寓所谜案16

Fifteen

Hawes’s appearance distressed me very much. His hands were shakingand his face kept twitching nervously. In my opinion he should have beenin 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 an-swer. 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 inthe Vicarage.”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s not very pleasant.”

“It’s terrible—quite terrible. It seems they haven’t arrested Mr. Reddingafter 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 in-terest in the details of a murder case. Perhaps it is because it happened inthe Vicarage. He appeared as eager as a reporter.

“I don’t know that I am completely in Inspector Slack’s confidence. Asfar as I know, he does not suspect anyone in particular. He is at presentengaged in making inquiries.”

“Yes. Yes—of course. But who can one imagine doing such a dreadfulthing?”

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, themore I am convinced that he was the kind of man to have enemies. He hada reputation on the Bench for being very severe.”

“I suppose he had.”

“Why, don’t you remember, sir? He was telling you yesterday morningabout 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 withColonel Protheroe. He had such a very loud voice, hadn’t he? I rememberbeing impressed by your own words. That when his time came, he mighthave justice meted out to him instead of mercy.”

“Did I say that?” I asked, frowning. My remembrance of my own wordswas slightly different.

“You said it very impressively, sir. I was struck by your words. Justice isa terrible thing. And to think the poor man was struck down shortly after-wards. It’s almost as though you had a premonition.”

“I had nothing of the sort,” I said shortly. I rather dislike Hawes’s tend-ency 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—aboutArcher 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 theforces of law and order against him. I held no brief for Archer. He is an in-veterate poacher — one of those cheerful ne’er- do- weels that are to befound in any parish. Whatever he may have said in the heat of angerwhen he was sentenced I had no definite knowledge that he felt the samewhen he came out of prison.

“You heard the conversation,” I said at last. “If you feel it your duty to goto 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 mightbe 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. Col-onel Protheroe was threatening to show Archer what vengeance wasworth 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 thecause of right. When you get to my age, you’ll find that you like to givepeople the benefit of the doubt.”

“It’s not—I mean—”

He paused, and I looked at him in surprise.

“You haven’t any—any idea of your own—as to the identity of the mur-derer, I mean?”

“Good heavens, no.”

Hawes persisted. “Or as to the—motive?”

“No. Have you?”

“I? No, indeed. I just wondered. If Colonel Protheroe had—had confidedin you in any way—mentioned anything….”

“His confidences, such as they were, were heard by the whole villagestreet yesterday morning,” I said dryly.

“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 heardhim threaten Colonel Protheroe myself, that would be a different matter.

But you may be sure that if he actually has threatened him, half the peoplein the village will have heard him, and the news will get to the police allright. 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 Hay-dock 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’tknow 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 projectsof 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 un-opened.

As I walked, I remembered that Mrs. Lestrange had had an interviewwith Colonel Protheroe the night before his death. It was possible thatsomething had transpired in that interview which would throw light uponthe problem of his murder.

I was shown straight into the little drawing room, and Mrs. Lestrangerose to meet me. I was struck anew by the marvellous atmosphere thatthis woman could create. She wore a dress of some dead black materialthat showed off the extraordinary fairness of her skin. There was some-thing curiously dead about her face. Only the eyes were burningly alive.

There was a watchful look in them today. Otherwise she showed no signsof animation.

“It was very good of you to come, Mr. Clement,” she said, as she shookhands. “I wanted to speak to you the other day. Then I decided not to doso. 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 fewpeople, 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 ownhand.” 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 andthen began to speak very slowly and thoughtfully, seeming to weigh eachword as she uttered it.

“I am in a very peculiar position, Mr. Clement, and I want to ask youradvice. That is, I want to ask your advice as to what I should do next. Whatis past is past and cannot be undone. You understand?”

Before I could reply, the maid who had admitted me opened the doorand said with a scared face:

“Oh! Please, ma’am, there is a police inspector here, and he says he mustspeak to you, please.”

There was a pause. Mrs. Lestrange’s face did not change. Only her eyesvery slowly closed and opened again. She seemed to swallow once ortwice, 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 imperioushand.

“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 briskregulation tread.

“Good afternoon, madam,” he began.

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

At this moment, he caught sight of me and scowled. There is no doubtabout 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 thecase and making inquiries.”

Mrs. Lestrange nodded.

“Just as a matter of form, I’m asking every one just where they were yes-terday evening between the hours of 6 and 7 p.m. Just as a matter of form,you understand.”

“You want to know where I was yesterday evening between six andseven?”

“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 onlyone 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 early inthe afternoon. I returned some time before five o’clock.”

“Then if a lady—Miss Hartnell, for instance—were to declare that shecame here about six o’clock, rang the bell, but could make no one hearand 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 nothappen to want to see callers—well, the only thing to do is to let themring.”

Inspector Slack looked slightly baffled.

“Elderly women bore me dreadfully,” said Mrs. Lestrange. “And MissHartnell is particularly boring. She must have rung at least half a dozentimes 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 Pro-theroe 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 tell me the nature of that private matter.”

“I shall not tell you anything of the kind. I will only assure you thatnothing which was said at that interview could possibly have any bearingupon 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 bangedhis 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 posi-tion?”

Still Mrs. Lestrange said nothing.

“You’ll be required to give evidence at the inquest.”

“Yes.”

Just the monosyllable. Unemphatic, uninterested. The Inspector alteredhis 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?”

“I wanted to see Colonel Protheroe alone. I did not want to see Mrs. Pro-theroe or Miss Protheroe. I considered this the best way of accomplishingmy object.”

“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 care-ful. All this looks bad—it looks very bad.”

She laughed. I could have told Inspector Slack that this was not the kindof woman who is easily frightened.

“Well,” he said, extricating himself with dignity, “don’t say I haven’twarned you, that’s all. Good afternoon, madam, and mind you we’re goingto 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 latefor advice now. I have chosen my part.”

She repeated in a rather forlorn voice:

“I have chosen my part.”

 

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