寓所谜案20

Nineteen

“Very glad to have met you,” said Lawrence. “Come to my place.”

We turned in at the little rustic gate, went up the path, and he drew akey from his pocket and inserted it in the lock.

“You keep the door locked now,” I observed.

“Yes.” He laughed rather bitterly. “Case of stable door when the steed isgone, eh? It is rather like that. You know, padre,” he held the door openand I passed inside, “there’s something about all this business that I don’tlike. It’s too much of—how shall I put it—an inside job. Someone knewabout that pistol of mine. That means that the murderer, whoever he was,must have actually been in this house—perhaps even had a drink withme.”

“Not necessarily,” I objected. “The whole village of St. Mary Mead prob-ably knows exactly where you keep your toothbrush and what kind oftooth powder you use.”

“But why should it interest them?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but it does. If you change your shaving cream itwill be a topic of conversation.”

“They must be very hard up for news.”

“They are. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

“Well, it has now—with a vengeance.”

I agreed.

“And who tells them all these things anyway? Shaving cream and thingslike that?”

“Probably old Mrs. Archer.”

“That old crone? She’s practically a half-wit, as far as I can make out.”

“That’s merely the camouflage of the poor,” I explained. “They takerefuge behind a mask of stupidity. You’ll probably find that the old ladyhas all her wits about her. By the way, she seems very certain now that thepistol was in its proper place midday Thursday. What’s made her so posit-ive all of a sudden?”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

“There again I haven’t the least idea. I don’t go round taking an invent-ory of my possessions every day.”

I looked round the small living room. Every shelf and table was litteredwith miscellaneous articles. Lawrence lived in the midst of an artistic dis-array that would have driven me quite mad.

“It’s a bit of a job finding things sometimes,” he said, observing myglance. “On the other hand, everything is handy—not tucked away.”

“Nothing is tucked away, certainly,” I agreed. “It might perhaps havebeen better if the pistol had been.”

“Do you know I rather expected the coroner to say something of thesort. Coroners are such asses. I expected to be censured or whatever theycall it.”

“By the way,” I asked, “was it loaded?”

Lawrence shook his head.

“I’m not quite so careless as that. It was unloaded, but there was a boxof cartridges beside it.”

“It was apparently loaded in all six chambers and one shot had beenfired.”

Lawrence nodded.

“And whose hand fired it? It’s all very well, sir, but unless the real mur-derer is discovered I shall be suspected of the crime to the day of mydeath.”

“Don’t say that, my boy.”

“But I do say it.”

He became silent, frowning to himself. He roused himself at last andsaid:

“But let me tell you how I got on last night. You know, old Miss Marpleknows a thing or two.”

“She is, I believe, rather unpopular on that account.”

Lawrence proceeded to recount his story.

He had, following Miss Marple’s advice, gone up to Old Hall. There, withAnne’s assistance, he had had an interview with the parlourmaid. Annehad said simply:

“Mr. Redding wants to ask you a few questions, Rose.”

Then she had left the room.

Lawrence had felt somewhat nervous. Rose, a pretty girl of twenty-five,gazed at him with a limpid gaze which he found rather disconcerting.

“It’s—it’s about Colonel Protheroe’s death.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very anxious, you see, to get at the truth.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I feel that there may be—that someone might—that—that there mightbe some incident—”

At this point Lawrence felt that he was not covering himself with glory,and heartily cursed Miss Marple and her suggestions.

“I wondered if you could help me?”

“Yes, sir?”

Rose’s demeanour was still that of the perfect servant, polite, anxious toassist, and completely uninterested.

“Dash it all,” said Lawrence, “haven’t you talked the thing over in theservants’ hall?”

This method of attack flustered Rose slightly. Her perfect poise wasshaken.

“In the servants’ hall, sir?”

“Or the housekeeper’s room, or the bootboy’s dugout, or wherever youdo talk? There must be some place.”

Rose displayed a very faint disposition to giggle, and Lawrence felt en-couraged.

“Look here, Rose, you’re an awfully nice girl. I’m sure you must under-stand what I’m feeling like. I don’t want to be hanged. I didn’t murderyour master, but a lot of people think I did. Can’t you help me in anyway?”

I can imagine at this point that Lawrence must have looked extremelyappealing. His handsome head thrown back, his Irish blue eyes appealing.

Rose softened and capitulated.

“Oh, sir! I’m sure—if any of us could help in any way. None of us thinkyou did it, sir. Indeed we don’t.”

“I know, my dear girl, but that’s not going to help me with the police.”

“The police!” Rose tossed her head. “I can tell you, sir, we don’t thinkmuch of that Inspector. Slack, he calls himself. The police indeed.”

“All the same, the police are very powerful. Now, Rose, you say you’ll doyour best to help me. I can’t help feeling that there’s a lot we haven’t gotyet. The lady, for instance, who called to see Colonel Protheroe the nightbefore he died.”

“Mrs. Lestrange?”

“Yes, Mrs. Lestrange. I can’t help feeling there’s something rather oddabout that visit of hers.”

“Yes, indeed, sir, that’s what we all said.”

“You did?”

“Coming the way she did. And asking for the Colonel. And of coursethere’s been a lot of talk—nobody knowing anything about her down here.

And Mrs. Simmons, she’s the housekeeper, sir, she gave it as her opinionthat she was a regular bad lot. But after hearing what Gladdie said, well, Ididn’t know what to think.”

“What did Gladdie say?”

“Oh, nothing, sir! It was just—we were talking, you know.”

Lawrence looked at her. He had the feeling of something kept back.

“I wonder very much what her interview with Colonel Protheroe wasabout.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe you know, Rose?”

“Me? Oh, no, sir! Indeed I don’t. How could I?”

“Look here, Rose. You said you’d help me. If you overheard anything,anything at all—it mightn’t seem important, but anything … I’d be so aw-fully grateful to you. After all, anyone might—might chance—just chanceto overhear something.”

“But I didn’t, sir, really, I didn’t.”

“Then somebody else did,” said Lawrence acutely.

“Well, sir—”

“Do tell me, Rose.”

“I don’t know what Gladdie would say, I’m sure.”

“She’d want you to tell me. Who is Gladdie, by the way?”

“She’s the kitchenmaid, sir. And you see, she’d just stepped out to speakto a friend, and she was passing the window—the study window—and themaster was there with the lady. And of course he did speak very loud, themaster did, always. And naturally, feeling a little curious—I mean—”

“Awfully natural,” said Lawrence, “I mean one would simply have tolisten.”

“But of course she didn’t tell anyone—except me. And we both thought itvery odd. But Gladdie couldn’t say anything, you see, because if it wasknown she’d gone out to meet—a—a friend—well, it would have meant alot of unpleasantness with Mrs. Pratt, that’s the cook, sir. But I’m sureshe’d tell you anything, sir, willing.”

“Well, can I go to the kitchen and speak to her?”

Rose was horrified by the suggestion.

“Oh, no, sir, that would never do! And Gladdie’s a very nervous girl any-way.”

At last the matter was settled, after a lot of discussion over difficultpoints. A clandestine meeting was arranged in the shrubbery.

Here, in due course, Lawrence was confronted by the nervous Gladdiewho he described as more like a shivering rabbit than anything human.

Ten minutes were spent in trying to put the girl at her ease, the shiveringGladys explaining that she couldn’t ever—that she didn’t ought, that shedidn’t think Rose would have given her away, that anyway she hadn’tmeant no harm, indeed she hadn’t, and that she’d catch it badly if Mrs.

Pratt ever came to hear of it.

Lawrence reassured, cajoled, persuaded — at last Gladys consented tospeak. “If you’ll be sure it’ll go no further, sir.”

“Of course it won’t.”

“And it won’t be brought up against me in a court of law?”

“Never.”

“And you won’t tell the mistress?”

“Not on any account.”

“If it were to get to Mrs. Pratt’s ears—”

“It won’t. Now tell me, Gladys.”

“If you’re sure it’s all right?”

“Of course it is. You’ll be glad some day you’ve saved me from beinghanged.”

Gladys gave a little shriek.

“Oh! Indeed, I wouldn’t like that, sir. Well, it’s very little I heard—andthat entirely by accident as you might say—”

“I quite understand.”

“But the master, he was evidently very angry. ‘After all these years’—that’s what he was saying—‘you dare to come here—’ ‘It’s an outrage—’ Icouldn’t hear what the lady said—but after a bit he said, ‘I utterly refuse—utterly—’ I can’t remember everything—seemed as though they were at ithammer and tongs, she wanting him to do something and he refusing. ‘It’sa disgrace that you should have come down here,’ that’s one thing he said.

And ‘You shall not see her—I forbid it—’ and that made me prick up myears. Looked as though the lady wanted to tell Mrs. Protheroe a thing ortwo, and he was afraid about it. And I thought to myself, ‘Well, now, fancythe master. Him so particular. And maybe no beauty himself when all’ssaid and done. Fancy!’ I said. And ‘Men are all alike,’ I said to my friendlater. Not that he’d agree. Argued, he did. But he did admit he was sur-prised at Colonel Protheroe — him being a churchwarden and handinground the plate and reading the lessons on Sundays. ‘But there,’ I said,‘that’s very often the worst.’ For that’s what I’ve heard my mother say,many a time.”

Gladdie paused out of breath, and Lawrence tried tactfully to get back towhere the conversation had started.

“Did you hear anything else?”

“Well, it’s difficult to remember exactly, sir. It was all much the same.

He said once or twice, ‘I don’t believe it.’ Just like that. ‘Whatever Haydocksays, I don’t believe it.’”

“He said that, did he? ‘Whatever Haydock says?’”

“Yes. And he said it was all a plot.”

“You didn’t hear the lady speak at all?”

“Only just at the end. She must have got up to go and come nearer thewindow. And I heard what she said. Made my blood run cold, it did. I’llnever forget it. ‘By this time tomorrow night, you may be dead,’ she said.

Wicked the way she said it. As soon as I heard the news, ‘There,’ I said toRose. ‘There!’”

Lawrence wondered. Principally he wondered how much of Gladys’sstory was to be depended upon. True in the main, he suspected that it hadbeen embellished and polished since the murder. In especial he doubtedthe accuracy of the last remark. He thought it highly possible that it owedits being to the fact of the murder.

He thanked Gladys, rewarded her suitably, reassured her as to her mis-doings being made known to Mrs. Pratt, and left Old Hall with a good dealto think over.

One thing was clear, Mrs. Lestrange’s interview with Colonel Protheroehad certainly not been a peaceful one, and it was one which he wasanxious to keep from the knowledge of his wife.

I thought of Miss Marple’s churchwarden with his separate establish-ment. Was this a case resembling that?

I wondered more than ever where Haydock came in. He had saved Mrs.

Lestrange from having to give evidence at the inquest. He had done hisbest to protect her from the police.

How far would he carry that protection?

Supposing he suspected her of crime—would he still try and shield her?

She was a curious woman—a woman of very strong magnetic charm. Imyself hated the thought of connecting her with the crime in any way.

Something in me said, “It can’t be her!” Why?

And an imp in my brain replied: “Because she’s a very beautiful and at-tractive woman. That’s why.”

There is, as Miss Marple would say, a lot of human nature in all of us.

 

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