寓所谜案7

Six

We puzzled over the business of the clock for some time, but we couldmake nothing of it. Griselda said I ought to make another effort to tell In-spector Slack about it, but on that point I was feeling what I can only de-scribe as “mulish.”

Inspector¹ Slack had been abominably² and most unnecessarily rude. Iwas looking forward to a moment when I could produce my valuable con-tribution and effect his discomfiture³. I would then say in a tone of mild re-proach:

“If you had only listened to me, Inspector Slack….”

I expected that he would at least speak to me before he left the house,but to our surprise we learned from Mary that he had departed, havinglocked up the study door and issued orders that no one was to attempt toenter the room.

Griselda suggested going up to Old Hall.

“It will be so awful for Anne Protheroe — with the police andeverything,” she said. “Perhaps I might be able to do something for her.”

I cordially approved of this plan, and Griselda set off with instructionsthat she was to telephone to me if she thought that I could be of any use orcomfort to either of the ladies.

I now proceeded to ring up the Sunday School teachers, who were com-ing at 7:45 for their weekly preparation class. I thought that under the cir-cumstances it would be better to put them off.

Dennis was the next person to arrive on the scene, having just returnedfrom a tennis party. The fact that murder had taken place at the Vicarageseemed to afford him acute satisfaction.

“Fancy being right on the spot in a murder case,” he exclaimed. “I’ve al-ways wanted to be right in the midst of one. Why have the police lockedup the study? Wouldn’t one of the other door keys fit it?”

I refused to allow anything of the sort to be attempted. Dennis gave inwith a bad grace. After extracting every possible detail from me he wentout into the garden to look for footprints, remarking cheerfully that it waslucky it was only old Protheroe, whom everyone disliked.

His cheerful callousness⁵ rather grated on me, but I reflected that I wasperhaps being hard on the boy. At Dennis’s age a detective story is one ofthe best things in life, and to find a real detective story, complete withcorpse, waiting on one’s own front doorstep, so to speak, is bound to senda healthy-minded boy into the seventh heaven of enjoyment⁶. Death meansvery little to a boy of sixteen.

Griselda came back in about an hour’s time. She had seen Anne Pro-theroe, having arrived just after the Inspector had broken the news to her.

On hearing that Mrs. Protheroe had last seen her husband in the villageabout a quarter to six, and that she had no light of any kind to throw uponthe matter, he had taken his departure, explaining that he would returnon the morrow for a fuller interview.

“He was quite decent in his way,” said Griselda grudgingly⁷.

“How did Mrs. Protheroe take it?” I asked.

“Well—she was very quiet—but then she always is.”

“Yes,” I said. “I can’t imagine Anne Protheroe going into hysterics.”

“Of course it was a great shock. You could see that. She thanked me forcoming and said she was very grateful but that there was nothing I coulddo.”

“What about Lettice?”

“She was out playing tennis somewhere. She hadn’t got home yet.”

There was a pause, and then Griselda said:

“You know, Len, she was really very quiet—very queer indeed.”

“The shock,” I suggested.

“Yes—I suppose so. And yet—” Griselda furrowed⁸ her brows perplex-edly. “It wasn’t like that, somehow. She didn’t seem so much bowled overas—well—terrified.”

“Terrified?”

“Yes—not showing it, you know. At least not meaning to show it. But aqueer, watchful⁹ look in her eyes. I wonder if she has a sort of idea who didkill him. She asked again and again if anyone were suspected.”

“Did she?” I said thoughtfully.

“Yes. Of course Anne’s got marvellous self-control, but one could seethat she was terribly upset. More so than I would have thought, for afterall it wasn’t as though she were so devoted¹⁰ to him. I should have said sherather disliked him, if anything.”

“Death alters one’s feelings sometimes,” I said.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Dennis came in and was full of excitement over a footprint he had foundin one of the flower beds. He was sure that the police had overlooked itand that it would turn out to be the turning point of the mystery.

I spent a troubled night. Dennis was up and about and out of the houselong before breakfast to “study the latest developments,” as he said.

Nevertheless it was not he, but Mary, who brought us the morning’s sen-sational bit of news.

We had just sat down to breakfast when she burst into the room, hercheeks red and her eyes shining, and addressed us with her customarylack of ceremony.

“Would you believe it? The baker’s just told me. They’ve arrested youngMr. Redding.”

“Arrested Lawrence,” cried Griselda incredulously. “Impossible. It mustbe some stupid mistake.”

“No mistake about it, mum,” said Mary with a kind of gloating exulta-tion. “Mr. Redding, he went there himself and gave himself up. Last night,last thing. Went right in, threw down the pistol on the table, and ‘I did it,’

he says. Just like that.”

She looked at us both, nodded her head vigorously, and withdrew satis-fied with the effect she had produced. Griselda and I stared at each other.

“Oh! It isn’t true,” said Griselda. “It can’t be true.”

She noticed my silence, and said: “Len, you don’t think it’s true?”

I found it hard to answer her. I sat silent, thoughts whirling through myhead.

“He must be mad,” said Griselda. “Absolutely mad. Or do you think theywere looking at the pistol together and it suddenly went off?”

“That doesn’t sound at all a likely thing to happen.”

“But it must have been an accident of some kind. Because there’s not ashadow of a motive¹¹. What earthly reason could Lawrence have for killingColonel Protheroe?”

I could have answered that question very decidedly, but I wished tospare Anne Protheroe as far as possible. There might still be a chance ofkeeping her name out of it.

“Remember they had had a quarrel,” I said.

“About Lettice and her bathing dress. Yes, but that’s absurd; and even ifhe and Lettice were engaged secretly—well, that’s not a reason for killingher father.”

“We don’t know what the true facts of the case may be, Griselda.”

“You do believe it, Len! Oh! How can you! I tell you, I’m sure Lawrencenever touched a hair of his head.”

“Remember, I met him just outside the gate. He looked like a madman.”

“Yes, but—oh! It’s impossible.”

“There’s the clock, too,” I said. “This explains the clock. Lawrence musthave put it back to 6:20 with the idea of making an alibi¹² for himself. Lookhow Inspector Slack fell into the trap.”

“You’re wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about that clock being fast. ‘Keep-ing the Vicar up to time!’ he used to say. Lawrence would never havemade the mistake of putting it back to 6:22. He’d have put the hands some-where possible—like a quarter to seven.”

“He mayn’t have known what time Protheroe got here. Or he may havesimply forgotten about the clock being fast.”

Griselda disagreed.

“No, if you were committing a murder, you’d be awfully¹³ careful aboutthings like that.”

“You don’t know, my dear,” I said mildly. “You’ve never done one.”

Before Griselda could reply, a shadow fell across the breakfast table,and a very gentle voice said:

“I hope I am not intruding¹⁴. You must forgive me. But in the sad circum-stances—the very sad circumstances….”

It was our neighbour, Miss Marple. Accepting our polite disclaimers, shestepped in through the window, and I drew up a chair for her. She lookedfaintly flushed and quite excited.

“Very terrible, is it not? Poor Colonel Protheroe. Not a very pleasantman, perhaps, and not exactly popular, but it’s none the less sad for that.

And actually shot in the Vicarage study, I understand?”

I said that that had indeed been the case.

“But the dear Vicar was not here at the time?” Miss Marple questionedof Griselda. I explained where I had been.

“Mr. Dennis is not with you this morning?” said Miss Marple, glancinground.

“Dennis,” said Griselda, “fancies himself as an amateur detective. He isvery excited about a footprint he found in one of the flower beds, and Ifancy has gone off to tell the police about it.”

“Dear, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Such a to-do, is it not? And Mr. Dennisthinks he knows who committed the crime. Well, I suppose we all thinkwe know.”

“You mean it is obvious?” said Griselda.

“No, dear, I didn’t mean that at all. I dare say everyone thinks it is some-body different. That is why it is so important to have proofs. I, for instance,am quite convinced I know who did it. But I must admit I haven’t oneshadow of proof. One must, I know, be very careful of what one says at atime like this—criminal libel, don’t they call it? I had made up my mind tobe most careful with Inspector Slack. He sent word he would come and seeme this morning, but now he has just phoned up to say it won’t be neces-sary after all.”

“I suppose, since the arrest, it isn’t necessary,” I said.

“The arrest?” Miss Marple leaned forward, her cheeks pink with excite-ment. “I didn’t know there had been an arrest.”

It is so seldom that Miss Marple is worse informed than we are that Ihad taken it for granted that she would know the latest developments.

“It seems we have been talking at cross purposes,” I said. “Yes, there hasbeen an arrest—Lawrence Redding.”

“Lawrence Redding?” Miss Marple seemed very surprised. “Now Ishould not have thought—”

Griselda interrupted vehemently¹⁵.

“I can’t believe it even now. No, not though he has actually confessed.”

“Confessed?” said Miss Marple. “You say he has confessed? Oh! dear, Isee I have been sadly at sea—yes, sadly at sea.”

“I can’t help feeling it must have been some kind of an accident,” saidGriselda. “Don’t you think so, Len? I mean his coming forward to give him-self up looks like that.”

Miss Marple leant forward eagerly.

“He gave himself up, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” said Miss Marple, with a deep sigh. “I am so glad—so very glad.”

I looked at her in some surprise.

“It shows a true state of remorse¹⁶, I suppose,” I said.

“Remorse?” Miss Marple looked very surprised. “Oh, but surely, dear,dear Vicar, you don’t think that he is guilty?”

It was my turn to stare.

“But since he has confessed—”

“Yes, but that just proves it, doesn’t it? I mean that he had nothing to dowith it.”

“No,” I said. “I may be dense¹⁷, but I can’t see that it does. If you have notcommitted a murder, I cannot see the object of pretending you have.”

“Oh, of course, there’s a reason!” said Miss Marple. “Naturally. There’salways a reason, isn’t there? And young men are so hot-headed and oftenprone to believe the worst.”

She turned to Griselda.

“Don’t you agree with me, my dear?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Griselda. “It’s difficult to know what to think. Ican’t see any reason for Lawrence behaving like a perfect idiot.”

“If you had seen his face last night—” I began.

“Tell me,” said Miss Marple.

I described my homecoming while she listened attentively¹⁸.

When I had finished she said:

“I know that I am very often rather foolish and don’t take in things as Ishould, but I really do not see your point.

“It seems to me that if a young man had made up his mind to the greatwickedness of taking a fellow creature’s life, he would not appear dis-traught about it afterwards. It would be a premeditated and cold-bloodedaction and though the murderer might be a little flurried and possiblymight make some small mistake, I do not think it likely he would fall into astate of agitation¹⁹ such as you describe. It is difficult to put oneself in sucha position, but I cannot imagine getting into a state like that myself.”

“We don’t know the circumstances,” I argued. “If there was a quarrel,the shot may have been fired in a sudden gust²⁰ of passion, and Lawrencemight afterwards have been appalled²¹ at what he had done. Indeed, Iprefer to think that this is what did actually occur.”

“I know, dear Mr. Clement²², that there are many ways we prefer to lookat things. But one must actually take facts as they are, must one not? Andit does not seem to me that the facts bear the interpretation²³ you put uponthem. Your maid distinctly stated that Mr. Redding was only in the house acouple of minutes, not long enough, surely, for a quarrel such as you de-scribe. And then again, I understand the Colonel was shot through theback of the head while he was writing a letter—at least that is what mymaid told me.”

“Quite true,” said Griselda. “He seems to have been writing a note to sayhe couldn’t wait any longer. The note was dated 6:20, and the clock on thetable was overturned and had stopped at 6:22, and that’s just what hasbeen puzzling Len and myself so frightfully.”

She explained our custom of keeping the clock a quarter of an hour fast.

“Very curious,” said Miss Marple. “Very curious indeed. But the noteseems to me even more curious still. I mean—”

She stopped and looked round. Lettice Protheroe was standing²⁴ outsidethe window. She came in, nodding to us and murmuring “Morning.”

She dropped into a chair and said, with rather more animation²⁵ thanusual:

“They’ve arrested Lawrence, I hear.”

“Yes,” said Griselda. “It’s been a great shock to us.”

“I never really thought anyone would murder father,” said Lettice. Shewas obviously taking a pride in letting no hint of distress²⁶ or emotion es-cape her. “Lots of people wanted to, I’m sure. There are times when I’dhave liked to do it myself.”

“Won’t you have something to eat or drink, Lettice?” asked Griselda.

“No, thank you. I just drifted round to see if you’d got my beret here—aqueer little yellow one. I think I left it in the study the other day.”

“If you did, it’s there still,” said Griselda. “Mary never tidies anything.”

“I’ll go and see,” said Lettice, rising. “Sorry to be such a bother, but Iseem to have lost everything else in the hat line.”

“I’m afraid you can’t get it now,” I said. “Inspector Slack has locked theroom up.”

“Oh, what a bore! Can’t we get in through the window?”

“I’m afraid not. It is latched²⁷ on the inside. Surely, Lettice, a yellow beretwon’t be much good to you at present?”

“You mean mourning and all that? I shan’t bother about mourning. Ithink it’s an awfully archaic²⁸ idea. It’s a nuisance about Lawrence—yes, it’sa nuisance.”

She got up and stood frowning abstractedly.

“I suppose it’s all on account of me and my bathing dress. So silly, thewhole thing….”

Griselda opened her mouth to say something, but for some unexplainedreason shut it again.

A curious smile came to Lettice’s lips.

“I think,” she said softly, “I’ll go home and tell Anne about Lawrence be-ing arrested.”

She went out of the window again. Griselda turned to Miss Marple.

“Why did you step on my foot?”

The old lady was smiling.

“I thought you were going to say something, my dear. And it is often somuch better to let things develop on their own lines. I don’t think, youknow, that that child is half so vague as she pretends to be. She’s got avery definite idea in her head and she’s acting⁴ upon it.”

Mary gave a loud knock on the dining room door and entered hardupon it.

“What is it?” said Griselda. “And Mary, you must remember not to knockon doors. I’ve told you about it before.”

“Thought you might be busy,” said Mary. “Colonel Melchett’s here.

Wants to see the master.”

Colonel Melchett is Chief Constable²⁹ of the county. I rose at once.

“I thought you wouldn’t like my leaving him in the hall, so I put him inthe drawing room,” went on Mary. “Shall I clear?”

“Not yet,” said Griselda. “I’ll ring.”

She turned to Miss Marple and I left the room.

 

分享到：