寓所谜案6

Five

It was nearer seven than half past six when I approached the Vicaragegate on my return. Before I reached it, it swung open and Lawrence Red-ding came out. He stopped dead on seeing me, and I was immediatelystruck by his appearance. He looked like a man who was on the point ofgoing mad. His eyes stared in a peculiar¹ manner, he was deathly white,and he was shaking and twitching² all over.

I wondered for a moment whether he could have been drinking, but re-pudiated the idea immediately.

“Hallo,” I said, “have you been to see me again? Sorry I was out. Comeback now. I’ve got to see Protheroe about some accounts—but I dare saywe shan’t be long.”

“Protheroe,” he said. He began to laugh. “Protheroe? You’re going to seeProtheroe? Oh, you’ll see Protheroe all right! Oh, my God—yes!”

I stared. Instinctively³ I stretched out a hand towards him. He drewsharply aside.

“No,” he almost cried out. “I’ve got to get away—to think. I’ve got tothink. I must think.”

He broke into a run and vanished rapidly down the road towards thevillage, leaving me staring after him, my first idea of drunkenness recur-ring.

Finally I shook my head, and went on to the Vicarage. The front door isalways left open, but nevertheless I rang the bell. Mary came, wiping herhands on her apron⁴.

“So you’re back at last,” she observed.

“Is Colonel Protheroe here?” I asked.

“In the study. Been here since a quarter past six.”

“And Mr. Redding’s been here?”

“Come a few minutes ago. Asked for you. I told him you’d be back at anyminute and that Colonel Protheroe was waiting in the study, and he saidhe’d wait too, and went there. He’s there now.”

“No, he isn’t,” I said. “I’ve just met him going down the road.”

“Well, I didn’t hear him leave. He can’t have stayed more than a coupleof minutes. The mistress isn’t back from town yet.”

I nodded absentmindedly. Mary beat a retreat to the kitchen quartersand I went down the passage and opened the study door.

After the dusk of the passage, the evening sunshine that was pouringinto the room made my eyes blink. I took a step or two across the floorand then stopped dead.

For a moment I could hardly take in the meaning of the scene beforeme.

Colonel Protheroe was lying sprawled⁶ across my writing table in a hor-rible unnatural⁷ position. There was a pool of some dark fluid on the deskby his head, and it was slowly dripping on to the floor with a horrible drip,drip, drip.

I pulled myself together and went across to him. His skin was cold to thetouch. The hand that I raised fell back lifeless. The man was dead—shotthrough the head.

I went to the door and called Mary. When she came I ordered her to runas fast as she could and fetch Dr. Haydock, who lives just at the corner ofthe road. I told her there had been an accident.

Then I went back and closed the door to await the doctor’s coming.

Fortunately, Mary found him at home. Haydock is a good fellow, a big,fine, strapping⁸ man with an honest, rugged⁹ face.

His eyebrows¹⁰ went up when I pointed¹¹ silently across the room. But, likea true doctor, he showed no signs of emotion. He bent¹² over the dead man,examining him rapidly. Then he straightened himself and looked across atme.

“Well?” I asked.

“He’s dead right enough—been dead half an hour, I should say.”

“Suicide?”

“Out of the question, man. Look at the position of the wound. Besides, ifhe shot himself, where’s the weapon?”

True enough, there was no sign of any such thing.

“We’d better not mess around with anything,” said Haydock. “I’d betterring up the police.”

He picked up the receiver and spoke¹³ into it. He gave the facts as curtlyas possible and then replaced the telephone and came across to where Iwas sitting.

“This is a rotten business. How did you come to find him?”

I explained. “Is—is it murder?” I asked rather faintly.

“Looks like it. Mean to say, what else can it be? Extraordinary business.

Wonder who had a down on the poor old fellow. Of course I know hewasn’t popular, but one isn’t often murdered for that reason — worseluck.”

“There’s one rather curious thing,” I said. “I was telephoned for this af-ternoon to go to a dying parishioner. When I got there everyone was verysurprised to see me. The sick man was very much better than he had beenfor some days, and his wife flatly denied telephoning for me at all.”

Haydock drew his brows together.

“That’s suggestive—very. You were being got out of the way. Where’syour wife?”

“Gone up to London for the day.”

“And the maid?”

“In the kitchen—right at the other side of the house.”

“Where she wouldn’t be likely to hear anything that went on in here. It’sa nasty business. Who knew that Protheroe was coming here this even-ing?”

“He referred to the fact this morning in the village street at the top of hisvoice as usual.”

“Meaning that the whole village knew it? Which they always do in anycase. Know of anyone who had a grudge¹⁵ against him?”

The thought of Lawrence Redding’s white face and staring eyes came tomy mind. I was spared answering by a noise of shuffling¹⁶ feet in the pas-sage outside.

“The police,” said my friend, and rose to his feet.

Our police force was represented by Constable¹⁷ Hurst, looking very im-portant but slightly worried.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted us. “the Inspector¹⁸ will be hereany minute. In the meantime I’ll follow out his instructions. I understandColonel Protheroe’s been found shot—in the Vicarage.”

He paused and directed a look of cold suspicion at me, which I tried tomeet with a suitable bearing of conscious innocence¹⁹.

He moved over to the writing table and announced:

“Nothing to be touched until the Inspector comes.”

For the convenience of my readers I append a sketch²⁰ plan of the room.

He got out his notebook, moistened his pencil and looked expectantly atboth of us.

I repeated my story of discovering the body. When he had got it alldown, which took some time, he turned to the doctor.

“In your opinion, Dr. Haydock, what was the cause of death?”

“Shot through the head at close quarters.”

“And the weapon?”

“I can’t say with certainty until we get the bullet out. But I should say inall probability the bullet was fired from a pistol of small calibre—say aMauser .25.”

I started, remembering our conversation of the night before, andLawrence Redding’s admission. The police constable brought his cold, fish-like eye round on me.

“Did you speak, sir?”

I shook my head. Whatever suspicions I might have, they were no morethan suspicions, and as such to be kept to myself.

“When, in your opinion, did the tragedy occur?”

The doctor hesitated for a minute before he answered. Then he said:

“The man has been dead just over half an hour, I should say. Certainlynot longer.”

Hurst turned to me. “Did the girl hear anything?”

“As far as I know she heard nothing,” I said. “But you had better askher.”

But at this moment Inspector Slack arrived, having come by car fromMuch Benham, two miles away.

All that I can say of Inspector Slack is that never did a man more de-terminedly strive to contradict his name. He was a dark man, restless andenergetic in manner, with black eyes that snapped ceaselessly. His man-ner was rude and overbearing in the extreme.

He acknowledged our greetings with a curt¹⁴ nod, seized his subordinate’snotebook, perused²¹ it, exchanged a few curt words with him in an under-tone, then strode over to the body.

“Everything’s been messed up and pulled about, I suppose,” he said.

“I’ve touched nothing,” said Haydock.

“No more have I,” I said.

The Inspector busied himself for some time peering at the things on thetable and examining the pool of blood.

“Ah!” he said in a tone of triumph. “Here’s what we want. Clock over-turned when he fell forward. That’ll give us the time of the crime. Twenty-two minutes past six. What time did you say death occurred, doctor?”

“I said about half an hour, but—”

The Inspector consulted his watch.

“Five minutes past seven. I got word about ten minutes ago, at fiveminutes to seven. Discovery of the body was at about a quarter to seven. Iunderstand you were fetched immediately. Say you examined it at tenminutes to—Why, that brings it to the identical second almost!”

“I don’t guarantee the time absolutely,” said Haydock. “That is an ap-proximate estimate.”

“Good enough, sir, good enough.”

I had been trying to get a word in.

“About the clock—”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll ask you any questions I want to know.

Time’s short. What I want is absolute silence.”

“Yes, but I’d like to tell you—”

“Absolute silence,” said the Inspector, glaring at me ferociously²². I gavehim what he asked for.

He was still peering about the writing table.

“What was he sitting here for?” he grunted²³. “Did he want to write a note—Hallo—what’s this?”

He held up a piece of notepaper triumphantly²⁴. So pleased was he withhis find that he permitted us to come to his side and examine it with him.

It was a piece of Vicarage notepaper, and it was headed at the top 6:20.

“Dear Clement”— it began —“Sorry I cannot wait any longer, but Imust….”

Here the writing tailed off in a scrawl²⁵.

“Plain as a pikestaff,” said Inspector Slack triumphantly. “He sits downhere to write this, an enemy comes softly in through the window andshoots him as he writes. What more do you want?”

“I’d just like to say—” I began.

“Out of the way, if you please, sir. I want to see if there are footprints.”

He went down on his hands and knees, moving towards the open win-dow.

“I think you ought to know—” I said obstinately²⁶.

The Inspector rose. He spoke without heat, but firmly.

“We’ll go into all that later. I’d be obliged if you gentlemen will clear outof here. Right out, if you please.”

We permitted ourselves to be shooed out like children.

Hours seemed to have passed—yet it was only a quarter past seven.

“Well,” said Haydock. “That’s that. When that conceited²⁷ ass⁵ wants me,you can send him over to the surgery. So long.”

“The mistress is back,” said Mary, making a brief appearance from thekitchen. Her eyes were round and agog²⁸ with excitement. “Come in aboutfive minutes ago.”

I found Griselda in the drawing room. She looked frightened, but ex-cited.

I told her everything and she listened attentively²⁹.

“The letter is headed 6:20,” I ended. “And the clock fell over and hasstopped at 6:22.”

“Yes,” said Griselda. “But that clock, didn’t you tell him that it was al-ways kept a quarter of an hour fast?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t. He wouldn’t let me. I tried my best.” Griselda wasfrowning in a puzzled manner.

“But, Len,” she said, “that makes the whole thing perfectly³⁰ extraordin-ary. Because when that clock said twenty past six it was really only fiveminutes past, and at five minutes past I don’t suppose Colonel Protheroehad even arrived at the house.”

 

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