寓所谜案2

One

It is difficult to know quite where to begin this story, but I have fixed mychoice on a certain Wednesday at luncheon at the Vicarage. The conversa-tion, though in the main irrelevant to the matter in hand, yet containedone or two suggestive incidents which influenced later developments.

I had just finished carving some boiled beef (remarkably tough by theway) and on resuming my seat I remarked, in a spirit most unbecoming tomy cloth, that anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe would be doingthe world at large a service.

My young nephew, Dennis, said instantly:

“That’ll be remembered against you when the old boy is found bathed inblood. Mary will give evidence, won’t you, Mary? And describe how youbrandished the carving knife in a vindictive manner.”

Mary, who is in service at the Vicarage as a stepping-stone to betterthings and higher wages, merely said in a loud, businesslike voice,“Greens,” and thrust a cracked dish at him in a truculent manner.

My wife said in a sympathetic voice: “Has he been very trying?”

I did not reply at once, for Mary, setting the greens on the table with abang, proceeded to thrust a dish of singularly moist and unpleasant dump-lings under my nose. I said, “No, thank you,” and she deposited the dishwith a clatter on the table and left the room.

“It is a pity that I am such a shocking housekeeper,” said my wife, with atinge of genuine regret in her voice.

I was inclined to agree with her. My wife’s name is Griselda—a highlysuitable name for a parson’s wife. But there the suitability ends. She is notin the least meek.

I have always been of the opinion that a clergyman should be unmar-ried. Why I should have urged Griselda to marry me at the end of twenty-four hours’ acquaintance is a mystery to me. Marriage, I have always held,is a serious affair, to be entered into only after long deliberation and fore-thought, and suitability of tastes and inclinations is the most importantconsideration.

Griselda is nearly twenty years younger than myself. She is most dis-tractingly pretty and quite incapable of taking anything seriously. She isincompetent in every way, and extremely trying to live with. She treatsthe parish as a kind of huge joke arranged for her amusement. I have en-deavoured to form her mind and failed. I am more than ever convincedthat celibacy is desirable for the clergy. I have frequently hinted as muchto Griselda, but she has only laughed.

“My dear,” I said, “if you would only exercise a little care—”

“I do sometimes,” said Griselda. “But, on the whole, I think things goworse when I’m trying. I’m evidently not a housekeeper by nature. I find itbetter to leave things to Mary and just make up my mind to be uncomfort-able and have nasty things to eat.”

“And what about your husband, my dear?” I said reproachfully, andproceeding to follow the example of the devil in quoting Scripture for hisown ends I added: “She looketh to the ways of her household….”

“Think how lucky you are not to be torn to pieces by lions,” saidGriselda, quickly interrupting. “Or burnt at the stake. Bad food and lots ofdust and dead wasps is really nothing to make a fuss about. Tell me moreabout Colonel Protheroe. At any rate the early Christians were luckyenough not to have churchwardens.”

“Pompous old brute,” said Dennis. “No wonder his first wife ran awayfrom him.”

“I don’t see what else she could do,” said my wife.

“Griselda,” I said sharply. “I will not have you speaking in that way.”

“Darling,” said my wife affectionately. “Tell me about him. What was thetrouble? Was it Mr. Hawes’s becking and nodding and crossing himselfevery other minute?”

Hawes is our new curate. He has been with us just over three weeks. Hehas High Church views and fasts on Fridays. Colonel Protheroe is a greatopposer of ritual in any form.

“Not this time. He did touch on it in passing. No, the whole trouble aroseout of Mrs. Price Ridley’s wretched pound note.”

Mrs. Price Ridley is a devout member of my congregation. Attendingearly service on the anniversary of her son’s death, she put a pound notein the offertory bag. Later, reading the amount of the collection posted up,she was pained to observe that one ten-shilling note was the highest itemmentioned.

She complained to me about it, and I pointed out, very reasonably, thatshe must have made a mistake.

“We’re none of us so young as we were,” I said, trying to turn it off tact-fully. “And we must pay the penalty of advancing years.”

Strangely enough, my words only seemed to incense her further. Shesaid that things had a very odd look and that she was surprised I didn’tthink so also. And she flounced away and, I gather, took her troubles toColonel Protheroe. Protheroe is the kind of man who enjoys making a fusson every conceivable occasion. He made a fuss. It is a pity he made it on aWednesday. I teach in the Church Day School on Wednesday mornings, aproceeding that causes me acute nervousness and leaves me unsettled forthe rest of the day.

“Well, I suppose he must have some fun,” said my wife, with the air oftrying to sum up the position impartially. “Nobody flutters round him andcalls him ‘the dear Vicar,’ and embroiders awful slippers for him, andgives him bedsocks for Christmas. Both his wife and his daughter are fedup to the teeth with him. I suppose it makes him happy to feel importantsomewhere.”

“He needn’t be offensive about it,” I said with some heat. “I don’t thinkhe quite realized the implications of what he was saying. He wants to goover all the Church accounts—in case of defalcations—that was the wordhe used. Defalcations! Does he suspect me of embezzling the Churchfunds?”

“Nobody would suspect you of anything, darling,” said Griselda. “You’reso transparently above suspicion that really it would be a marvellous op-portunity. I wish you’d embezzle the S.P.G. funds. I hate missionaries—Ialways have.”

I would have reproved her for that sentiment, but Mary entered at thatmoment with a partially cooked rice pudding. I made a mild protest, butGriselda said that the Japanese always ate half-cooked rice and had mar-vellous brains in consequence.

“I dare say,” she said, “that if you had a rice pudding like this every daytill Sunday, you’d preach the most marvellous sermon.”

“Heaven forbid,” I said with a shudder.

“Protheroe’s coming over tomorrow evening and we’re going over theaccounts together,” I went on. “I must finish preparing my talk for theC.E.M.S. today. Looking up a reference, I became so engrossed in CanonShirley’s Reality that I haven’t got on as well as I should. What are you do-ing this afternoon, Griselda?”

“My duty,” said Griselda. “My duty as the Vicaress. Tea and scandal atfour thirty.”

“Who is coming?”

Griselda ticked them off on her fingers with a glow of virtue on her face.

“Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Wetherby, Miss Hartnell, and that terrible MissMarple.”

“I rather like Miss Marple,” I said. “She has, at least, a sense of humour.”

“She’s the worst cat in the village,” said Griselda. “And she alwaysknows every single thing that happens—and draws the worst inferencesfrom it.”

Griselda, as I have said, is much younger than I am. At my time of life,one knows that the worst is usually true.

“Well, don’t expect me in for tea, Griselda,” said Dennis.

“Beast!” said Griselda.

“Yes, but look here, the Protheroes really did ask me for tennis today.”

“Beast!” said Griselda again.

Dennis beat a prudent retreat and Griselda and I went together into mystudy.

“I wonder what we shall have for tea,” said Griselda, seating herself onmy writing table. “Dr. Stone and Miss Cram, I suppose, and perhaps Mrs.

Lestrange. By the way, I called on her yesterday, but she was out. Yes, I’msure we shall have Mrs. Lestrange for tea. It’s so mysterious, isn’t it, herarriving like this and taking a house down here, and hardly ever goingoutside it? Makes one think of detective stories. You know—‘Who was she,the mysterious woman with the pale, beautiful face? What was her past his-tory? Nobody knew. There was something faintly sinister about her.’ I believeDr. Haydock knows something about her.”

“You read too many detective stories, Griselda,” I observed mildly.

“What about you?” she retorted. “I was looking everywhere for TheStain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon.

And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did Ifind?”

I had the grace to blush.

“I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and….”

“I know those chance sentences,” said Griselda. She quoted impress-ively, “‘And then a very curious thing happened—Griselda rose, crossed theroom and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.’” She suited the actionto the word.

“Is that a very curious thing?” I inquired.

“Of course it is,” said Griselda. “Do you realize, Len, that I might havemarried a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, threesubalterns and a ne’er-do-weel with attractive manners, and that instead Ichose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?”

“At the time it did,” I replied. “I have often wondered why you did it.”

Griselda laughed.

“It made me feel so powerful,” she murmured. “The others thought mesimply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them tohave me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yetyou couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s somuch nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be afeather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you upthe wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adoreme madly, don’t you?”

“Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.”

“Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up intown and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sisterwas having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got intoand you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.”

There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really beenstrangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:

“If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.”

Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end,smoothed it down again, said:

“You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with theartist. I will—really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the par-ish.”

“There’s a good deal already,” I said mildly.

Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.

 

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