Hawes' appearance distressed me very much. His hands were shaking and
his face kept twitching nervously. In my opinion he should have been in
bed, and I told him so. He insisted that he was perfectly well.
"I assure you, sir, I never felt better. Never in my life."
This was so obviously wide of the truth that I hardly knew how to
answer. I have a certain admiration for a man who will not give in to
illness, but Hawes was carrying the thing rather too far.
"I called to tell you how sorry I was--that such a thing should happen
in the Vicarage."
"Yes," I said. "It's not very pleasant."
"It's terrible--quite terrible. It seems they haven't arrested Mr.
Redding after all?"
"No. That was a mistake. He made--er--rather a foolish statement."
"And the police are now quite convinced that he is innocent?"
"Perfectly."
"Why is that, may I ask? Is it--I mean, do they suspect anyone else?"
I should never have suspected that Hawes would take such a keen
interest in the details of a murder case. Perhaps it is because it
happened in the Vicarage. He appeared as eager as a reporter.
"I don't know that I am completely in Inspector Slack's confidence.
So far as I know he does not suspect anyone in particular. He is at
present engaged in making inquiries."
"Yes. Yes--of course. But who can one imagine doing such a dreadful
thing?"
I shook my head.
"Colonel Protheroe was not a popular man, I know that. But murder! For
murder--one would need a very strong motive."
"So I should imagine," I said.
"Who could have such a motive? Have the police any idea?"
"I couldn't say."
"He might have made enemies, you know. The more I think about it, the
more I am convinced that he was the kind of man to have enemies. He had
a reputation on the Bench for being very severe."
"I suppose he had."
"Why, don't you remember, sir? He was telling you yesterday morning
about having been threatened by that man, Archer."
"Now I come to think of it, so he did," I said. "Of course, I remember.
You were quite near us at the time."
"Yes, I overheard what he was saying. Almost impossible to help it with
Colonel Protheroe. He had such a very loud voice, hadn't he? I remember
being impressed by your own words, that when his time came, he might
have justice meted out to him instead of mercy."
"Did I say that?" I asked frowning. My remembrance of my own words was
slightly different.
"You said it very impressively, sir. I was struck by your words.
Justice is a terrible thing. And to think the poor man was struck down
shortly afterwards. It's almost as though you had a premonition."
"I had nothing of the sort," I said shortly. I rather dislike Hawes'
tendency to mysticism. There is a touch of the visionary about him.
"Have you told the police about this man Archer, sir?"
"I know nothing about him."
"I mean, have you repeated to them what Colonel Protheroe said--about
Archer having threatened him?"
"No," I said slowly. "I have not."
"But you are going to do so?"
I was silent. I dislike hounding a man down who has already got the
forces of law and order against him. I held no brief for Archer. He is
an inveterate poacher--one of those cheerful ne'er-do-wells that are to
be found in any parish. Whatever he may have said in the heat of anger
when he was sentenced I had no definite knowledge that he felt the same
when he came out of prison.
"You heard the conversation," I said at last. "If you feel it your duty
to go to the police with it, you must do so."
"It would come better from you, sir."
"Perhaps--but to tell the truth--well, I've no fancy for doing it. I
might be helping to put the rope round the neck of an innocent man."
"But if he shot Colonel Protheroe--"
"Oh! if! There's no evidence of any kind that he did."
"His threats."
"Strictly speaking, the threats were not his but Colonel Protheroe's.
Colonel Protheroe was threatening to show Archer what vengeance was
worth next time he caught him."
"I don't understand your attitude, sir."
"Don't you?" I said wearily. "You're a young man. You're zealous in the
cause of right. When you get to my age, you'll find that you like to
give people the benefit of the doubt."
"It's not--I mean--"
He paused and I looked at him in surprise.
"You haven't any--any ideas of your own--as to the identity of the
murderer, I mean?"
"Good heavens, no."
Hawes persisted.
"Or as to the--the motive?"
"No. Have you?"
"I? No, indeed. I just wondered. If Colonel Protheroe had--had confided
in you in any way--mentioned anything...."
"His confidences, such as they were, were heard by the whole village
street yesterday morning," I said drily.
"Yes. Yes--of course. And you don't think--about Archer?"
"The police will know all about Archer soon enough," I said. "If I'd
heard him threaten Colonel Protheroe myself, that would be a different
matter. But you may be sure that if he actually has threatened him,
half the people in the village will have heard him, and the news will
get to the police all right. You, of course, must do as you like about
the matter."
But Hawes seemed curiously unwilling to do anything himself.
The man's whole attitude was nervous and queer. I recalled what Haydock
had said about his illness. There, I supposed, lay the explanation.
He took his leave unwillingly, as though he had more to say, and didn't
know how to say it.
Before he left, I arranged with him to take the Service for the
Mothers' Union followed by the Meeting of District Visitors. I had
several projects of my own for the afternoon.
Dismissing Hawes and his troubles from my mind, I started off for Mrs.
Lestrange.
On the table in the hall lay the "Guardian" and the "Church Times"
unopened.
As I walked I remembered that Mrs. Lestrange had had an interview with
Colonel Protheroe the night before his death. It was possible that
something had transpired in that interview which would throw light upon
the problem of his murder.
I was shown straight into the little drawing room, and Mrs. Lestrange
rose to meet me. I was struck anew by the marvellous atmosphere that
this woman could create. She wore a dress of some dead black material
that showed off the extraordinary fairness of her skin. There was
something curiously dead about her face. Only the eyes were burningly
alive. There was a watchful look in them today. Otherwise she showed no
signs of animation.
"It was very good of you to come, Mr. Clement," she said as she shook
hands. "I wanted to speak to you the other day. Then I decided not to
do so. I was wrong."
"As I told you then, I shall be glad to do anything that can help you."
"Yes, you said that. And you said it as though you meant it. Very few
people, Mr. Clement, in this world have ever sincerely wished to help
me."
"I can hardly believe that, Mrs. Lestrange."
"It is true. Most people--most men, at any rate, are out for their own
hand."
There was a bitterness in her voice.
I did not answer and she went on:
"Sit down, won't you?"
I obeyed, and she took a chair facing me. She hesitated a moment and
then began to speak very slowly and thoughtfully, seeming to weigh each
word as she uttered it.
"I am in a very peculiar position, Mr. Clement, and I want to ask your
advice. That is, I want to ask your advice as to what I should do next.
What is past is past and cannot be undone. You understand?"
Before I could reply, the maid who had admitted me opened the door and
said, with a scared face:
"Oh! please, m'am, there's a police inspector here, and he says he must
speak to you, please."
There was a pause. Mrs. Lestrange's face did not change. Only her eyes
very slowly closed and opened again. She seemed to swallow once or
twice, then she said in exactly the same clear, calm voice:
"Show him in, Hilda."
I was about to rise, but she motioned me back again with an imperious
hand.
"If you do not mind--I should be much obliged if you would stay."
I resumed my seat.
"Certainly, if you wish it," I murmured, as Slack entered with a brisk
regulation tread.
"Good afternoon, Madam," he began.
"Good afternoon, Inspector."
At this moment he caught sight of me and scowled. There is no doubt
about it; Slack does not like me.
"You have no objection to the Vicar's presence, I hope?"
I suppose that Slack could not very well say he had.
"No-o," he said grudgingly. "Though, perhaps, it might be better--"
Mrs. Lestrange paid no attention to the hint.
"What can I do for you, Inspector?" she asked.
"It's this way, Madam. Murder of Colonel Protheroe. I'm in charge of
the case and making inquiries."
Mrs. Lestrange nodded.
"Just as a matter of form, I'm asking everyone just where they were
yesterday evening between the hours of six and seven. Just as a matter
of form, you understand."
Mrs. Lestrange did not seem in the least discomposed.
"You want to know where I was yesterday evening between six and seven?"
"If you please, Madam."
"Let me see." She reflected a moment. "I was here. In this house."
"Oh!" I saw the Inspector's eyes flash. "And your maid--you have only
one maid, I think, can confirm that statement?"
"No, it was Hilda's afternoon out."
"I see."
"So unfortunately you will have to take my word for it," said Mrs.
Lestrange pleasantly.
"You seriously declare that you were at home all the afternoon?"
"You said between six and seven, Inspector. I was out for a walk
earlier in the afternoon. I returned some time before five o'clock."
"Then if a lady--Miss Hartnell, for instance--were to declare that she
came here about six o'clock, rang the bell, but could make no one hear
and was compelled to go away again, you'd say she was mistaken, eh?"
"Oh! no," Mrs. Lestrange shook her head.
"But--"
"If your maid is in, she can say not at home. If one is alone and does
not happen to want to see callers--well, the only thing to do is to let
them ring."
Inspector Slack looked slightly baffled.
"Elderly women bore me dreadfully," said Mrs. Lestrange. "And Miss
Hartnell is particularly boring. She must have rung at least half a
dozen times before she went away."
She smiled sweetly at Inspector Slack.
The Inspector shifted his ground.
"Then if anyone were to say they'd seen you out and about then--"
"Oh! but they didn't, did they?" She was quick to sense his weak point.
"No one saw me out, because I was in, you see."
"Quite so, Madam."
The Inspector hitched his chair a little nearer.
"Now I understand, Mrs. Lestrange, that you paid a visit to Colonel
Protheroe at Old Hall the night before his death."
Mrs. Lestrange said calmly:
"That is so."
"Can you indicate to me the nature of that interview?"
"It concerned a private matter, Inspector."
"I'm afraid I must ask you to tell me the nature of that private
matter."
"I shall not tell you anything of the kind. I will only assure you
that nothing which was said at that interview could possibly have any
bearing upon the crime."
"I don't think you are the best judge of that."
"At any rate, you will have to take my word for it, Inspector."
"In fact, I have to take your word about everything."
"It does seem rather like it," she agreed, still with the same smiling
calm.
Inspector Slack grew very red.
"This is a serious matter, Mrs. Lestrange. I want the truth--" He
banged his fist down on a table, "and I mean to get it."
Mrs. Lestrange said nothing at all.
"Don't you see, Madam, that you're putting yourself in a very fishy
position?"
Still Mrs. Lestrange said nothing.
"You'll be required to give evidence at the inquest."
"Yes."
Just the monosyllable. Unemphatic, uninterested. The Inspector altered
his tactics.
"You were acquainted with Colonel Protheroe?"
"Yes, I was acquainted with him."
"Well acquainted?"
There was a pause before she said:
"I had not seen him for several years."
"You were acquainted with Mrs. Protheroe?"
"No."
"You'll excuse me, but it was a very unusual time to make a call."
"Not from my point of view."
"What do you mean by that?"
She said clearly and distinctly:
"I wanted to see Colonel Protheroe alone. I did not want to see
Mrs. Protheroe or Miss Protheroe. I considered this the best way of
accomplishing my objective."
"Why didn't you want to see Mrs. or Miss Protheroe?"
"That, Inspector, is my business."
"Then you refuse to say more?"
"Absolutely."
Inspector Slack rose.
"You'll be putting yourself in a nasty position, Madam, if you're not
careful. All this looks bad--it looks very bad."
She laughed. I could have told Inspector Slack that this was not the
kind of woman who is easily frightened.
"Well," he said, extricating himself with dignity, "don't say I
haven't warned you, that's all. Good afternoon, Madam, and mind you,
we're going to get at the truth."
He departed. Mrs. Lestrange rose and held out her hand.
"I am going to send you away--yes, it is better so. You see, it is too
late for advice now. I have chosen my part."
She repeated, in a rather forlorn voice:
"I have chosen my part."