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

‘It’s worth trying anyhow. Clement, I’m going to get to the bottom of this business. For Anne’s sake, if nobody’s else. And I haven’t any too much confidence in Slack – he’s a zealous fellow, but zeal can’t really take the place of brains.’

‘I see,’ I said, ‘that you are that favourite character of fiction, the amateur detective. I don’t know that they really hold their own with the professional in real life.’

He looked at me shrewdly and suddenly laughed.

‘What are you doing in the wood, padre?’

I had the grace to blush.

‘Just the same as I am doing, I dare swear. We’ve got the same idea, haven’t we?How did the murderer come to the study? First way, along the lane and through the gate, second way, by the front door, third way – is there a third way? My idea was to see if there was any sign of the bushes being disturbed or broken anywhere near the wall of the Vicarage garden.’

‘That was just my idea,’ I admitted.

‘I hadn’t really got down to the job, though,’ continued Lawrence. ‘Because it occurred to me that I’d like to see Miss Marple first, to make quite sure that no one did pass along the lane yesterday evening whilst we were in the studio.’

I shook my head.

‘She was quite positive that nobody did.’

‘Yes, nobody whom she would call anybody – sounds mad, but you see what I mean. But there might have been someone like a postman or a milkman or a butcher’s boy – someone whose presence would be so natural that you wouldn’t think of mentioning it.’

‘You’ve been reading G.K. Chesterton,’ I said, and Lawrence did not deny it.

‘But don’t you think there’s just possibly something in the idea?’

‘Well, I suppose there might be,’ I admitted.

Without further ado, we made our way to Miss Marple’s. She was working in the garden, and called out to us as we climbed over the stile.

‘You see,’ murmured Lawrence, ‘she sees everybody.’

She received us very graciously and was much pleased with Lawrence’s immense rock, which he presented with all due solemnity.

‘It’s very thoughtful of you, Mr Redding. Very thoughtful indeed.’

Emboldened by this, Lawrence embarked on his questions. Miss Marple listened attentively.

‘Yes, I see what you mean, and I quite agree, it is the sort of thing no one mentions or bothers to mention. But I can assure you that there was nothing of the kind. Nothing whatever.’

‘You are sure, Miss Marple?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Did you see anyone go by the path into the wood that afternoon?’ I asked. ‘Or come from it?’

‘Oh, yes, quite a number of people. Dr Stone and Miss Cram went that way – it’s the nearest way to the barrow for them. That was a little after two o’clock. And Dr Stone returned that way – as you know, Mr Redding, since he joined you and Mrs Protheroe.’

‘By the way,’ I said. ‘That shot – the one you heard, Miss Marple. Mr Redding and Mrs Protheroe must have heard it too.’

I looked inquiringly at Lawrence.

‘Yes,’ he said, frowning. ‘I believe I did hear some shots. Weren’t there one or two shots?’

‘I only heard one,’ said Miss Marple.

‘It’s only the vaguest impression in my mind,’ said Lawrence. ‘Curse it all, I wish I could remember. If only I’d known. You see, I was so completely taken up with – with –’

He paused, embarrassed.

I gave a tactful cough. Miss Marple, with a touch of prudishness, changed the subject.

‘Inspector Slack has been trying to get me to say whether I heard the shot after Mr Redding and Mrs Protheroe had left the studio or before. I’ve had to confess that I really could not say definitely, but I have the impression – which is growing stronger the more I think about it – that it was after.’

‘Then that lets the celebrated Dr Stone out anyway,’ said Lawrence, with a sigh. ‘Not that there has ever been the slightest reason why he should be suspected of shooting poor old Protheroe.’

‘Ah!’ said Miss Marple. ‘But I always find it prudent to suspect everybody just a little. What I say is, you really never know, do you?’

This was typical of Miss Marple. I asked Lawrence if he agreed with her about the shot.

‘I really can’t say. You see, it was such an ordinary sound. I should be inclined to think it had been fired when we were in the studio. The sound would have been deadened and – one would have noticed it less there.’

For other reasons than the sound being deadened, I thought to myself.

‘I must ask Anne,’ said Lawrence. ‘She may remember. By the way, there seems to me to be one curious fact that needs explanation. Mrs Lestrange, the Mystery Lady of St Mary Mead, paid a visit to old Protheroe after dinner on Wednesday night. And nobody seems to have any idea what it was all about. Old Protheroe said nothing to either his wife or Lettice.’

‘Perhaps the Vicar knows,’ said Miss Marple.

Now how did the woman know that I had been to visit Mrs Lestrange that afternoon? The way she always knows things is uncanny.

I shook my head and said I could throw no light upon the matter.

‘What does Inspector Slack think?’ asked Miss Marple.

‘He’s done his best to bully the butler – but apparently the butler wasn’t curious enough to listen at the door. So there it is – no one knows.’

‘I expect someone overheard something, though, don’t you?’ said Miss Marple. ‘I mean, somebody always does. I think that is where Mr Redding may find out something.’

‘But Mrs Protheroe knows nothing.’

‘I didn’t mean Anne Protheroe,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I meant the women servants. They do so hate telling anything to the police. But a nice-looking young man – you’ll excuse me, Mr Redding – and one who has been unjustly suspected – oh! I’m sure they’d tell him at once.’

‘I’ll go and have a try this evening,’ said Lawrence with vigour. ‘Thanks for the hint, Miss Marple. I’ll go after – well, after a little job the Vicar and I are going to do.’

It occurred to me that we had better be getting on with it. I said goodbye to Miss Marple and we entered the woods once more.

First we went up the path till we came to a new spot where it certainly looked as though someone had left the path on the right-hand side. Lawrence explained that he had already followed this particular trail and found it led nowhere, but he added that we might as well try again. He might have been wrong.

It was, however, as he had said. After about ten or twelve yards any sign of broken and trampled leaves petered out. It was from this spot that Lawrence had broken back towards the path to meet me earlier in the afternoon.