The Murder at the Vicarage-10
The Murder at the Vicarage
Chapter Ten
His remarks on the subject of Miss Marple as we left the house were
far from complimentary.
"I really believe that wizened up old maid thinks she knows
everything there is to know. And hardly been out of this village all her life.
Preposterous. What can she know of life?"
I said mildly that, though doubtless Miss Marple knew next to nothing
of life with a capital L, she knew practically everything that went on in St. Mary Mead.
Melchett admitted that grudgingly. She was a valuable witness –
particularly valuable from Mrs. Protheroe’s point of view.
"I suppose there’s no doubt about what she says, eh?"
"If Miss Marple says she had no pistol with her, you can take it
for granted that it is so," I said. "If there was the least possibility of such
a thing, Miss Marple would have been on to it like a knife."
"That’s true enough. We’d better go and have a look at
the studio."
The so – called studio was a mere rough shed with a skylight.
There were no windows, and the door was the only means of entrance or egress. Satisfied on
this score, Melchett announced his intention of visiting the Vicarage with the Inspector.
I nodded.
"I’m going to the police station now."
As I entered through the front door, a murmur of voices caught my ear.
I opened the drawing – room door.
On the sofa beside Griselda, conversing animatedly, sat Miss Gladys
Cram. Her legs, which were encased in particularly shiny pink stockings, were crossed.
"Hullo, Len," said Griselda.
"Good morning, Mr. Clement," said Miss Cram. "Isn’t
the news about the Colonel reely too awful? Poor old gentleman."
"Miss Cram," said my wife, "very kindly came in to offer
to help us with the Guides. We asked for helpers last Sunday, you remember."
I did remember and I was convinced, and so, I knew from her tone, was
Griselda, that the idea of enrolling herself among them would never have occurred to Miss
Cram but for th exciting incident which had taken place at the Vicarage.
"I was only just saying to Mrs. Clement," went on Miss Cram,
"you could have struck me all of a heap when I heard the news. A murder? I said. In
this quiet, one – horse village – for quiet it is, you must admit – not so
much as a picture house. And then when I heard it was Colonel Protheroe – why, I
simply couldn’t believe it. He didn’t seem the kind, somehow, to get
murdered."
I don’t know what Miss Cram considers are the necessary
qualifications for being murdered. It has never struck me that the murdered belong to a
special class, but doubtless she had some idea in her golden shingled head.
"And so," said Griselda, "Miss Cram came round to find
out all about it."
I feared this plain speaking might offend the lady, but she merely
flung her head back and laughed uproariously, showing every tooth she possessed.
"That’s too bad. You’re a sharp one, aren’t you,
Mrs. Clement? But it’s only natural, isn’t it, to want to hear the ins and outs
of a case like this? And I’m sure I’m willing enough to help with the Guides in
any way you like. Exciting, that’s what it is. I’ve been stagnating for a bit of
fun. I have; reely I have. Not that my job isn’t a very good one, well paid, and
Doctor Stone quite the gentleman in every way. But a girl wants a bit of life out of
office hours, and, except for you, Mrs. Clement, who is there in the place to talk to,
except a lot of old cats?"
"There’s Lettice Protheroe," I said.
Gladys Cram tossed her head.
"She’s too high and mighty for the likes of me. Fancies
herself the County, and wouldn’t demean herself by noticing a girl who had to work
for her living. Not but what I did hear her talking of earning her living herself.
And who’d employ her, I should like to know? Why, she’d be fired in less than a
week. Unless she went as one of those mannequins, all dressed up and sidling about. She
could do that, I expect."
"She’d make a very good mannequin," said Griselda.
"She’s got such a lovely figure." There’s nothing of the cat about
Griselda. "When was she talking of earning her own living?"
Miss Cram seemed momentarily discomfited, but recovered herself with
her usual archness.
"That would be telling, wouldn’t it?" She said.
"But she did say so. Things not very happy at home, I fancy. Catch me living at home
with a stepmother. I wouldn’t sit down under it for a minute."
"Ah! But you’re so high – spirited and
independent," said Griselda gravely, and I looked at her with suspicion.
Miss Cram was clearly pleased.
"That’s right. That’s me all over. Can be led, not
driven. A palmist told me that not so very long ago. No, I’m not one to sit down and
be bullied. And I’ve made it clear all along to Doctor Stone that I must have my
regular times off. These scientific gentlemen, they think a girl’s a kind of machine
– half the time they just don’t notice her or remember she’s there."
"Do you find Doctor Stone pleasant to work with? It must be an
interesting job if you are interested in archaeology."
"Of course, I don’t know much about it," confessed the
girl. "it still seems to me that digging up people that are dead and have been dead
for hundreds of years isn’t - well, it seems a bit nosy, doesn’t it? And
there’s Doctor Stone so wrapped up in it all that half the time he’d forget his
meals if it wasn’t for me."
"Is he at the barrow this morning?" asked Griselda.
Miss Cram shook her head.
"A bit under the weather this morning," she explained.
"Not up to doing any work. That means a holiday for little Gladys."
"I’m sorry," I said.
"Oh, it’s nothing much. There’s not going to be a second
death. But do tell me, Mr. Clement, I hear you’ve been with the police all the
morning. What do they think?"
"Well," I said slowly. "There is still a little –
uncertainty."
"Ah!" cried Miss Cram. "Then they don’t think it is
Mr. Lawrence Redding after all. So handsome, isn’t he? Just like a movie star. And
such a nice smile when he says good morning to you. I really couldn’t believe my ears
when I heard the police had arrested him. Still one always hears they’re very stupid
– the country police."
"You can hardly blame them in the instance," I said.
"Mr. Redding came in and gave himself up."
"What?" The girl was clearly dumfounded. "Well – of
all the poor fish! If I’d committed the murder, I wouldn’t go straight off and
give myself up. I should have thought Lawrence Redding would have had more sense. To give
in like that! What did he kill Protheroe for? Did he say? Was it just a quarrel?"
"It’s not absolutely certain that he did kill hem," I
said.
"But surely – if he says he has – why, really, Mr.
Clement, he ought to know."
"He ought to, certainly," I agreed. "But the police are
not satisfied with his story."
"But why should he say he’d done it if he hasn’t?
That was a point on which I had no intention of enlightening Miss Cram.
Instead I said rather vaguely, "I believe that in all prominent murder cases, the
police receive numerous letters from people accusing themselves of the crime."
Miss Cram’s reception of this piece of information was: "They
must be chumps!" in a tone of wonder and scorn.
She added, "I’d never do a thing like that."
"I’m sure you wouldn’t," I said.
"Well," she said with a sigh. "I suppose I must be
trotting along." She rose. "Mr. Redding accusing himself of the murder will be a
bit of news of Doctor Stone."
"Is he interested?" asked Griselda.
Miss Cram furrowed her brows perplexedly.
"He’s a queer one. You never can tell with him. All wrapped
up in the past. He’d a hundred times rather look at a nasty old bronze knife out of
one of those humps of ground than he would see the knife Crippen cut up his wife with,
supposing he had a chance to."
"Well," I said. "I must confess I agree with him."
Miss Cram’s eyes expressed incomprehension and slight contempt.
Then, with reiterated good-bye, she took her departure.
"Not such a bad sort, really," said Griselda as the door
closed behind her. "Terribly common, of course, but one of those big bouncing, good
– humored girls that you can’t dislike. I wonder what really brought her
here?"
"Curiosity."
"Yes, I suppose so. Now, Len, tell me all about it. I’m
simply dying to hear."
I sat down and recited faithfully all the happenings of the morning,
Griselda interpolating the narrative with little exclamations of surprise and interest.
"So it was Anne Lawrence was after all along! Not Lettice. How
blind we’ve all been. That must have been what old Miss Marple was hinting at
yesterday. Don’t you think so?"
"Yes," I said, averting my eyes.
Mary entered.
"There’s a couple of men here – come from a newspaper,
so they say. Do you want to see them?"
"No," I said. "Certainly not. Refer them to Inspector
Slack at the police station."
Mary nodded and turned away.
"And when you’ve got rid of them," I said, "come
back here. There’s something I want to ask you."
Mary nodded again.
It was some few minutes before she returned.
"Had a job getting rid of them," she said. "Persistent.
You never saw anything like it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer."
"I expect we shall be a good deal troubled with them," I
said. "Now, Mary, what I want to ask you is this – are you quite certain you
didn’t hear the shot yesterday evening?"
"The shot what killed him? No, of course I didn’t. If I had
of done, I should have gone in to see what had happened."
"Yes, but…" I was remembering Miss Marple’s
statement that she had heard a shot in the woods. I changed the form of my question.
"Did you hear any other shot – one down in the woods, for instance?"
"Oh, that!" The girl paused. "Yes, now I come to think
of it, I believe I did. Not a lot of shots, just one. Queer sort of bang it was."
"Exactly," I said. "Now what time was that?"
"Time?"
"Yes, time"
"I couldn’t say. I’m sure. Well after teatime. I do know
that." 
"Can’t you get a little nearer than that?"
"No, I can’t. I’ve got my work to do haven’t I? I
can’t go on looking at clocks the whole time – and it wouldn’t be much good
anyway – the alarm loses a good three quarters every days, and what with putting it
on, and one thing and another, I’m never exactly sure what time it is."
This perhaps explains why our meals are never punctual. They are
sometimes too late and sometimes bewilderingly early.
"Was it long before Mr. Redding came?"
"No, it wasn’t long. Then minutes – a quarter of an hour
– not longer than that."
I nodded my head, satisfied.
"Is that all?" Said Mary. "Because what I mean to say
is, I’ve got the joint in the oven and the pudding boiling over as likely as
not."
"That’s all right. You can go."
She left the room, and I turned to Griselda.
"Is it quite out of the question to induce Mary to say
‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’?"
"I have told her. She doesn’t remember. She’s just a raw
girl, remember."
"I am perfectly aware of that," I said. "But raw things
do not necessarily remain raw forever. I feel a tinge of cooking might be induced in
Mary."
"Well, I don’t agree with you," said Griselda. "You
know how little we can afford to pay a servant. If once we got her smartened up at all,
she’d leave. Naturally. And get higher wages. But as long as Mary can’t cook and
has these awful manners – well, we’re safe; nobody else would have her."
I perceived that my wife’s methods of housekeeping were not so
entirely haphazard as I had imagined. A certain amount of reasoning underlay them. Whether
it was worth while having a maid at the price of her not being able to cook, and having a
habit of throwing dishes and remarks at one with the same disconcerting abruptness was a
debatable matter.
"And anyway," continued Griselda, "you must make
allowances for her manners being worse than usual just now. You can’t expect her to
feel exactly sympathetic about Colonel Protheroe’s death when he jailed her young
man."
"Did he jail her young man?"
"Yes, for poaching. You know, that man Archer. Mary has been
walking out with him for two years."
"I didn’t know that."
"Darling Len, you never know anything."
"It’s queer," I said, "that everyone says the shot
came from the woods."
"I don’t think it’s queer at all," said Griselda.
"You see, one so often does hear shots in the woods. So, naturally, when you do hear
a shot, you just assume as a matter of course that it is in the woods. It probably just
sounds a bit louder than usual. Of course, if you were in the next room, you’d
realize that it was in the house, but from Mary’s kitchen, with the window right the
other side of the house, I don’t believe you’d ever think of such a thing."
The door opened again.
"Colonel Melchett’s back," said Mary. "And that
police inspector with him, and they say they’d be glad if you’d join them.
They’re in the study."
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