The inquest was held that afternoon (Saturday) at two o'clock at the
Blue Boar. The local excitement was, I need hardly say, tremendous.
There had been no murder in St. Mary Mead for at least fifteen years.
And to have someone like Colonel Protheroe murdered actually in the
Vicarage study is such a feast of sensation as rarely falls to the lot
of a village population.
Various comments floated to my ears which I was probably not meant to
hear.
"There's Vicar. Look pale, don't he? I wonder if he had a hand in it.
'Twas done at Vicarage, after all."
"How can you, Mary Adams? And him visiting Henry Abbott at the time."
"Ah! but they do say him and the Colonel had words. There's Mary Hill.
Giving herself airs, she is, on account of being in service there.
Hush, here's coroner."
The coroner was Dr. Roberts of our adjoining town of Much Benham. He
cleared his throat, adjusted his eyeglasses, and looked important.
To recapitulate all the evidence would be merely tiresome. Lawrence
Redding gave evidence of finding the body, and identified the pistol
as belonging to him. To the best of his belief he had seen it on the
Tuesday, two days previously. It was kept on a shelf in his cottage,
and the door of the cottage was habitually unlocked.
Mrs. Protheroe gave evidence that she had last seen her husband about a
quarter to six, when they separated in the village street. She agreed
to call for him at the Vicarage later. She had gone to the Vicarage
about a quarter past six, by way of the back lane and the garden gate.
She had heard no voices in the study, and had imagined that the room
was empty, but her husband might have been sitting at the writing
table, in which case she would not have seen him. As far as she knew,
he had been in his usual health and spirits. She knew of no enemy who
might have had a grudge against him.
I gave evidence next, told of my appointment with Protheroe and my
summons to the Abbotts'. I described how I had found the body and my
summoning of Dr. Haydock.
"How many people, Mr. Clement, were aware that Colonel Protheroe was
coming to see you that evening?"
"A good many, I should imagine. My wife knew and my nephew, and Colonel
Protheroe himself alluded to the fact that morning when I met him in
the village. I should think several people might have overheard him,
as, being slightly deaf, he spoke in a loud voice."
"It was then a matter of common knowledge? Anyone might know?"
I agreed.
Haydock followed. He was an important witness. He described carefully
and technically the appearance of the body and the exact injuries.
It was his opinion that deceased had been shot while actually in the
act of writing. He placed the time of death at approximately 6.20 to
6.30--certainly not later than 6.35. That was the outside limit. He was
positive and emphatic on that point. There was no question of suicide;
the wound could not have been self-inflicted.
Inspector Slack's evidence was discreet and abridged. He described his
summons, and the circumstances under which he had found the body. The
unfinished letter was produced and the time on it--6.20--noted. Also
the clock. It was tacitly assumed that the time of death was 6.22. The
police were giving nothing away. Anne Protheroe told me afterwards that
she had been told to suggest a slightly earlier period of time than
6.20 for her visit.
Our maid, Mary, was the next witness and proved a somewhat truculent
one. She hadn't heard anything and didn't want to hear anything. It
wasn't as though gentlemen who came to see the Vicar usually got shot.
They didn't. She'd got her own jobs to look after. Colonel Protheroe
had arrived at a quarter past six exactly. No, she didn't look at the
clock. She heard the church chime after she had shown him into the
study. She didn't hear any shot. If there had been a shot she'd have
heard it. Well, of course she knew there must have been a shot, since
the gentleman was found shot--but there it was. She hadn't heard it.
The Coroner did not press the point. I realized that he and Colonel
Melchett were working in agreement.
Mrs. Lestrange had been subpoenaed to give evidence, but a medical
certificate, signed by Dr. Haydock, was produced saying she was too ill
to attend.
There was only one other witness, a somewhat doddering old woman, the
one who, in Slack's phrase, "did for" Lawrence Redding.
Mrs. Archer was shown the pistol and recognized it as the one she had
seen in Mr. Redding's sitting room--"Over against the bookcase, he
kept it, lying about." She had last seen it on the day of the murder.
Yes--in answer to a further question--she was quite sure it was there
at lunchtime on Thursday--quarter to one when she left.
I remembered what the Inspector had told me, and I was mildly
surprised. However vague she might have been when he questioned her,
she was quite positive about it now.
The Coroner summed up in a negative manner but with a good deal of
firmness. The verdict was given almost immediately.
Murder by person or persons unknown.
As I left the room I was aware of a small army of young men with
bright, alert faces, and a kind of superficial resemblance to each
other. Several of them were already known to me by sight, as having
haunted the Vicarage the last few days. Seeking to escape, I plunged
back into the Blue Boar, and was lucky enough to run straight into the
archæologist, Dr. Stone. I clutched at him without ceremony.
"Journalists," I said briefly and expressively. "If you could
deliver me from their clutches?"
"Why, certainly, Mr. Clement. Come upstairs with me."
He led the way up the narrow staircase and into his sitting room,
where Miss Cram was sitting rattling the keys of a typewriter with
a practised touch. She greeted me with a broad smile of welcome and
seized the opportunity to stop work.
"Awful, isn't it?" she said. "Not knowing who did it, I mean. Not but
that I'm disappointed in an inquest. Tame, that's what I call it.
Nothing what you might call spicy from beginning to end."
"You were there, then, Miss Cram?"
"I was there all right. Fancy your not seeing me. Didn't you see me?
I feel a bit hurt about that. Yes, I do. A gentleman, even if he is a
clergyman, ought to have eyes in his head."
"Were you present also?" I asked Dr. Stone, in an effort to escape from
this playful badinage. Young women like Miss Cram always make me feel
awkward.
"No, I'm afraid I feel very little interest in such things. I am a man
very wrapped up in his own hobby."
"It must be a very interesting hobby," I said.
"You know something of it, perhaps?"
I was obliged to confess that I knew next to nothing.
Dr. Stone was not the kind of man whom a confession of ignorance
daunts. The result was exactly the same as though I had said that the
excavation of barrows was my only relaxation. He surged and eddied
into speech. Long barrows, round barrows, stone age, bronze age,
paleolithic, neolithic, kistvaens and cromlechs, it burst forth in a
torrent. I had little to do save nod my head and look intelligent--and
that last is perhaps over optimistic. Dr. Stone boomed on. He is a
little man. His head is round and bald; his face is round and rosy,
and he beams at you through very strong glasses. I have never known a
man so enthusiastic on so little encouragement. He went into every
argument for and against his own pet theory--which by the way, I quite
failed to grasp!
He detailed at great length his difference of opinion with Colonel
Protheroe.
"An opinionated boor," he said with heat. "Yes, yes, I know he is dead,
and one should speak no ill of the dead. But death does not alter
facts. An opinionated boor describes him exactly. Because he had read
a few books, he set himself up as an authority--against a man who has
made a lifelong study of the subject. My whole life, Mr. Clement, has
been given up to this work. My whole life--"
He was spluttering with excitement. Gladys Cram brought him back to
earth with a terse sentence.
"You'll miss your train if you don't look out," she observed.
"Oh!" The little man stopped in mid speech and dragged a watch from his
pocket. "Bless my soul. Quarter to? Impossible."
"Once you start talking you never remember the time. What you'd do
without me to look after you, I really don't know."
"Quite right, my dear, quite right." He patted her affectionately on
the shoulder. "This is a wonderful girl, Mr. Clement. Never forgets
anything. I consider myself extremely lucky to have found her."
"Oh! go on, Dr. Stone," said the lady. "You spoil me, you do."
I could not help feeling that I should be in a material position to add
my support to the second school of thought--that which foresees lawful
matrimony as the future of Dr. Stone and Miss Cram. I imagined that in
her own way Miss Cram was rather a clever young woman.
"You'd better be getting along," said Miss Cram.
"Yes, yes, so I must."
He vanished into the room next door and returned carrying a suitcase.
"You are leaving?" I asked in some surprise.
"Just running up to town for a couple of days," he explained. "My old
mother to see tomorrow, some business with my lawyers on Monday. On
Tuesday I shall return. By the way, I suppose that Colonel Protheroe's
death will make no difference to our arrangements. As regards the
barrow, I mean. Mrs. Protheroe will have no objection to our continuing
the work?"
"I should not think so."
As he spoke, I wondered who actually would be in authority at Old Hall.
It was just possible that Protheroe might have left it to Lettice. I
felt that it would be interesting to know the contents of Protheroe's
will.
"Causes a lot of trouble in a family, a death does," remarked Miss Cram
with a kind of gloomy relish. "You wouldn't believe what a nasty spirit
there sometimes is."
"Well, I must really be going." Dr. Stone made ineffectual attempts to
control the suitcase, a large rug and an unwieldy umbrella. I came to
his rescue. He protested.
"Don't trouble--don't trouble. I can manage perfectly. Doubtless there
will be somebody downstairs."
But down below there was no trace of a boots or anyone else. I suspect
that they were being regaled at the expense of the Press. Time was
getting on, so we set out together to the station, Dr. Stone carrying
the suitcase, and I holding the rug and umbrella.
Dr. Stone ejaculated remarks in between panting breaths as we hurried
along.
"Really too good of you--didn't mean--to trouble you. Hope we shan't
miss--the train--Gladys is a good girl--really a wonderful girl--a very
sweet nature--not too happy at home, I'm afraid--absolutely--the heart
of a child--heart of a child, I do assure you--in spite of--difference
in our ages--find a lot in common...."
I felt that several well-known parallels would have occurred to Miss
Marple, had she been there.
We saw Lawrence Redding's cottage just as we turned off to the station.
It stands in an isolated position with no other house near it. I
observed two young men of smart appearance standing on the doorstep,
and a couple more peering in at the windows. It was a busy day for the
Press.
"Nice fellow, young Redding," I remarked to see what my companion would
say.
He was so out of breath by this time that he found it difficult to say
anything, but he puffed out a word which I did not at first quite catch.
"Dangerous," he gasped when I asked him to repeat his remark.
"Dangerous?"
"Most dangerous. Innocent girls--know no better--taken in by a fellow
like that--always hanging round women. No good."
From which I deduced that the only young man in the village had not
passed unnoticed by the fair Gladys.
"Goodness," ejaculated Dr. Stone. "The train!"
We were close to the station by this time and we broke into a fast
sprint. A down train was standing in the station and the up London
train was just coming in.
At the door of the booking office we collided with a rather exquisite
young man, and I recognized Miss Marple's nephew just arriving. He
is, I think, a young man who does not like to be collided with. He
prides himself on his poise and general air of detachment, and there
is no doubt that vulgar contact is detrimental to poise of any kind.
He staggered back. I apologized hastily and we passed in. Dr. Stone
climbed on the train and I handed up his baggage just as the train gave
an unwilling jerk and started.
I waved to him and then turned away. Raymond West had departed, but our
local chemist, who rejoices in the name of Cherubim, was just setting
out for the village. I walked beside him.
"Close shave that," he observed. "Well, how did the inquest go, Mr.
Clement?"
I gave him the verdict.
"Oh! so that's what happened. I rather thought they'd adjourn the
inquest. Where's Dr. Stone off to?"
I repeated what he had told me.
"Lucky not to miss the train. Not that you ever know on this line.
I tell you, Mr. Clement, it's a crying shame. Disgraceful, that's
what I call it. Train I came down by was ten minutes late. And that
on a Saturday, with no traffic to speak of. And on Wednesday--no,
Thursday--yes, Thursday it was--I remember it was the day of the
murder because I meant to write a strongly worded complaint to the
company--and the murder put it out of my head--yes, last Thursday. I
had been to a meeting of the pharmaceutical society. How late do you
think the 6.50 was? _Half an hour._ Half an hour exactly! What do you
think of that? Ten minutes I don't mind. But if the train doesn't get
in till twenty past seven, well, you can't get home before half past.
What I say is, why call it the 6.50?"
"Quite so," I said, and, wishing to escape from the monologue, I broke
away with the excuse that I had something to say to Lawrence Redding
whom I saw approaching us on the other side of the road.