The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [86]
2
“You, sir?” said the Inspector sharply. “How is that?” Then catching sight of the newspaper man, he added: “Here, I told you to clear out.” He was about to seize the fellow by the shoulder and hustle him out of the room, by way of some physical vent for the various emotions that were boiling inside him, when he saw from the other’s white face and shaking hands that it was not just callous professional curiosity which had kept him there; the man looked indeed almost incapable of walking. Rudge laid a gentle instead of a ferocious hand on his arm, and led him towards the door. “In the War, weren’t you?”
The reporter mustered up a shaky smile. “Yes, but we didn’t kill—women. I think I’m going to be sick.”
The Vicar pushed past the Inspector and took charge, leading the man into a small lavatory that opened off the hall just inside the front door. “Stay there till you feel better,” he nodded, and returned with the Inspector to the study.
“Turns some people up, blood does,” commented the latter. “Now, sir—you were going to tell me?”
They stood side by side, looking down on the dead woman. “Poor soul, poor soul,” muttered the Vicar. “The mother of my boys, Inspector. Perhaps I was too harsh with her. Too narrow, perhaps. Yet what else could I have done? My creed expressly forbids divorce. ‘Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. …’ It’s too explicit.”
“She wanted you to divorce her?” Rudge gently dropped the question into the Vicar’s musings, which seemed to be addressed more to himself than to the Inspector.
“Yes. I never knew the name of the man who induced her to run away with him; she always refused to tell me; perhaps it was better so. But he seems to have been kind to her, according to his lights.” It was plain that the Vicar was trying hard to be just. “At any rate, he was faithful to her; and she to him. They wanted to marry. They always have wanted to marry. But I could not reconcile it with my conscience to divorce her. Then last Tuesday—the night of the murder, in fact …”
“Yes?” Rudge almost held his breath. At last something was going to come out about that night’s hidden happenings.
“She called upon me here, quite late, and urged me once more to reconsider my decision. She was very upset—agitated—quite distraught, in fact …”
“Ah!” breathed Rudge.
“I had the greatest difficulty in soothing her. Especially in view of what I had to say.”
“You repeated your refusal, then?”
“What else could I do?” asked the Vicar piteously. “I considered that I had no choice. The injunction is too explicit. It distressed me very much to have to say so, but conscience,” added the Vicar, with a wan smile, “makes brave men of us all.”
“And what time was this, sir, when the lady called?” It distressed the Inspector too to have to continue his cross-examination in these circumstances, but his duty was no less plain.
“I saw her soon after midnight.”
“But we have information that she arrived here at about eleven?” Rudge said gently.
A slight flush appeared on the Vicar’s cheekbones. “I repeat, I saw her soon after midnight. About a quarter past twelve, so far as I can say. I brought her into the study here, and we talked for nearly an hour.”
“But what was she doing between eleven and a quarter past twelve?”
The Vicar’s lips stiffened. “That I cannot tell you, Inspector.”
“Meaning that you won’t tell me, sir, or you don’t know?”
“I have nothing further to say.”
The two men eyed each other steadily.
Rudge gave up the point. “And this afternoon? Had she made an appointment with you?”
“She had, for seven o’clock, and with Mr. and Mrs. Holland too. Unfortunately, most unfortunately, I was late. Otherwise,” said the Vicar, with a little break in his voice, “who knows but what I might not have prevented—this?”
“And you