Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger

‘Yes, for poaching. You know, that man, Archer. Mary has been walking out with him for two years.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Darling Len, you never know anything.’

‘It’s queer,’ I said, ‘that everyone says the shot came from the woods.’

‘I don’t think it’s queer at all,’ said Griselda. ‘You see, one so often hears shots in the wood. So naturally, when you do hear a shot, you just assume as a matter of course that it is in the wood. It probably just sounds a bit louder than usual. Of course, if one were in the next room, you’d realize that it was in the house, but from Mary’s kitchen with the window right the other side of the house, I don’t believe you’d ever think of such a thing.’

The door opened again.

‘Colonel Melchett’s back,’ said Mary. ‘And that police inspector with him, and they say they’d be glad if you’d join them. They’re in the study.’

Chapter 11 (#ulink_69eb4d68-8973-5077-8bf0-68bf91259d7c)

I saw at a glance that Colonel Melchett and Inspector Slack had not been seeing eye to eye about the case. Melchett looked flushed and annoyed and the Inspector looked sulky.

‘I’m sorry to say,’ said Melchett, ‘that Inspector Slack doesn’t agree with me in considering young Redding innocent.’

‘If he didn’t do it, what does he go and say he did it for?’ asked Slack sceptically.

‘Mrs Protheroe acted in an exactly similar fashion, remember, Slack.’

‘That’s different. She’s a woman, and women act in that silly way. I’m not saying she did it for a moment. She heard he was accused and she trumped up a story. I’m used to that sort of game. You wouldn’t believe the fool things I’ve known women do. But Redding’s different. He’s got his head screwed on all right. And if he admits he did it, well, I say he did do it. It’s his pistol – you can’t get away from that. And thanks to this business of Mrs Protheroe, we know the motive. That was the weak point before, but now we know it – why, the whole thing’s plain sailing.’

‘You think he can have shot him earlier? At six thirty, say?’

‘He can’t have done that.’

‘You’ve checked up his movements?’

The Inspector nodded.

‘He was in the village near the Blue Boar at ten past six. From there he came along the back lane where you say the old lady next door saw him – she doesn’t miss much, I should say – and kept his appointment with Mrs Protheroe in the studio in the garden. They left there together just after six-thirty, and went along the lane to the village, being joined by Dr Stone. He corroborates that all right – I’ve seen him. They all stood talking just by the post office for a few minutes, then Mrs Protheroe went into Miss Hartnell’s to borrow a gardening magazine. That’s all right too. I’ve seen Miss Hartnell. Mrs Protheroe remained there talking to her till just on seven o’clock when she exclaimed at the lateness of the hour and said she must get home.’

‘What was her manner?’

‘Very easy and pleasant, Miss Hartnell said. She seemed in good spirits – Miss Hartnell is quite sure there was nothing on her mind.’

‘Well, go on.’

‘Redding, he went with Dr Stone to the Blue Boar and they had a drink together. He left there at twenty minutes to seven, went rapidly along the village street and down the road to the Vicarage. Lots of people saw him.’

‘Not down the back lane this time?’ commented the Colonel.

‘No – he came to the front, asked for the Vicar, heard Colonel Protheroe was there, went in – and shot him – just as he said he did! That’s the truth of it, and we needn’t look further.’

Melchett shook his head.

‘There’s the doctor’s evidence. You can’t get away from that. Protheroe was shot not later than six-thirty.’

‘Oh, doctors!’ Inspector Slack looked contemptuous. ‘If you’re going to believe doctors. Take out all your teeth – that’s what they do nowadays – and then say they’re very sorry, but all the time it was appendicitis. Doctors!’

‘This isn’t a question of diagnosis. Dr Haydock was absolutely positive on the point. You can’t go against the medical evidence, Slack.’

‘And there’s my evidence for what it is worth,’ I said, suddenly recalling a forgotten incident. ‘I touched the body and it was cold. That I can swear to.’

‘You see, Slack?’ said Melchett.

‘Well, of course, if that’s so. But there it was – a beautiful case. Mr Redding only too anxious to be hanged, so to speak.’

‘That, in itself, strikes me as a little unnatural,’ observed Colonel Melchett.

‘Well, there’s no accounting for tastes,’ said the Inspector. ‘There’s a lot of gentlemen went a bit balmy after the war. Now, I suppose, it means starting again at the beginning.’ He turned on me. ‘Why you went out of your way to mislead me about the clock, sir, I can’t think. Obstructing the ends of justice, that’s what that was.’

‘I tried to tell you on three separate occasions,’ I said. ‘And each time you shut me up and refused to listen.’

‘That’s just a way of speaking, sir. You could have told me perfectly well if you had had a mind to. The clock and the note seemed to tally perfectly. Now, according to you, the clock was all wrong. I never knew such a case. What’s the sense of keeping a clock a quarter of an hour fast anyway?’

‘It is supposed,’ I said, ‘to induce punctuality.’

‘I don’t think we need go further into that now, Inspector,’ said Colonel Melchett tactfully. ‘What we want now is the true story from both Mrs Protheroe and young Redding. I telephoned to Haydock and asked him to bring Mrs Protheroe over here with him. They ought to be here in about a quarter of an hour. I think it would be as well to have Redding here first.’

‘I’ll get on to the station,’ said Inspector Slack, and took up the telephone.

‘And now,’ he said, replacing the receiver, ‘we’ll get to work on this room.’ He looked at me in a meaningful fashion.

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘you’d like me out of the way.’

The Inspector immediately opened the door for me. Melchett called out:

‘Come back when young Redding arrives, will you, Vicar? You’re a friend of his and you may have sufficient influence to persuade him to speak the truth.’

I found my wife and Miss Marple with their heads together.

‘We’ve been discussing all sorts of possibilities,’ said Griselda. ‘I wish you’d solve the case, Miss Marple, like you did the time Miss Wetherby’s gill of picked shrimps disappeared. And all because it reminded you of something quite different about a sack of coals.’

‘You’re laughing, my dear,’ said Miss Marple, ‘but after all, that is a very sound way of arriving at the truth. It’s really what people call intuition and make such a fuss about. Intuition is like reading a word without having to spell it out. A child can’t do that because it has had so little experience. But a grown-up person knows the word because they’ve seen it often before. You catch my meaning, Vicar?’

‘Yes,’ I said slowly, ‘I think I do. You mean that if a thing reminds you of something else – well, it’s probably the same kind of thing.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And what precisely does the murder of Colonel Protheroe remind you of ?’

Miss Marple sighed.

‘That is just the difficulty. So many parallels come to the mind. For instance, there was Major Hargreaves, a church-warden and a man highly respected in every way. And all the time he was keeping a separate second establishment – a former housemaid, just think of it! And five children – actually five children – a terrible shock to his wife and daughter.’