Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie [32]
‘Louder?’ I suggested.
No, Miss Marple didn’t think it had been louder. In fact, she found it hard to say in what way it had been different, but she still insisted that it was.
I thought she was probably persuading herself of the fact rather than actually remembering it, but she had just contributed such a valuable new outlook to the problem that I felt highly respectful towards her.
She rose, murmuring that she must really get back – it had been so tempting just to run over and discuss the case with dear Griselda. I escorted her to the boundary wall and the back gate and returned to find Griselda wrapped in thought.
‘Still puzzling over that note?’ I asked.
‘No.’
She gave a sudden shiver and shook her shoulders impatiently.
‘Len, I’ve been thinking. How badly someone must have hated Anne Protheroe!’
‘Hated her?’
‘Yes. Don’t you see? There’s no real evidence against Lawrence – all the evidence against him is what you might call accidental. He just happens to take it into his head to come here. If he hadn’t – well, no one would have thought of connecting him with the crime. But Anne is different. Suppose someone knew that she was here at exactly 6.20 – the clock and the time on the letter – everything pointing to her. I don’t think it was only because of an alibi it was moved to that exact time – I think there was more in it than that – a direct attempt to fasten the business on her. If it hadn’t been for Miss Marple saying she hadn’t got the pistol with her and noticing that she was only a moment before going down to the studio – Yes, if it hadn’t been for that…’ She shivered again. ‘Len, I feel that someone hated Anne Protheroe very much. I – I don’t like it.’
Chapter 12
I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived. He looked haggard, and, I thought, suspicious. Colonel Melchett greeted him with something 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. Are you aware that someone else has also confessed to committing the crime which 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, do we believe yours. Dr Haydock says positively that the murder could not have 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 we want 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’t suspect 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 thought for 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 –’ He paused.
‘We know all about that,’ said Melchett. ‘You may think that your feeling for Mrs Protheroe and hers for you was a dead secret, but in reality it was known and commented upon. In any case, everything is bound to come 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 evening in the studio at a quarter past six. I told her of what I had decided. She, too, agreed that it was the