Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie [41]
I was quite unprepared for the effect of my question. He turned on me angrily and suspiciously.
‘What makes you say that, Clement? What’s in your mind? Out with it, man.’
‘Why, nothing particular,’ I said, rather taken aback. ‘Only – well, murder is in our minds just now. If by any chance you happened to discover the truth – I wondered how you would feel about it, that was all.’
His anger died down. He stared once more straight ahead of him like a man trying to read the answer to a riddle that perplexes him, yet which exists only in his own brain.
‘If I suspected – if I knew – I should do my duty, Clement. At least, I hope so.’
‘The question is – which way would you consider your duty lay?’
He looked at me with inscrutable eyes.
‘That question comes to every man some time in his life, I suppose, Clement. And every man has to decide in his own way.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, I don’t know…’
I felt the best thing was to change the subject.
‘That nephew of mine is enjoying this case thoroughly,’ I said. ‘Spends his entire time looking for footprints and cigarette ash.’
Haydock smiled. ‘What age is he?’
‘Just sixteen. You don’t take tragedies seriously at that age. It’s all Sherlock Holmes and Arsene Lupin to you.’
Haydock said thoughtfully:
‘He’s a fine-looking boy. What are you going to do with him?’
‘I can’t afford a University education, I’m afraid. The boy himself wants to go into the Merchant Service. He failed for the Navy.’
‘Well – it’s a hard life – but he might do worse. Yes, he might do worse.’
‘I must be going,’ I exclaimed, catching sight of the clock. ‘I’m nearly half an hour late for lunch.’
My family were just sitting down when I arrived. They demanded a full account of the morning’s activities, which I gave them, feeling, as I did so, that most of it was in the nature of an anticlimax.
Dennis, however, was highly entertained by the history of Mrs Price Ridley’s telephone call, and went into fits of laughter as I enlarged upon the nervous shock her system had sustained and the necessity for reviving her with damson gin.
‘Serve the old cat right,’ he exclaimed. ‘She’s got the worst tongue in the place. I wish I’d thought of ringing her up and giving her a fright. I say, Uncle Len, what about giving her a second dose?’
I hastily begged him to do nothing of the sort. Nothing is more dangerous than the well-meant efforts of the younger generation to assist you and show their sympathy.
Dennis’s mood changed suddenly. He frowned and put on his man of the world air.
‘I’ve been with Lettice most of the morning,’ he said. ‘You know, Griselda, she’s really very worried. She doesn’t want to show it, but she is. Very worried indeed.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Griselda, with a toss of her head.
Griselda is not too fond of Lettice Protheroe.
‘I don’t think you’re ever quite fair to Lettice.’
‘Don’t you?’ said Griselda.
‘Lots of people don’t wear mourning.’
Griselda was silent and so was I. Dennis continued:
‘She doesn’t talk to most people, but she does talk to me. She’s awfully worried about the whole thing, and she thinks something ought to be done about it.’
‘She will find,’ I said, ‘that Inspector Slack shares her opinion. He is going up to Old Hall this afternoon, and will probably make the life of everybody there quite unbearable to them in his efforts to get at the truth.’
‘What do you think is the truth, Len?’ asked my wife suddenly.
‘It’s hard to say, my dear. I can’t say that at the moment I’ve any idea at all.’
‘Did you say that Inspector Slack was going to trace that telephone call – the one that took you to the Abbotts’?’
‘Yes.’
‘But can he do it? Isn’t it a very difficult thing to do?’
‘I should not imagine so. The Exchange will have a record of the calls.’
‘Oh!’ My wife relapsed into thought.
‘Uncle Len,’ said my nephew, ‘why were you so ratty with me this morning for joking about your wishing Colonel Protheroe to be murdered?’
‘Because,