Murder at the Vicarage - Agatha Christie [73]
‘I don’t like it,’ repeated Hawes obstinately. ‘I’ve never gone against him in any way. I never suggested that he was guilty – even when he accused himself I said it seemed most incomprehensible. If I’ve had suspicions of anybody it’s been of Archer – never of him. Archer is a totally different proposition – a godless irreligious ruffian. A drunken blackguard.’
‘Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?’ I said. ‘After all, we really know very little about the man.’
‘A poacher, in and out of prison, capable of anything.’
‘Do you really think he shot Colonel Protheroe?’ I asked curiously.
Hawes has an inveterate dislike of answering yes or no. I have noticed it several times lately.
‘Don’t you think yourself, sir, that it’s the only possible solution?’
‘As far as we know,’ I said, ‘there’s no evidence of any kind against him.’
‘His threats,’ said Hawes eagerly. ‘You forget about his threats.’
I am sick and tired of hearing about Archer’s threats. As far as I can make out, there is no direct evidence that he ever made any.
‘He was determined to be revenged on Colonel Protheroe. He primed himself with drink and then shot him.’
‘That’s pure supposition.’
‘But you will admit that it’s perfectly probable?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Possible, then?’
‘Possible, yes.’
Hawes glanced at me sideways.
‘Why don’t you think it’s probable?’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘a man like Archer wouldn’t think of shooting a man with a pistol. It’s the wrong weapon.’
Hawes seemed taken aback by my argument. Evidently it wasn’t the objection he had expected.
‘Do you really think the objection is feasible?’ he asked doubtingly.
‘To my mind it is a complete stumbling block to Archer’s having committed the crime,’ I said.
In face of my positive assertion, Hawes said no more. He thanked me again and left.
I had gone as far as the front door with him, and on the hall table I saw four notes. They had certain characteristics in common. The handwriting was almost unmistakably feminine, they all bore the words, ‘By hand, Urgent’, and the only difference I could see was that one was noticeably dirtier than the rest.
Their similarity gave me a curious feeling of seeing – not double but quadruple.
Mary came out of the kitchen and caught me staring at them.
‘Come by hand since lunch time,’ she volunteered. ‘All but one. I found that in the box.’
I nodded, gathered them up and took them into the study.
The first one ran thus:
‘Dear Mr Clement, – Something has come to my knowledge which I feel you ought to know. It concerns the death of poor Colonel Protheroe. I should much appreciate your advice on the matter – whether to go to the police or not. Since my dear husband’s death, I have such a shrinking from every kind of publicity. Perhaps you could run in and see me for a few minutes this afternoon.
Yours sincerely,
‘Martha Price Ridley.’
I opened the second:
‘Dear Mr Clement, – I am so troubled – so excited in my mind – to know what I ought to do. Something has come to my ears that I feel may be important. I have such a horror of being mixed up with the police in any way. I am so disturbed and distressed. Would it be asking too much of you, dear Vicar, to drop in for a few minutes and solve my doubts and perplexities for me in the wonderful way you always do?
Forgive my troubling you,
Yours very sincerely,
‘Caroline Wetherby.’
The third, I felt, I could almost have recited beforehand.
‘Dear Mr Clement, – Something most important has come to my ears. I feel you should be the first to know about it. Will you call in and see me this afternoon some time? I will wait in for you.’,
This militant epistle was signed ‘Amanda Hartnell’.
I opened the fourth missive. It has been my good fortune to be troubled with very few anonymous letters. An anonymous letter is, I think, the meanest and cruellest weapon there is. This one was no exception. It purported to be written by an illiterate person, but several things inclined me to disbelieve that assumption.