Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie [18]
‘The arrest?’ Miss Marple leaned forward, her 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 leant forward eagerly.
‘He gave himself up, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Marple, with a deep sigh. ‘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 men are so hot-headed and often prone to believe the worst.’
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 homecoming 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 afterwards. It would be a premeditated and coldblooded 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 afterwards have been appalled at what he had done. Indeed, I prefer to think that this 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 6.20, and the clock on the table was overturned and had stopped at 6.22, 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