Twelve

I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived. He lookedhaggard, and, I thought, suspicious. Colonel Melchett greeted him withsomething approaching cordiality.

“We want to ask you a few questions—here, on the spot,” he said.

Lawrence sneered slightly.

“Isn’t that a French idea? Reconstruction of the crime?”

“My dear boy,” said Colonel Melchett, “don’t take that tone with us. Areyou aware that someone else has also confessed to committing the crimewhich you pretend to have committed?”

The effect of these words on Lawrence was painful and immediate.

“S-s-omeone else?” he stammered. “Who—who?”

“Mrs. Protheroe,” said Colonel Melchett, watching him.

“Absurd. She never did it. She couldn’t have. It’s impossible.”

Melchett interrupted him.

“Strangely enough, we did not believe her story. Neither, I may say, dowe believe yours. Dr. Haydock says positively that the murder could nothave been committed at the time you say it was.”

“Dr. Haydock says that?”

“Yes, so, you see, you are cleared whether you like it or not. And now wewant you to help us, to tell us exactly what occurred.”

Lawrence still hesitated.

“You’re not deceiving me about—about Mrs. Protheroe? You really don’tsuspect her?”

“On my word of honour,” said Colonel Melchett.

Lawrence drew a deep breath.

“I’ve been a fool,” he said. “An absolute fool. How could I have thoughtfor one minute that she did it—”

“Suppose you tell us all about it?” suggested the Chief Constable.

“There’s not much to tell. I—I met Mrs. Protheroe that afternoon—” Hepaused.

“We know all about that,” said Melchett. “You may think that your feel-ing for Mrs. Protheroe and hers for you was a dead secret, but in reality itwas known and commented upon. In any case, everything is bound tocome out now.”

“Very well, then. I expect you are right. I had promised the Vicar here(he glanced at me) to—to go right away. I met Mrs. Protheroe that eveningin the studio at a quarter past six. I told her of what I had decided. She,too, agreed that it was the only thing to do. We—we said good-bye to eachother.

“We left the studio, and almost at once Dr. Stone joined us. Anne man-aged to seem marvellously natural. I couldn’t do it. I went off with Stone tothe Blue Boar and had a drink. Then I thought I’d go home, but when I gotto the corner of this road, I changed my mind and decided to come alongand see the Vicar. I felt I wanted someone to talk to about the matter.

“At the door, the maid told me the Vicar was out, but would be inshortly, but that Colonel Protheroe was in the study waiting for him. Well,I didn’t like to go away again—looked as though I were shirking meetinghim. So I said I’d wait too, and I went into the study.”

He stopped.

“Well?” said Colonel Melchett.

“Protheroe was sitting at the writing table—just as you found him. Iwent up to him—touched him. He was dead. Then I looked down and sawthe pistol lying on the floor beside him. I picked it up—and at once saw thatit was my pistol.

“That gave me a turn. My pistol! And then, straightaway I leaped to oneconclusion. Anne must have bagged my pistol some time or other—mean-ing it for herself if she couldn’t bear things any longer. Perhaps she hadhad it with her today. After we parted in the village she must have comeback here and—and—oh! I suppose I was mad to think of it. But that’swhat I thought. I slipped the pistol in my pocket and came away. Just out-side the Vicarage gate, I met the Vicar. He said something nice and normalabout seeing Protheroe—suddenly I had a wild desire to laugh. His man-ner was so ordinary and everyday and there was I all strung up. I remem-ber shouting out something absurd and seeing his face change. I wasnearly off my head, I believe. I went walking—walking—at last I couldn’tbear it any longer. If Anne had done this ghastly thing, I was, at least, mor-ally responsible. I went and gave myself up.”

There was a silence when he had finished. Then the Colonel said in abusinesslike voice:

“I would like to ask just one or two questions. First, did you touch ormove the body in any way?”

“No, I didn’t touch it at all. One could see he was dead without touchinghim.”

“Did you notice a note lying on the blotter half concealed by his body?”

“No.”

“Did you interfere in any way with the clock?”

“I never touched the clock. I seem to remember a clock lying overturnedon the table, but I never touched it.”

“Now as to this pistol of yours, when did you last see it?”

Lawrence Redding reflected. “It’s hard to say exactly.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“Oh, in a litter of odds and ends in the sitting room in my cottage. Onone of the shelves of the bookcase.”

“You left it lying about carelessly?”

“Yes. I really didn’t think about it. It was just there.”

“So that anyone who came to your cottage could have seen it?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t remember when you last saw it?”

Lawrence drew his brows together in a frown of recollection.

“I’m almost sure it was there the day before yesterday. I rememberpushing it aside to get an old pipe. I think it was the day before yesterday—but it may have been the day before that.”

“Who has been to your cottage lately?”

“Oh! Crowds of people. Someone is always drifting in and out. I had asort of tea party the day before yesterday. Lettice Protheroe, Dennis, andall their crowd. And then one or other of the old Pussies comes in now andagain.”

“Do you lock the cottage up when you go out?”

“No; why on earth should I? I’ve nothing to steal. And no one does locktheir house up round here.”

“Who looks after your wants there?”

“An old Mrs. Archer comes in every morning to ‘do for me’ as it’scalled.”

“Do you think she would remember when the pistol was there last?”

“I don’t know. She might. But I don’t fancy conscientious dusting is herstrong point.”

“It comes to this—that almost anyone might have taken that pistol?”

“It seems so—yes.”

The door opened and Dr. Haydock came in with Anne Protheroe.

She started at seeing Lawrence. He, on his part, made a tentative step to-wards her.

“Forgive me, Anne,” he said. “It was abominable of me to think what Idid.”

“I —” She faltered, then looked appealingly at Colonel Melchett. “Is ittrue, what Dr. Haydock told me?”

“That Mr. Redding is cleared of suspicion? Yes. And now what about thisstory of yours, Mrs. Protheroe? Eh, what about it?”

She smiled rather shamefacedly.

“I suppose you think it dreadful of me?”

“Well, shall we say—very foolish? But that’s all over. What I want now,Mrs. Protheroe, is the truth—the absolute truth.”

She nodded gravely.

“I will tell you. I suppose you know about—about everything.”

“Yes.”

“I was to meet Lawrence—Mr. Redding—that evening at the studio. At aquarter past six. My husband and I drove into the village together. I hadsome shopping to do. As we parted he mentioned casually that he was go-ing to see the Vicar. I couldn’t get word to Lawrence, and I was rather un-easy. I—well, it was awkward meeting him in the Vicarage garden whilstmy husband was at the Vicarage.”

Her cheeks burned as she said this. It was not a pleasant moment forher.

“I reflected that perhaps my husband would not stay very long. To findthis out, I came along the back lane and into the garden. I hoped no onewould see me, but of course old Miss Marple had to be in her garden! Shestopped me and we said a few words, and I explained I was going to callfor my husband. I felt I had to say something. I don’t know whether shebelieved me or not. She looked rather—funny.

“When I left her, I went straight across to the Vicarage and round thecorner of the house to the study window. I crept up to it very softly, ex-pecting to hear the sound of voices. But to my surprise there were none. Ijust glanced in, saw the room was empty, and hurried across the lawn anddown to the studio where Lawrence joined me almost at once.”

“You say the room was empty, Mrs. Protheroe?”

“Yes, my husband was not there.”

“Extraordinary.”

“You mean, ma’am, that you didn’t see him?” said the Inspector.

“No, I didn’t see him.”

Inspector Slack whispered to the Chief Constable, who nodded.

“Do you mind, Mrs. Protheroe, just showing us exactly what you did?”

“Not at all.”

She rose, Inspector Slack pushed open the window for her, and shestepped out on the terrace and round the house to the left.

Inspector Slack beckoned me imperiously to go and sit at the writingtable.

Somehow I didn’t much like doing it. It gave me an uncomfortable feel-ing. But, of course, I complied.

Presently I heard footsteps outside, they paused for a minute, then re-treated. Inspector Slack indicated to me that I could return to the otherside of the room. Mrs. Protheroe reentered through the window.

“Is that exactly how it was?” asked Colonel Melchett.

“I think exactly.”

“Then can you tell us, Mrs. Protheroe, just exactly where the Vicar wasin the room when you looked in?” asked Inspector Slack.

“The Vicar? I—no, I’m afraid I can’t. I didn’t see him.”

Inspector Slack nodded.

“That’s how you didn’t see your husband. He was round the corner atthe writing desk.”

“Oh!” she paused. Suddenly her eyes grew round with horror. “It wasn’tthere that—that—”

“Yes, Mrs. Protheroe. It was while he was sitting there.”

“Oh!” She quivered.

He went on with his questions.

“Did you know, Mrs. Protheroe, that Mr. Redding had a pistol?”

“Yes. He told me so once.”

“Did you ever have that pistol in your possession?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Did you know where he kept it?”

“I’m not sure. I think—yes, I think I’ve seen it on a shelf in his cottage.

Didn’t you keep it there, Lawrence?”

“When was the last time you were at the cottage, Mrs. Protheroe?”

“Oh! About three weeks ago. My husband and I had tea there with him.”

“And you have not been there since?”

“No. I never went there. You see, it would probably cause a lot of talk inthe village.”

“Doubtless,” said Colonel Melchett dryly. “Where were you in the habitof seeing Mr. Redding, if I may ask?”

“He used to come up to the Hall. He was painting Lettice. We—we oftenmet in the woods afterwards.”

Colonel Melchett nodded.

“Isn’t that enough?” Her voice was suddenly broken. “It’s so awful—hav-ing to tell you all these things. And—and there wasn’t anything wrongabout it. There wasn’t—indeed, there wasn’t. We were just friends. We—we couldn’t help caring for each other.”

She looked pleadingly at Dr. Haydock, and that softhearted man steppedforward.

“I really think, Melchett,” he said, “that Mrs. Protheroe has had enough.

She’s had a great shock—in more ways than one.”

The Chief Constable nodded.

“There is really nothing more I want to ask you, Mrs. Protheroe,” hesaid. “Thank you for answering my questions so frankly.”

“Then—then I may go?”

“Is your wife in?” asked Haydock. “I think Mrs. Protheroe would like tosee her.”

“Yes,” I said, “Griselda is in. You’ll find her in the drawing room.”

She and Haydock left the room together and Lawrence Redding withthem.

Colonel Melchett had pursed up his lips and was playing with a paperknife. Slack was looking at the note. It was then that I mentioned MissMarple’s theory. Slack looked closely at it.

“My word,” he said, “I believe the old lady’s right. Look here, sir, don’tyou see?—these figures are written in different ink. That date was writtenwith a fountain pen or I’ll eat my boots!”

We were all rather excited.

“You’ve examined the note for fingerprints, of course,” said the ChiefConstable.

“What do you think, Colonel? No fingerprints on the note at all. Finger-prints on the pistol those of Mr. Lawrence Redding. May have been someothers once, before he went fooling round with it and carrying it aroundin his pocket, but there’s nothing clear enough to get hold of now.”

“At first the case looked very black against Mrs. Protheroe,” said the Col-onel thoughtfully. “Much blacker than against young Redding. There wasthat old woman Marple’s evidence that she didn’t have the pistol with her,but these elderly ladies are often mistaken.”

I was silent, but I did not agree with him. I was quite sure that Anne Pro-theroe had had no pistol with her since Miss Marple had said so. MissMarple is not the type of elderly lady who makes mistakes. She has got anuncanny knack of being always right.

“What did get me was that nobody heard the shot. If it was fired then—somebody must have heard it—wherever they thought it came from. Slack,you’d better have a word with the maid.”

Inspector Slack moved with alacrity towards the door.

“I shouldn’t ask her if she heard a shot in the house,” I said. “Because ifyou do, she’ll deny it. Call it a shot in the wood. That’s the only kind of shotshe’ll admit to hearing.”

“I know how to manage them,” said Inspector Slack, and disappeared.

“Miss Marple says she heard a shot later,” said Colonel Melchett thought-fully. “We must see if she can fix the time at all precisely. Of course it maybe a stray shot that had nothing to do with the case.”

“It may be, of course,” I agreed.

The Colonel took a turn or two up and down the room.

“Do you know, Clement,” he said suddenly, “I’ve a feeling that this is go-ing to turn out a much more intricate and difficult business than any of usthink. Dash it all, there’s something behind it.” He snorted. “Something wedon’t know about. We’re only beginning, Clement. Mark my words, we’reonly beginning. All these things, the clock, the note, the pistol—they don’tmake sense as they stand.”

I shook my head. They certainly didn’t.

“But I’m going to get to the bottom of it. No calling in of Scotland Yard.

Slack’s a smart man. He’s a very smart man. He’s a kind of ferret. He’llnose his way through to the truth. He’s done several very good thingsalready, and this case will be his chef d’oeuvre. Some men would call inScotland Yard. I shan’t. We’ll get to the bottom of this here in Downshire.”

“I hope so, I’m sure,” I said.

I tried to make my voice enthusiastic, but I had already taken such a dis-like to Inspector Slack that the prospect of his success failed to appeal tome. A successful Slack would, I thought, be even more odious than abaffled one.

“Who has the house next door?” asked the Colonel suddenly.

“You mean at the end of the road? Mrs. Price Ridley.”

“We’ll go along to her after Slack has finished with your maid. She mightjust possibly have heard something. She isn’t deaf or anything, is she?”

“I should say her hearing is remarkably keen. I’m going by the amountof scandal she has started by ‘just happening to overhear accidentally.’”

“That’s the kind of woman we want. Oh! here’s Slack.”

The Inspector had the air of one emerging from a severe tussle.

“Phew!” he said. “That’s a tartar you’ve got, sir.”

“Mary is essentially a girl of strong character,” I replied.

“Doesn’t like the police,” he said. “I cautioned her—did what I could toput the fear of the law into her, but no good. She stood right up to me.”

“Spirited,” I said, feeling more kindly towards Mary.

“But I pinned her down all right. She heard one shot—and one shotonly. And it was a good long time after Colonel Protheroe came. I couldn’tget her to name a time, but we fixed it at last by means of the fish. The fishwas late, and she blew the boy up when he came, and he said it was barelyhalf past six anyway, and it was just after that she heard the shot. Ofcourse, that’s not accurate, so to speak, but it gives us an idea.”

“H’m,” said Melchett.

“I don’t think Mrs. Protheroe’s in this after all,” said Slack, with a note ofregret in his voice. “She wouldn’t have had time, to begin with, and thenwomen never like fiddling about with firearms. Arsenic’s more in theirline. No, I don’t think she did it. It’s a pity!” He sighed.

Melchett explained that he was going round to Mrs. Price Ridley’s, andSlack approved.

“May I come with you?” I asked. “I’m getting interested.”

I was given permission, and we set forth. A loud “Hie” greeted us as weemerged from the Vicarage gate, and my nephew, Dennis, came runningup the road from the village to join us.

“Look here,” he said to the Inspector, “what about that footprint I toldyou about?”

“Gardener’s,” said Inspector Slack laconically.

“You don’t think it might be someone else wearing the gardener’sboots?”

“No, I don’t!” said Inspector Slack in a discouraging way.

It would take more than that to discourage Dennis, however.

He held out a couple of burnt matches.

“I found these by the Vicarage gate.”

“Thank you,” said Slack, and put them in his pocket.

Matters appeared now to have reached a deadlock.

“You’re not arresting Uncle Len, are you?” inquired Dennis facetiously.

“Why should I?” inquired Slack.

“There’s a lot of evidence against him,” declared Dennis. “You ask Mary.

Only the day before the murder he was wishing Colonel Protheroe out ofthe world. Weren’t you, Uncle Len?”

“Er—” I began.

Inspector Slack turned a slow suspicious stare upon me, and I felt hot allover. Dennis is exceedingly tiresome. He ought to realize that a policemanseldom has a sense of humour.

“Don’t be absurd, Dennis,” I said irritably.

The innocent child opened his eyes in a stare of surprise.

“I say, it’s only a joke,” he said. “Uncle Len just said that any one whomurdered Colonel Protheroe would be doing the world a service.”

“Ah!” said Inspector Slack, “that explains something the maid said.”

Servants very seldom have any sense of humour either. I cursed Dennisheartily in my mind for bringing the matter up. That and the clock to-gether will make the Inspector suspicious of me for life.

“Come on, Clement,” said Colonel Melchett.

“Where are you going? Can I come, too?” asked Dennis.

“No, you can’t,” I snapped.

We left him looking after us with a hurt expression. We went up to theneat front door of Mrs. Price Ridley’s house and the Inspector knockedand rang in what I can only describe as an official manner. A pretty par-lourmaid answered the bell.

“Mrs. Price Ridley in?” inquired Melchett.

“No, sir.” The maid paused and added: “She’s just gone down to the po-lice station.”

This was a totally unexpected development. As we retraced our stepsMelchett caught me by the arm and murmured:

“If she’s gone to confess to the crime, too, I really shall go off my head.”