Nine

After leaving a message at the police station, the Chief Constable an-nounced his intention of paying a visit to Miss Marple.

“You’d better come with me, Vicar,” he said. “I don’t want to give amember of your flock hysterics. So lend the weight of your soothing pres-ence.”

I smiled. For all her fragile appearance, Miss Marple is capable of hold-ing her own with any policeman or Chief Constable in existence.

“What’s she like?” asked the Colonel, as we rang the bell. “Anything shesays to be depended upon or otherwise?”

I considered the matter.

“I think she is quite dependable,” I said cautiously. “That is, in so far asshe is talking of what she has actually seen. Beyond that, of course, whenyou get on to what she thinks—well, that is another matter. She has apowerful imagination and systematically thinks the worst of everyone.”

“The typical elderly spinster, in fact,” said Melchett, with a laugh. “Well,I ought to know the breed by now. Gad, the tea parties down here!”

We were admitted by a very diminutive maid and shown into a smalldrawing room.

“A bit crowded,” said Colonel Melchett, looking round. “But plenty ofgood stuff. A lady’s room, eh, Clement?”

I agreed, and at that moment the door opened and Miss Marple madeher appearance.

“Very sorry to bother you, Miss Marple,” said the Colonel, when I had in-troduced him, putting on his bluff military manner which he had an ideawas attractive to elderly ladies. “Got to do my duty, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” said Miss Marple. “I quite understand. Won’t yousit down? And might I offer you a little glass of cherry brandy? My ownmaking. A recipe of my grandmother’s.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Marple. Very kind of you. But I think Iwon’t. Nothing till lunch time, that’s my motto. Now, I want to talk to youabout this sad business—very sad business indeed. Upset us all, I’m sure.

Well, it seems possible that owing to the position of your house andgarden, you may have been able to tell us something we want to knowabout yesterday evening.”

“As a matter of fact, I was in my little garden from five o’clock onwardsyesterday, and, of course, from there—well, one simply cannot help seeinganything that is going on next door.”

“I understand, Miss Marple, that Mrs. Protheroe passed this way yester-day evening?”

“Yes, she did. I called out to her, and she admired my roses.”

“Could you tell us about what time that was?”

“I should say it was just a minute or two after a quarter past six. Yes,that’s right. The church clock had just chimed the quarter.”

“Very good. What happened next?”

“Well, Mrs. Protheroe said she was calling for her husband at the Vicar-age so that they could go home together. She had come along the lane, youunderstand, and she went into the Vicarage by the back gate and acrossthe garden.”

“She came from the lane?”

“Yes, I’ll show you.”

Full of eagerness, Miss Marple led us out into the garden and pointedout the lane that ran along by the bottom of the garden.

“The path opposite with the stile leads to the Hall,” she explained. “Thatwas the way they were going home together. Mrs. Protheroe came fromthe village.”

“Perfectly, perfectly,” said Colonel Melchett. “And she went across to theVicarage, you say?”

“Yes. I saw her turn the corner of the house. I suppose the Colonelwasn’t there yet, because she came back almost immediately, and wentdown the lawn to the studio—that building there. The one the Vicar letsMr. Redding use as a studio.”

“I see. And—you didn’t hear a shot, Miss Marple?”

“I didn’t hear a shot then,” said Miss Marple.

“But you did hear one sometime?”

“Yes, I think there was a shot somewhere in the woods. But quite five orten minutes afterwards—and, as I say, out in the woods. At least, I thinkso. It couldn’t have been—surely it couldn’t have been—”

She stopped, pale with excitement.

“Yes, yes, we’ll come to all that presently,” said Colonel Melchett. “Pleasego on with your story. Mrs. Protheroe went down to the studio?”

“Yes, she went inside and waited. Presently Mr. Redding came along thelane from the village. He came to the Vicarage gate, looked all round—”

“And saw you, Miss Marple.”

“As a matter of fact, he didn’t see me,” said Miss Marple, flushingslightly. “Because, you see, just at that minute I was bending right over—trying to get up one of those nasty dandelions, you know. So difficult. Andthen he went through the gate and down to the studio.”

“He didn’t go near the house?”

“Oh, no! He went straight to the studio. Mrs. Protheroe came to the doorto meet him, and then they both went inside.”

Here Miss Marple contributed a singularly eloquent pause.

“Perhaps she was sitting for him?” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” said Miss Marple.

“And they came out—when?”

“About ten minutes later.”

“That was roughly?”

“The church clock had chimed the half hour. They strolled out throughthe garden gate and along the lane, and just at that minute, Dr. Stone camedown the path leading to the Hall, and climbed over the stile and joinedthem. They all walked towards the village together. At the end of the lane,I think, but I can’t be quite sure, they were joined by Miss Cram. I think itmust have been Miss Cram because her skirts were so short.”

“You must have very good eyesight, Miss Marple, if you can observe asfar as that.”

“I was observing a bird,” said Miss Marple. “A golden crested wren, Ithink he was. A sweet little fellow. I had my glasses out, and that’s how Ihappened to see Miss Cram (if it was Miss Cram, and I think so), jointhem.”

“Ah! Well, that may be so,” said Colonel Melchett. “Now, since you seemvery good at observing, did you happen to notice, Miss Marple, what sortof expression Mrs. Protheroe and Mr. Redding had as they passed alongthe lane?”

“They were smiling and talking,” said Miss Marple. “They seemed veryhappy to be together, if you know what I mean.”

“They didn’t seem upset or disturbed in any way?”

“Oh, no! Just the opposite.”

“Deuced odd,” said the Colonel. “There’s something deuced odd aboutthe whole thing.”

Miss Marple suddenly took our breath away by remarking in a placidvoice:

“Has Mrs. Protheroe been saying that she committed the crime now?”

“Upon my soul,” said the Colonel, “how did you come to guess that, MissMarple?”

“Well, I rather thought it might happen,” said Miss Marple. “I think dearLettice thought so, too. She’s really a very sharp girl. Not always very scru-pulous, I’m afraid. So Anne Protheroe says she killed her husband. Well,well. I don’t think it’s true. No, I’m almost sure it isn’t true. Not with a wo-man like Anne Protheroe. Although one never can be quite sure aboutanyone, can one? At least that’s what I’ve found. When does she say sheshot him?”

“At twenty minutes past six. Just after speaking to you.”

Miss Marple shook her head slowly and pityingly. The pity was, I think,for two full-grown men being so foolish as to believe such a story. At leastthat is what we felt like.

“What did she shoot him with?”

“A pistol.”

“Where did she find it?”

“She brought it with her.”

“Well, that she didn’t do,” said Miss Marple, with unexpected decision. “Ican swear to that. She’d no such thing with her.”

“You mightn’t have seen it.”

“Of course I should have seen it.”

“If it had been in her handbag.”

“She wasn’t carrying a handbag.”

“Well, it might have been concealed—er—upon her person.”

Miss Marple directed a glance of sorrow and scorn upon him.

“My dear Colonel Melchett, you know what young women arenowadays. Not ashamed to show exactly how the creator made them. Shehadn’t so much as a handkerchief in the top of her stocking.”

Melchett was obstinate.

“You must admit that it all fits in,” he said. “The time, the overturnedclock pointing to 6:22—”

Miss Marple turned on me.

“Do you mean you haven’t told him about that clock yet?”

“What about the clock, Clement?”

I told him. He showed a good deal of annoyance.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell Slack this last night?”

“Because,” I said, “he wouldn’t let me.”

“Nonsense, you ought to have insisted.”

“Probably,” I said, “Inspector Slack behaves quite differently to you thanhe does to me. I had no earthly chance of insisting.”

“It’s an extraordinary business altogether,” said Melchett. “If a third per-son comes along and claims to have done this murder, I shall go into a lun-atic asylum.”

“If I might be allowed to suggest—” murmured Miss Marple.

“Well?”

“If you were to tell Mr. Redding what Mrs. Protheroe has done and thenexplain that you don’t really believe it is her. And then if you were to go toMrs. Protheroe and tell her that Mr. Redding is all right—why then, theymight each of them tell you the truth. And the truth is helpful, though Idare say they don’t know very much themselves, poor things.”

“It’s all very well, but they are the only two people who had a motive formaking away with Protheroe.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Colonel Melchett,” said Miss Marple.

“Why, can you think of anyone else?”

“Oh! yes, indeed. Why,” she counted on her fingers, “one, two, three,four, five, six — yes, and a possible seven. I can think of at least sevenpeople who might be very glad to have Colonel Protheroe out of the way.”

The Colonel looked at her feebly.

“Seven people? In St. Mary Mead?”

Miss Marple nodded brightly.

“Mind you I name no names,” she said. “That wouldn’t be right. But I’mafraid there’s a lot of wickedness in the world. A nice honourable uprightsoldier like you doesn’t know about these things, Colonel Melchett.”

I thought the Chief Constable was going to have apoplexy.