the cottage, Mrs. Protheroe?"
"Oh! about three weeks ago. My husband and I had tea there with him."
"And you have not been there since?"
"No. I never went there. You see, it would probably cause a lot of talk
in the village."
"Doubtless," said Colonel Melchett drily. "Where were you in the habit
of seeing Mr. Redding, if I may ask?"
She blushed.
"He used to come up to the Hall. He was painting Lettice. We--we often
met in the woods afterwards."
Colonel Melchett nodded.
"Isn't that enough?" Her voice was suddenly broken. "It's so
awful--having to tell you all these things. And--and there wasn't
anything wrong about it. There wasn't--indeed, there wasn't. We were
just friends. We--we couldn't help caring for each other."
She looked pleadingly at Dr. Haydock, and that soft-hearted man stepped
forward.
"I really think, Melchett," he said, "that Mrs. Protheroe has had
enough. She's had a great shock--in more ways than one."
The Chief Constable nodded.
"There is really nothing more I want to ask you, Mrs. Protheroe," he
said. "Thank you for answering my questions so frankly."
"Then--then I may go?"
He bowed his head in assent, but I noticed him make an almost
imperceptible sign to Slack, which that worthy answered with a nod
of understanding. Anne Protheroe was not yet completely cleared of
suspicion. The evidence of the note was too strong.
"Is your wife in?" asked Haydock. "I think Mrs. Protheroe would like to
see her."
"Yes," I said, "Griselda is in. You'll find her in the drawing room."
She and Haydock left the room together, and Lawrence Redding with them.
Colonel Melchett had pursed up his lips and was playing with a paper
knife. Slack was looking at the note. It was then that I mentioned Miss
Marple's theory.
Slack looked closely at it.
"My word," he said. "I believe the old lady's right. Look here, sir,
don't you see?--these figures are written in different ink. That date
was written with a fountain pen or I'll eat my boots!"
We were all rather excited.
"You've examined the note for fingerprints, of course," said the Chief
Constable.
"What do you think, Colonel? No fingerprints on the note at all.
Fingerprints on the pistol those of Mr. Lawrence Redding. May have been
some others once, before he went fooling round with it and carrying it
around in his pocket, but there's nothing clear enough to get hold of
now."
"At first the case looked very black against Mrs. Protheroe," said the
Colonel thoughtfully. "Much blacker than against young Redding. There
was that old woman Marple's evidence that she didn't have the pistol
with her, but these elderly ladies are often mistaken."
I was silent, but I did not agree with him. I was quite sure that Anne
Protheroe had had no pistol with her, since Miss Marple had said so.
Miss Marple is not the type of elderly lady who makes mistakes. She has
got an uncanny knack of being always right.
"What did get me was that nobody heard the shot. If it was fired
then--somebody _must_ have heard it--wherever they thought it came
from. Slack, you'd better have a word with the maid."
Inspector Slack moved with alacrity towards the door.
"I shouldn't ask her if she heard a shot in the house," I said.
"Because if you do, she'll deny it. Call it a shot in the wood. That's
the only kind of shot she'll admit to hearing."
"I know how to manage them," said Inspector Slack, and disappeared.
"Miss Marple says she heard a shot later," said Colonel Melchett
thoughtfully. "We must see if she can fix the time at all precisely. Of
course it may be a stray shot that had nothing to do with the case."
"It may be, of course," I agreed.
The Colonel took a turn or two up and down the room.
"Do you know, Clement," he said suddenly, "I've a feeling that this is
going to turn out a much more intricate and difficult business than any
of us think. Dash it all, there's something behind it." He snorted.
"Something we don't know about. We're only beginning, Clement. Mark my
words, we're only beginning. All these things, the clock, the note, the
pistol--they don't make sense as they stand."
I shook my head. They certainly didn't.
"But I'm going to get to the bottom of it. No calling in of Scotland
Yard. Slack's a smart man. He's a very smart man. He's a kind of
ferret. He'll nose his way through to the truth. He's done several very
good things already and this case will be his _chef d'oeuvre_. Some men
would call in Scotland Yard. I shan't. We'll get to the bottom of this
here in Downshire."
"I hope so, I'm sure," I said.
I tried to make my voice enthusiastic, but I had already taken such a
dislike to Inspector Slack that the prospect of his success failed to
appeal to me. A successful Slack would, I thought, be even more odious
than a baffled one.
"Who has the house next door?" asked the Colonel suddenly.
"You mean at the end of the road? Mrs. Price Ridley."
"We'll go along to her after Slack has finished with your maid. She
might just possibly have heard something. She isn't deaf or anything,
is she?"
"I should say her hearing was remarkably keen. I'm going by the
amount of scandal she has started by 'just happening to overhear
accidentally.'"
"That's the kind of woman we want. Oh! here's Slack."
The Inspector had the air of one emerging from a severe tussle. He
looked hot.
"Phew!" he said. "That's a tartar you've got, sir."
"Mary is essentially a girl of strong character," I replied.
"Doesn't like the police," he said. "I cautioned her--did what I could
to put the fear of the Law into her, but no good. She stood right up to
me."
"Spirited," I said, feeling more kindly towards Mary.
"But I pinned her down all right. She heard one shot--and one shot
only. And it was a good long time after Colonel Protheroe came. I
couldn't get her to name a time, but we fixed it at last by means of
the fish. The fish was late, and she blew the boy up when he came, and
he said it was barely half past six anyway, and it was just after that
she heard the shot. Of course, that's not accurate, so to speak, but it
gives us an idea."
"H'm," said Melchett.
"I don't think Mrs. Protheroe's in this after all," said Slack, with
a note of regret in his voice. "She wouldn't have had time, to begin
with, and then women never like fiddling about with firearms. Arsenic's
more in their line. No, I don't think she did it. It's a pity!"
He sighed.
Melchett explained that he was going round to Mrs. Price Ridley's, and
Slack approved.
"May I come with you?" I asked. "I'm getting interested."
I was given permission and we set forth. A loud "Hi" greeted us as we
emerged from the Vicarage gate, and my nephew, Dennis, came running up
the road from the village to join us.
"Look here," he said to the Inspector. "What about that footprint I
told you about?"
"Gardener's," said Inspector Slack laconically.
"You don't think it might be someone else wearing the gardener's boots?"
"No, I don't," said Inspector Slack in a discouraging way.
It would take more than that to discourage Dennis, however.
He held out a couple of burnt matches.
"I found these by the Vicarage gate."
"Thank you," said Slack and put them in his pocket.
Matters appeared now to have reached a deadlock.
"You're not arresting Uncle Len, are you?" inquired Dennis facetiously.
"Why should I?" inquired Slack.
"There's a lot of evidence against him," declared Dennis. "You ask
Mary. Only the day before the murder he was wishing Colonel Protheroe
out of the world. Weren't you, Uncle Len?"
"Er--" I began.
Inspector Slack turned a slow, suspicious stare upon me, and I felt hot
all over. Dennis is exceedingly tiresome. He ought to realize that a
policeman seldom has a sense of humour.
"Don't be absurd, Dennis," I said irritably.
The innocent child opened his eyes in a stare of surprise.
"I say, it's only a joke," he said. "Uncle Len just said that anyone
who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world a service."
"Ah!" said Inspector Slack, "that explains something the maid said."
Servants very seldom have any sense of humour either. I cursed Dennis
heartily in my mind for bringing the matter up. That and the clock
together will make the Inspector suspicious of me for life.
"Come on, Clement," said Colonel Melchett.
"Where are you going? Can I come too?" asked Dennis.
"No, you can't," I snapped.
We left him looking after us with a hurt expression. We went up to the
neat front door of Mrs. Price Ridley's house, and the Inspector knocked
and rang in what I can only describe as an official manner.
A pretty parlour maid answered the bell.
"Mrs. Price Ridley in?" inquired Melchett.
"No, sir." The maid paused and added, "She's just gone down to the
police station."
This was a totally unexpected development. As we retraced our steps,
Melchett caught me by the arm and murmured:
"If she's gone to confess to the crime too, I really shall go off my
head."