The Murder at the Vicarage-6
The Murder at the Vicarage
Chapter Six
We puzzled over the business of the clock for some time, but we
could make nothing of it. Griselda said I ought to make another effort and tell Inspector
Slack about it, but on that point I was feeling what I can only describe as mulish.
Inspector Slack and been abominably and most unnecessarily rude. I was
looking forwarded to a moment when I could produce my valuable contribution and effect his
discomfiture. I would then say in a tone of mild reproach, "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, having locked up the study
door and issued orders that no one was to attempt to enter the room.
Griselda suggested going up to Old Hall.
"It will be so awful for Anne Protheroe – with the police and
everything," she said. "Perhaps I might be able to do something for her."
I cordially approved of this plan, and Griselda set off with
instructions that she was to telephone to me if she thought that I could be of any use of
comfort to either of the ladies.
I now proceeded to right up the Sunday School teachers who were coming
at 7:45 for their weekly preparation class. I thought that under the circumstances it
would be better to put them off.
Dennis was the next person to arrive on the scene, having just returned
from a tennis party. The fact that murder had taken place at the Vicarage seemed to afford
him acute satisfaction.
"Fancy being right on the spot in a murder case," he
exclaimed. "I’ve always wanted to be right in the midst of one. Why have the
police looked up 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 in
with a bad grace. After extracting every possible detail from me he went out into the
garden to look for footprints, remarking cheerfully that it was lucky it was only old
Protheroe, whom everyone disliked.
His cheerful callousness rather grated on me, but I reflected that I
was perhaps being hard on the boy. At Dennis’s age a detective story is one of the
best things in life and to find a real detective story, complete with corpse, waiting on
one’s own front door-step, so to speak, is bound to send a healthy – minded boy
into the seventh heaven of enjoyment. Death means very little to a boy of sixteen.
Griselda came back in about an hour’s time. She had seen Anne
Protheroe, having arrived just after the Inspector had broken the new to her.
On hearing that Mrs. Protheroe had last seen her husband in the village
about a quarter to six, and that she had no light of any kind to throw upon the matter, he
had taken his departure, explaining that he wold return on the morrow for a fuller
interview.
"He was quite decent in his way," said Griselda grudgingly.
"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 for coming and said she was very grateful, but that there was nothing I could do."
"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 queer – very queer indeed."
"The shock," I suggested.
"Yes – I suppose so. And yet…" Griselda furrowed
her brows perplexedly. "It wasn’t like that somehow. She didn’t seem so
much bowled over as – well terrified."
"Terrified?"
"Yes – not showing it, you know. At least not meaning to show
it. But a queer, watchful look in her eyes. I wonder if she has a sort of idea who did
kill him? She asked again and again if anyone were suspected."
"Did she?" I said thoughtfully.
"Yes. Of course, Anne’s got marvelous self – control,
but one could see that she was terrible upset. More so than I would have thought, for
after all it wasn’t as though she were so devoted to him, I should have said she
rather disliked him, if anything."
"Death alters one’s feelings sometimes," I said.
"Yes, I suppose to."
Dennis came in and was full of excitement over a footprint he had found
in one of the flower beds. He was sure that the police had overlooked it, and 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 house
long before breakfast, to "study the latest developments," as he said.
Nevertheless it was not he but Mary who brought us the morning’s
sensational bit of news.
We had just sat down to breakfast when she burst into the room, her
cheeks red and her eyes shining, and addressed us with her customary lack of ceremony.
"Would you believe it? The baker’s just told me. They’ve
arrested young Mr. Redding."
"Arrested Lawrence?" cried Griselda incredulously.
"Impossible. It must be some stupid mistake."
"No mistake about it, mum," said Mary with a kind of gloating
exultation. "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,
satisfied 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
my head.
"He must be mad," said Griselda. "Absolutely mad. Or do
you think they were 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 a shadow of a motive. What earthly reason could Lawrence have for killing
Colonel Protheroe?"
I could have answered that question very decidedly, but I wished to
spare Anne Protheroe as far as possible. There might still be a chance of keeping her name
out of it.
"Remember, they had had a quarrel," I said.
"About Lettice and her bathing suit. Yes, but that’s absurd.
And even if he and Lettice were engaged secretly, well, that’s not a reason for
killing her 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 am sure
Lawrence never 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 must have put it back to six twenty – two with the idea of making
an alibi for himself. Look how Inspector Slack fell into the trap."
"You’re wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about the clock being fast.
‘Keeping the Vicar up to time!’ he used to say. Lawrence would never have made
the mistake of putting it back to six twenty – two. He’d have put the hands
somewhere possible – like a quarter to seven."
"He may not have known what time Protheroe got here. Of he may
have simply forgotten about the clock being fast."
Griselda disagreed.
"No, if you were committing a murder, you’d be awfully
careful about things 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 intruding. You mush forgive me. But in
the sad circumstances – the very sad circumstances…"
It was our neighbor, Miss Marple. Accepting out polite disclaimers, she
stepped in through the window and I drew up a chair for her. She looked faintly flushed
and quite excited.
"Very terrible, is it not? Poor Colonel Protheroe. Not a very
pleasant man, 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
questioned Griselda.
I explained where I had been.
"Mr. Dennis is not with you this morning?" said Miss Marple
glancing round.
"Dennis," said Griselda, "fancies himself as an amateur
detective. He is very excited about a footprint he found in one of the flower beds and I
fancy has gone off to tell the police about it."
"Dear, dear," said Miss Marple. "Such a to – do, is
it not? And Mr. Dennis thinks he knows who committed the crime. Well, I suppose we all
think we know."
"You mean it is obvious?" said Griselda.
"No, dear, I didn’t mean that at all. I daresay everyone
things it is somebody 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
one shadow of proof. One must, I know, be very careful of what one says at the time like
this – criminal libel, don’t they call it? I had made up my mind to be most
careful with Inspector Slack. He sent word he would come and see me this morning, but now
he has just phoned up to say it won’t be necessary after all."
"I suppose since the arrest it isn’t necessary," I said.
"The arrest?" Miss Marple leaned forward, he cheeks pink with
excitement. "I didn’t know there had been an arrest."
It is so seldom that Miss Marple is worse informed than we are that I
had taken it for granted that she would know the latest developments.
"It seems we have been talking at cross purposes," I said.
"Yes, there has been an arrest – Lawrence Redding."
"Lawrence Redding?" Miss Marple seemed very surprised.
"Now I should not have thought…"
Griselda interrupted vehemently.
"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, I see I have been sadly at sea – yes, sadly at sea."
"I can’t help feeling it must have been some kind of an
accident," said Griselda. "Don’t you think so, Len? I mean his coming
forward to give himself up looks like that."
Miss Marple learned forward eagerly.
"He gave himself up, you say?"
"Yes."
"Oh!" said Miss Marple, with a deep sign. "I am so glad
– so very glad."
I looked at her in some surprise.
"It shows a true state of remorse, 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 do with it."
"No," I said. "I may be dense, but I can’t see that
it does. If you have not committed a murder, I cannot see the object of pretending you
have."
"Oh, of course, there’s a reason," said Miss Marple.
"Naturally. There’s always a reason, isn’t there? And young man are so hot
– headed and often prone to believe the worse."
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. I can’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 home – coming while she listened attentively.
When I had finished she said, "I know that I am very often rather
foolish and don’t take in things as I should, but I really do not see your point. It
seems to me that if a young man had made up his mind to the great wickedness of taking a
fellow creature’s life, he would not appear distraught about it afterward. It would
be a premeditated and cold – blooded action and, though the murderer might be a
little flurried and possibly might make some small mistake, I do not think it likely he
would fall into a state of agitation such as you describe. It is difficult to put oneself
in such a 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 gust of passion, and
Lawrence might afterward have been appalled at what he had done. Indeed, I prefer to think
that that is what did actually occur."
"I know, dear Mr. Clement, that there are many ways we prefer to
look at things. But one must actually take facts as they are, must one not? And it does
not seem to me that the facts bear the interpretation you put upon them. Your maid
distinctly stated that Mr. Redding was only in the house a couple of minutes, not long
enough, surely, for a quarrel such as you describe. And then again, I understand the
Colonel was shot through the back of the head while he was writing a letter – at
least that is what my maid told me."
"Quite true," said Griselda. "He seems to have been
writing a note to say he couldn’t wait any longer. The note was dated six –
twenty, and the clock on the table was overturned and had stopped at six twenty – two
and that’s just what has been 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 note seems to me even more curious still. I mean…"
She stopped and looked round. Lettice Protheroe was standing outside
the window. She came in, nodding to us and murmuring, "Morning."
She dropped into a chair and said, with rather more animation than
usual, "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. She was obviously taking a pride in letting no hint of distress or emotion escape
her. "Lots of people wanted to, I’m sure. There are times when I’d have
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 – a queer 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 I seem to have lost everything else in the hat line."
"I’m afraid you can’t get it now," I said.
"Inspector Slack has looked the room up."
"Oh, what a bore. Can we get in through the window?"
"I’m afraid not. It is latched n the inside. Surely, Lettice,
a yellow beret won’t be much good to you at present?
"You mean mourning and all that? I shan’t bother about
mourning. I think it’s an awfully archaic idea. It’s a nuisance about Lawrence
– yes, it’s a nuisance."
She got up and stood frowning abstractedly.
"I suppose it’s all on account of me and my bathing suit. So
silly, the whole thing."
Griselda opened her mouth to say something, but for some unexplained
reason 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 being 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 so much better to let things develop on their own lines. I don’t think, you
know, that that child is half so vague as she pretends to be. She’s got a very
definite idea in her head, and she’s acting upon it."
Mary gave a loud knock on the dining – room door and entered hard
upon it.
"What is it?" said Griselda. "And Mary, you must
remember not to knock on doors. I’ve told you about it before."
"Thought you might be busy," said Mary. "Colonel
Melchett’s here. Wants to seethe master."
Colonel Melchett is Chief Constable of Country. I rose at once.
"I thought you wouldn’t like my leaving him in the ball, so I
put him in the 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.
http://christie.soim.net
กกกก