"No," I said. "You can take it from me that it was something quite different, but I can't say more at the present juncture."
He nodded and rose.
"I'm glad to know. There's a lot of talk. Too many women in this part of the world. Well, I must get along. I've got to see Haydock. He was called out to some case or other, but he ought to be back by now. I don't mind telling you I'm sorry about Redding. He always struck me as a decent young chap. Perhaps they'll think out some kind of defence for him. Aftereffects of war, shell shock, or something. Especially if no very adequate motive turns up. I must be off. Like to come along?"
I said I would like to very much, and we went out together.
Haydock's house is next door to mine. His servant said the doctor had just come in and showed us into the dining-room, where Haydock was sitting down to a steaming plate of eggs and bacon. He greeted me with an amiable nod.
"Sorry I had to go out. Confinement case. I've been up most of the night, over your business. I've got the bullet for you."
He shoved a little box along the table. Melchett examined it.
"Point two five?"
Haydock nodded.
"I'll keep the technical details for the inquest," he said. "All you want to know is that death was practically instantaneous. Silly young fool, what did he want to do it for? Amazing, by the way, that nobody heard the shot."
"Yes,'' said Melchett, "that surprises me."
"The kitchen window gives on the other side of the house," I said. "With the study door, the pantry door, and the kitchen door all shut, I doubt if you would hear anything, and there was no one but the maid in the house."
"H'm," said Melchett. "It's odd, all the same. I wonder the old lady - what's her name - Marple, didn't hear it. The study window was open."
"Perhaps she did," said Haydock.
"I don't think she did," said I. "She was over at the Vicarage just now and she didn't mention anything of the kind which I'm certain she would have done if there had been anything to tell."
"May have heard it and paid no attention to it - thought it was a car back-firing."
It struck me that Haydock was looking much more jovial and good-humoured this morning. He seemed like a man who was decorously trying to subdue unusually good spirits.
"Or what about a silencer?" he added. "That's quite likely. Nobody would hear anything then."
Melchett shook his head.
"Slack didn't find anything of the kind, and he asked Redding, and Redding didn't seem to know what he was talking about at first and then denied point blank using anything of the kind. And I suppose one can take his word for it."
"Yes, indeed, poor devil."
"Damned young fool," said Colonel Melchett. "Sorry, Clement. But he really is! Somehow one can't get used to thinking of him as a murderer."
"Any motive?" asked Haydock, taking a final draught of coffee and pushing back his chair.
"He says they quarrelled and he lost his temper and shot him."
"Hoping for manslaughter, eh?" The doctor shook his head. "That story doesn't hold water. He stole up behind him as he was writing and shot him through the head. Precious little 'quarrel' about that."
"Anyway, there wouldn't have been time for a quarrel," I said, remembering Miss Marple's words. "To creep up, shoot him, alter the clock hands back to 6.20, and leave again would have taken him all his time. I shall never forget his face when I met him outside the gate, or the way he said, 'You want to see Protheroe - oh! you'll see him all right!' That in itself ought to have made me suspicious of what had just taken place a few minutes before."
Haydock stared at me.
"What do you mean - what had just taken place? When do you think Redding shot him?"
"A few minutes before I got to the house."
The doctor shook his head.
"Impossible. Plumb impossible. He'd been dead much longer than that."
"But, my dear man," cried Colonel Melchett, "you said yourself that half an hour was only an approximate estimate."
"Half an hour, thirty-five minutes, twenty-five minutes, twenty minutes - possibly, but less, no. Why, the body would have been warm when I got to it."
We stared at each other. Haydock's face had changed. It had gone suddenly grey and old. I wondered at the change in him.
"But, look here, Haydock." The colonel found his voice. "If Redding admits shooting him at a quarter to seven -"
Haydock sprang to his feet.
"I tell you it's impossible," he roared. "If Redding says he killed Protheroe at a quarter to seven, then Redding lies. Hang it all, I tell you I'm a doctor, and I know. The blood had begun to congeal."
"If Redding is lying," began Melchett. He stopped, shook his head.
"We'd better go down to the police station and see him," he said.
CHAPTER VIII
We were rather silent on our way down to the police station. Haydock drew behind a little and murmured to me:
"You know I don't like the look of this. I don't like it. There's something here we don't understand."
He looked thoroughly worried and upset.
Inspector Slack was at the police station and presently we found ourselves face to face with Lawrence Redding.
He looked pale and strained but quite composed - marvellously so, I thought, considering the circumstances. Melchett snorted and hummed, obviously nervous.
"Look here, Redding," he said, "I understand you made a statement to Inspector Slack here. You state you went to the Vicarage at approximately a quarter to seven, found Protheroe there, quarrelled with him, shot him, and came away. I'm not reading it over to you, but that's the gist of it."
"Yes."
"I'm going to ask a few questions. You've already been told that you needn't answer them unless you choose. Your solicitor -"
Lawrence interrupted.
"I've nothing to hide. I killed Protheroe."
"Ah! well -" Melchett snorted. "How did you happen to have a pistol with you?"
Lawrence hesitated. "It was in my pocket."
"You took it with you to the Vicarage?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I always take it."
He had hesitated again before answering, and I was absolutely sure that he was not speaking the truth.
"Why did you put the clock back?"
"The clock?" He seemed puzzled.
"Yes, the hands pointed to 6.22."
A look of fear sprang up in his face.
"Oh! that - yes. I - I altered it."
Haydock spoke suddenly.
"Where did you shoot Colonel Protheroe?"
"In the study at the Vicarage."
"I mean in what part of the body?"
"Oh! - I - through the head, I think. Yes, through the head."
"Aren't you sure?"
"Since you know, I can't see why it is necessary to ask me." It was a feeble kind of bluster. There was some commotion outside. A constable without a helmet brought in a note.
"For the vicar. It says very urgent on it."
I tore it open and read:
"Please - please - come to me. I don't know what to do. It is all too awful. I want to tell someone. Please come immediately, and bring any one you like with you. - ANNE PROTHEROE.
I gave Melchett a meaning glance. He took the hint. We all went out together. Glancing over my shoulder, I had a glimpse of Lawrence Redding's face. His eyes were riveted on the paper in my hand, and I have hardly ever seen such a terrible look of anguish and despair in any human being's face.
I remembered Anne Protheroe sitting on my sofa and saying:
"I'm a desperate woman," and my heart grew heavy within me. I saw now the possible reason for Lawrence Redding's heroic self-accusation. Melchett was speaking to Slack.
"Have you got any line on Redding's movements earlier in the day? There's some reason to think he shot Protheroe earlier than he says. Get on to it, will you?"
He turned to me and without a word I
handed him Anne Protheroe's letter. He read it and pursed up his lips in astonishment. Then he looked at me inquiringly.
"Is this what you were hinting at this morning? "
"Yes. I was not sure then if it was my duty to speak. I am quite sure now." And I told him of what I had seen that night in the studio.
The colonel had a few words with the inspector and then we set off for Old Hall. Dr. Haydock came with us.
A very correct butler opened the door, with just the right amount of gloom in his bearing.
"Good-morning," said Melchett. "Will you ask Mrs. Protheroe's maid to tell her we are here and would like to see her, and then return here and answer a few questions."
The butler hurried away and presently returned with the news that he had despatched the message.
"Now let's hear something about yesterday," said Colonel Melchett. "Your master was in to lunch?"
"Yes, sir."
"And in his usual spirits?"
"As far as I could see, yes, sir."
"What happened after that?"
"After luncheon Mrs. Protheroe went to lie down and the colonel went to his study. Miss Lettice went out to a tennis party in the two-seater. Colonel and Mrs. Protheroe had tea at four-thirty, in the drawing-room. The car was ordered for five-thirty to take them to the village. Immediately after they had left Mr. Clement rang up" - he bowed to me - "I told him they had started."
"H'm," said Colonel Melchett. "When was Mr. Redding last here?"
"On Tuesday afternoon, sir."
"I understand that there was a disagreement between them?"
"I believe so, sir. The colonel gave me orders that Mr. Redding was not to be admitted in future."
"Did you overhear the quarrel at all?" asked Colonel Melchett bluntly.
"Colonel Protheroe, sir, had a very loud voice, especially when it was raised in anger. I was unable to help overhearing a few words here and there."
"Enough to tell you the cause of the dispute?"
"I understood, sir, that it had to do with a portrait Mr. Redding had been painting - a portrait of Miss Lettice."
Melchett grunted.
"Did you see Mr. Redding when he left?"
"Yes, sir, I let him out."
"Did he seem angry?"
"No, sir; if I may say so, he seemed rather amused."
"Ah! He didn't come to the house yesterday?"
"No, sir."
"Any one else come?"
"Not yesterday, sir."
"Well, the day before?"
"Mr. Dennis Clement came in the afternoon. And Dr. Stone was here for some time. And there was a lady in the evening."
"A lady?" Melchett was surprised. "Who was she?"
The butler couldn't remember her name. It was a lady he had not seen before. Yes, she had given her name, and when he told her that the family were at dinner, she had said that she would wait. So he had shown her into the little morning-room.
She had asked for Colonel Protheroe, not Mrs. Protheroe. He had told the colonel and the colonel had gone to the morning-room directly dinner was over.
How long had the lady stayed? He thought about half an hour. The colonel himself had let her out. Ah! yes, he remembered her name now. The lady had been a Mrs. Lestrange.
This was a surprise.
"Curious," said Melchett. "Really very curious."
But we pursued the matter no further, for at that moment a message came that Mrs. Protheroe would see us.
Anne was in bed. Her face was pale and her eyes very bright. There was a look on her face that puzzled me - a kind of grim determination. She spoke to me.
"Thank you for coming so promptly," she said. "I see you've understood what I meant by bringing any one you liked with you." She paused.
"It's best to get it over quickly, isn't it?" she said. She gave a queer, half-pathetic little smile. "I suppose you're the person I ought to say it to, Colonel Melchett. You see, it was I who killed my husband."
Colonel Melchett said gently:
"My dear Mrs. Protheroe -"
"Oh! it's quite true. I suppose I've said it rather bluntly, but I never can go into hysterics over anything. I've hated him for a long time, and yesterday I shot him."
She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
"That's all. I suppose you'll arrest me and take me away. I'll get up and dress as soon as I can. At the moment I am feeling rather sick."
"Are you aware, Mrs. Protheroe, that Mr. Lawrence Redding has already accused himself of committing the crime."
Anne opened her eyes and nodded brightly.
"I know. Silly boy. He's very much in love with me, you know. It was frightfully noble of him - but very silly."
"He knew that it was you who had committed the crime?"
"Yes."
"How did he know?"
She hesitated.
"Did you tell him?"
Still she hesitated. Then at last she seemed to make up her mind.
"Yes - I told him..."
She twitched her shoulders with a movement of irritation.
"Can't you go away now? I've told you. I don't want to talk about it any more."
"Where did you get the pistol, Mrs. Protheroe?"
"The pistol! Oh! it was my husband's. I got it out of the drawer of his dressing-table."
"I see. And you took it with you to the Vicarage?"
"Yes. I knew he would be there -"
"What time was this?"
"It must have been after six - quarter - twenty past - something like that."
"You took the pistol meaning to shoot your husband?"
"No - I - I meant it for myself."
"I see. But you went to the Vicarage?"
"Yes. I went along to the window. There were no voices. I looked in. I saw my husband. Something came over me - and I fired."
"And then?"
"Then? Oh! then I went away."
"And told Mr. Redding what you had done?"
Again I noticed the hesitation in her voice before she said: "Yes."
"Did anybody see you entering or leaving the Vicarage?"
"No - at least, yes. Old Miss Marple. I talked to her a few minutes. She was in her garden."
She moved restlessly on the pillows.
"Isn't that enough? I've told you. Why do you want to go on bothering me?"
Dr. Haydock moved to her side and felt her pulse.
He beckoned to Melchett.
"I'll stay with her," he said in a whisper, "whilst you make the necessary arrangements. She oughtn't to be left. Might do herself a mischief."
Melchett nodded.
We left the room and descended the stairs. I saw a thin cadaverous-looking man come out of the adjoining room and on impulse I remounted the stairs.
"Are you Colonel Protheroe's valet?"
The man looked surprised. "Yes, sir."
"Do you know whether your late master kept a pistol anywhere?"
"Not that I know of, sir."
"Not in one of the drawers of his dressing-table? Think, man."
The valet shook his head decisively.
"I'm quite sure he didn't, sir. I'd have seen it if so. Bound to."
I hurried down the stairs after the others.
Mrs. Protheroe had lied about the pistol.
Why?
CHAPTER IX
After leaving a message at the police station, the Chief Constable announced his intention of paying a visit to Miss Marple.
"You'd better come with me, vicar," he said. "I don't want to give a member of your flock hysterics. So lend the weight of your soothing presence."
I smiled. For an her fragile appearance, Miss Marple is capable of holding her own with any policeman or Chief Constable in existence.
"What's she like?" asked the colonel, as we rang the bell. "Anything she says to be depended upon or otherwise?"
Agatha Christie - Murder at the Vicarage Page 6
