The Murder at the Vicarage-18
  
    
      
        
          
            Chapter Eighteen
            
          
        
      
    
  
The inquest was held that afternoon, Saturday, at two o¡¯clock at the Blue Boar. The 
local excitement was, I need hardly say, tremendous. There has been no murder in St. Mary 
Mead for at least fifteen years. And to have someone like Colonel Prohteroe murdered 
actually in the Vicarage study is such a feast of sensation as rarely falls to the lot of 
a village population.
Various comments floated to my ears which I was probably not meant to 
hear.
¡°There¡¯s vicar. Look pale, don¡¯t he? I wonder if he had a hand 
in it?¡¯ Twas done 
at Vicarage, after all.¡±
¡°How 
can you, Mary Adams¡± And him visiting Henry Abbott at the time.¡±
¡°Ah! 
But they do say him and the Colonel had words. There¡¯s Mary Hill. Giving herself air, she is, on account of being 
in service there. Hush, here¡¯s coroner.¡±
The coroner was De. Roberts of our adjoining town of Much Benham. He 
cleared his throat, adjusted his eyeglasses, and looked important.
To recapitulate all the evidence would be merely tiresome. Lawrence 
Redding gave evidence of finding the body and identified the pistol as belonging to him. 
To the best of his belief he had seen it on the Tuesday, two days previously. It was kept 
on a shelf in his cottage, and the door of the cottage was habitually unlocked.
Mrs. Protheroe gave evidence that she had last seen her husband at 
about a quarter to six, when they separated in the village street. She agreed to call for 
him at the Vicarage later. She had gone to the Vicarage about a quarter past six, by way 
of the back lane and the garden gate. She had heard no voices in the study, and had 
imagined that the room was empty, but her husband might have been sitting at the writing 
table, in which case she would not have seen him. As far as she knew, he had been in his 
usual health and spirits. She knew of no enemy who might have had a grudge against him.
I gave evidence next, told of my appointment with Protheroe and my 
summons to the Abbotts¡¯. I described how I had found the body and my summoning of Dr. Haydock.
How many people, Mr. Clement, were aware that Colonel Protheroe was 
coming to see you that evening?¡±
¡°A 
good many, I should imagine. My wife knew and my nephew, and Colonel Protheroe himself 
alluded to the fact that morning when I met him in the village. I should think several 
people might have overheard him, as, being slightly deaf, he spoke in a loud voice.¡±
¡°It 
was then, a matter of common knowledge? Anyone might know?¡±
I agreed.
Haydock followed. He was an important witness. He described carefully 
and technically the appearance of the body and the exact injuries. It was his opinion that 
deceased had been shot while actually in the act of writing. He placed the time of death 
at approximately 6:20 to 6:30 certainly not later than 6:35. That was the outside limit. 
He was positive and emphatic on that point. There was no question of suicide; the wound 
could not have been self inflicted.
Inspector Slack¡¯s evidence was discreet and abridged. He described his 
summons, and the circumstances under which he had found the body. The unfinished letter 
was produced and the time on it 6:20 noted. Also the clock. It was tacitly assumed that 
the time of death was 6:22. The police were giving nothing away. Anne Protheroe told me 
afterward that she had been told to suggest a slightly earlier period of time than 6:20 
for her visit.
Our maid, Mary, was the next witness and proved a somewhat truculent 
one. She hadn¡¯t 
heard anything and didn¡¯t want to hear anything. It wasn¡¯t as though gentlemen who came to see the Vicar usually got 
shot. They didn¡¯t. 
She¡¯d got her own 
jobs to look after. Colonel Protheroe had arrived at a quarter past six exactly. No, she 
didn¡¯t look at the 
clock. She heard the church chime after she had shown him in to the study. She didn¡¯t hear any shot. If there had 
been a shot she¡¯d 
have heard it. Well, of course she knew there must have been a shot, since the gentleman 
saw found shot but there it was. She hadn¡¯t heard it.
The coroner did not press the point. I realized that he and Colonel 
Melchett were working in agreement.
Mrs. Lestrange had been subpoenaed to give evidence, but a medical 
certificate, signed by Dr. Haydock, was produced saying she was too ill to attend.
There was only one other witness, a somewhat doddering old woman, the 
one who, in Slack¡¯s 
phrase, ¡°did for¡± Lawrence Redding.
Mrs. Archer was shown the pistol and recognized it as the one she had 
seen in Mr. Redding¡¯s 
sitting room ¡°Over 
against the bookcase, he kept it, lying about.¡± She had last seen it on the day of the murder. Yes in answer 
to a further question she was quite sure it was there at lunchtime on Thursday quarter to 
one when she left.
I remembered what the Inspector had told me, and I was mildly 
surprised. However vague she might have been when he questioned her, she was quite 
positive about it now.
The coroner summed up in a negative manner but with a good deal of 
firmness. The verdict was given almost immediately.
Murder by person or persons unknown.
As I left the room I was aware of a small army of young men with 
bright, alert faces, and a kind of superficial resemblance to each other. Several of them 
were already known to me by sight, as having haunted the Vicarage the last few days. 
Seeking to escape, I plunged back into the Blue Boar, and was lucky enough to run straight 
into the archaeologist, Dr. Stone. I clutched at him without ceremony.
¡°Journalists,¡± I said briefly and 
expressively. ¡°If 
you could deliver me from their clutches?¡±
¡°Why, 
certainly, Mr. Clement. Come upstairs with me.¡±
He led the way up the narrow staircase and into his sitting room, where 
Miss Cram was siting rattling the keys of a typewriter with a practiced touch. She greeted 
me with a broad smile of welcome, and seized the opportunity to stop work.
¡°Awful, 
isn¡¯t it?¡± she said. ¡°Not knowing who did it, I mean. 
Not but that I¡¯m 
disappointed in an inquest. Tame, that¡¯s what I call it. Nothing what you might call spicy from 
beginning to end.¡±
¡°You 
were there then, Miss Cram?¡±
¡°I 
was there, all right. Fancy your not seeing me. Didn¡¯t you see me? I feel a bit hurt about that. Yes, I do. A 
gentleman, even if he is a clergyman, ought to have eyes in his head.¡±
¡°Were 
you present, also?¡± I 
asked Dr. Stone, in an effort to escape from this playful badinage. Young women like Miss 
Cram always make me feel awkward.
¡°No, 
I¡¯m afraid I feel 
very little interest in such things. I am a man very wrapped up in his own hobby.¡±
¡°It 
must be a very interesting hobby,¡± I said.
¡°You 
know something of it, perhaps?¡±
I was obliged to confess that I knew next to nothing.
Dr. Stone was not the kind of man whom a confession of ignorance 
daunts. The result was exactly the same as though I had said that the excavation of 
barrows was my only relaxation. He surged and eddied into speech. Long barrows, round 
barrows, stone age, bronze age, paleolithic, neolithic, kistvaens, and cromlechs, it burst 
forth in a torrent. I had little to do save nod my head and look intelligent and that last 
is perhaps overoptimistic. Dr. Stone boomed on. He is a little man. His head is round and 
bald¡¯ his face is 
round and rosy, and he beams at you through very strong glasses. I have never known a man 
so enthusiastic on so little encouragement. He went into every argument for and against 
his own pet theory which by the way, I quite failed to grasp!
He detailed at great length his difference of opinion with Colonel 
Protheroe.
¡°An 
opinionated boor,¡± he 
said with heat. ¡°Yes, 
yes, I know he is dead, and one should speak no ill of the dead. But death does not alter 
facts. An opinionated boor describes him exactly. Because he had read a few books, he set 
himself up as an authority against a man who has made a lifelong study of the subject. My 
whole life, Mr. Clement, has been given up to this work. My whole life¡­¡±
He was spluttering with excitement. Gladys Cram brought him back to 
earth with a terse sentence.
¡°You¡¯ll miss your train if you don¡¯t look out,¡± she observed.
¡°Oh!¡± The little man stopped in 
mid-speech and dragged a watch from his pocket. ¡°Bless my soul. Quarter to? Impossible.¡±
¡°Once 
you start talking you never remember the time. What you¡¯d do without me to look after you, I reely don¡¯t know.¡±
¡°Quite 
right, my dear, quite right.¡± He patted her affectionately on the shoulder. ¡°This is a wonderful girl, Mr. Clement. Never forgets 
anything. I consider myself extremely lucky to have found her.¡±
¡°Oh, 
go on, Doctor Stone,¡± said the lady. ¡°You spoil me, you go.¡±
I could not help feeling that I should be in a material position to add 
my support to the second school of thought that which foresees lawful matrimony as the 
future of Dr. Stone and Miss Cram. I imagined that in her own way Miss Cram was rather a 
clever young woman.
¡°You¡¯d better be getting along,¡± said Miss Cram.
¡°Yes, 
yes, so I must.¡±
He vanished into the room next door ad returned carrying a suitcase.
¡°You 
are leaving?¡± I 
asked in some surprise.
¡°Just 
running up to town for a couple of days,¡± he explained. ¡°My old mother to see tomorrow, some business with my lawyers 
on Monday. On Tuesday I shall return. By the way, I suppose that Colonel Protheroe¡¯s death will make no difference 
to out arrangements. As regards the barrow, I mean. Mrs. Protheroe will have no objection 
to our continuing the work?¡±
¡°I 
should not think so.¡±
As he spoke, I wondered who actually would be in authority at Old Hall. 
It was just possible that Protheroe might have left it to Lettice. I felt that it would be 
interesting to know the contents of Protheroe¡¯s will.
¡°Cause 
a lot of trouble in a family, a death does,¡± remarked Miss Cram with a kind of gloomy relish. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe what a nasty spirit 
there sometimes is.¡±
¡°Well, 
I must really be going.¡± Dr. Stone made ineffectual attempts to control the suitcase, a large rug, and 
an unwieldy umbrella. I came to his rescue. He protested.
¡°Don¡¯t trouble don¡¯t trouble. I cam manage 
perfectly. Doubtless there will be somebody downstairs.¡±
But down below there was no trace of boots or anyone else. I suspect 
that they were being regaled at the expense of the Press. Time was getting on, so we set 
out together to the station, Dr. Stone carrying the suitcase, and I holding the rug and 
umbrella.
Dr. Stone ejaculated remarks in between panting breaths as we hurried 
along.
¡°Really 
too good of you didn¡¯t mean to trouble you. Hope we shan¡¯t miss the train Gladys is a good girl really a wonderful 
girl a very sweet nature not too happy at home, I¡¯m afraid absolutely the heart of a child heart of a child, I 
do assure you in spite of difference in our ages fin a lot in common¡­¡±
I felt that several well know parallels would have occurred to Miss 
Marple, had she been there.
We saw Lawrence Redding¡¯s cottage just as we turned off to the station. It stands in 
an isolated position with no other house near it. I observed two young men of smart 
appearance standing on the doorstep, and a couple more peering in at the windows. It was a 
busy day for the Press.
¡°Nice 
fellow, young Redding,¡± I remarked to see what my companion would say.
He was so out of breath by this time that he found it difficult to say 
anything, but he puffed out a word which I did not at first quite catch.
¡°Dangerous,¡± he gasped when I asked him to 
repeat his remark.
¡°Dangerous?¡±
¡°Most 
dangerous. Innocent girls know no better taken in by a fellow like that always hanging 
round women. No good.¡±
From which I deduced that the only young man in the village had not 
passed unnoticed by the fair Gladys.
¡°Goodness,¡± ejaculated Dr. Stone. ¡°The train!¡±
We were close to the station by this time and we broke into a fast 
sprint. A down train was standing in the station and the up London train was just coming 
in.
At the door of the booking office we collided with a rather exquisite 
young man, and I recognized Miss Marple¡¯s nephew just arriving. He is, I think, a young man who does 
not like to be collided with. He prides himself on his poise and general air of 
detachment, and there is no doubt that vulgar contact is detrimental to poise of any kind. 
He staggered back. I apologized hastily and we passed in. Dr. Stone climbed on the train 
and I handed up his baggage just as the train gave an unwilling jerk and started.
I waved to him and then turned away. Raymond West had departed, but our 
local chemist, who rejoices in the name of Cherubim, was just setting out for the village. 
I walked beside him.
¡°Close 
shave that,¡± he 
observed. ¡°Well, 
how did the inquest go, Mr. Clement?¡±
I have him the verdict.
¡°Oh! 
So that¡¯s what 
happened. I rather thought they¡¯d adjourn the inquest. Where¡¯s Doctor Stone off to?¡±
I repeated what he had told me.
¡°Lucky 
not to miss the train. Not that you ever know on this line. I tell you, Mr. Clement, it¡¯s a crying shame. Disgraceful, 
that¡¯s what I call 
it. Train I came down by was ten minutes late. And that on a Saturday, with no traffic to 
speak of. And on Wednesday no, Thursday yes, Thursday it was I remember it was the day of 
the murder because I meant to write a strongly worded complaint to the company and the 
murder put it out of my head yes, last Thursday. I had been to a meeting of the 
pharmaceutical society. How late do you think the six fifty was? Half an hour. Half 
an hour exactly! What do you think of that? Ten minutes I don¡¯t mind. But if the train doesn¡¯t get in till twenty past seven, well, you can¡¯t get home before half past. 
What I say is, why call it the six fifty?¡±
¡°Quite 
so,¡± I said and, 
wishing to escape from the monologue, I broke away with the excuse that I had something to 
say to Lawrence Redding whom I saw approaching us on the other side of the road.
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