There was a silence when he had finished. Then the colonel said in a business_like voice:
"I would like to ask just one or two questions. First, did you touch or move the body in any way?"
"No, I didn't touch it at all. One could see he was dead without touching him."
"Did you notice a note lying on the blotter half concealed by his body?"
"No."
"Did you interfere in any way with the clock?"
"I never touched the clock. I seem to remember a clock lying overturned on the table, but I never touched it."
"Now as to this pistol of yours, when did you last see it?"
Lawrence Redding reflected. "It's hard to say exactly."
"Where do you keep it?"
"Oh! in a litter of odds and ends in the sitting_room in my cottage. On one of the shelves of the bookcase."
"You left it lying about carelessly?"
"Yes. I really didn't think about it. It was just there."
"So that any one who came to your cottage could have seen it?"
"Yes."
"And you don't remember when you last saw it?"
Lawrence drew his brows together in a frown of recollection.
"I'm almost sure it was there the day before yesterday. I remember pushing it aside to get an old pipe. I think it was the day before yesterday — but it may have been the day before that."
"Who has been to your cottage lately?"
"Oh! crowds of people. Someone is always drifting in and out, I had a sort of tea party the day before yesterday. Lettice Protheroe, Dennis, and all their crowd. And then one or other of the old Pussies comes in now and again."
"Do you lock the cottage up when you go out?"
"No; why on earth should I? I've nothing to steal. And no one does lock their houses up round here."
"Who looks after your wants there?"
"An old Mrs. Archer comes in every morning to 'do for me' as it's called."
"Do you think she would remember when the pistol was there last?"
"I don't know. She might. But I don't fancy conscientious dusting is her strong point."
"It comes to this — that almost any one might have taken that pistol?"
"It seems so — yes."
The door opened and Dr. Haydock came in with Anne Protheroe.
She started at seeing Lawrence. He, on his part, made a tentative step towards her.
"Forgive me, Anne," he said. "It was abominable of me to think what I did."
"I —" She faltered, then looked appealingly at Colonel Melchett. "It is true, what Dr. Haydock told me?"
"That Mr. Redding is cleared of suspicion? Yes. And now what about this story of yours, Mrs. Protheroe? Eh, what about it?"
She smiled rather shamefacedly.
"I suppose you think it dreadful of me?"
"Well, shall we say — very foolish? But that's all over. What I want now, Mrs. Protheroe, is the truth — the absolute truth."
She nodded gravely.
"I will tell you. I suppose you know about — about everything."
"Yes."
"I was to meet Lawrence — Mr. Redding — that evening at the studio. At a quarter past six. My husband and I drove into the village together. I had some shopping to do. As we parted he mentioned casually that he was going to see the vicar. I couldn't get word to Lawrence, and I was rather uneasy. I — well, it was awkward meeting him in the Vicarage garden whilst my husband was at the Vicarage."
Her cheeks burned as she said this. It was not a pleasant moment for her.
"I reflected that perhaps my husband would not stay very long. To find this out, I came along the back lane and into the garden. I hoped no one would see me, but of course old Miss Marple had to be in her garden! She stopped me and we said a few words, and I explained I was going to call for my husband. I felt I had to say something. I don't know whether she believed me or not. She looked rather — funny.
"When I left her, I went straight across to the Vicarage and round the corner of the house to the study window. I crept up to it very softly, expecting to hear the sound of voices. But to my surprise there were none. I just glanced in, saw the room was empty, and hurried across the lawn and down to the studio where Lawrence joined me almost at once."
"You say the room was empty, Mrs. Protheroe?"
"Yes, my husband was not there."
"Extraordinary."
"You mean, ma'am, that you didn't see him?" said the inspector.
"No, I didn't see him."
Inspector Slack whispered to the Chief Constable, who nodded.
"Do you mind, Mrs. Protheroe, just showing us exactly what you did?"
"Not at all."
She rose, Inspector Slack pushed opened the window for her, and she stepped out on the terrace and round the house to the left.
Inspector Slack beckoned me imperiously to go and sit at the writing_table.
Somehow I didn't much like doing it. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling. But, of course, I complied.
Presently I heard footsteps outside, they paused for a minute, then retreated. Inspector Slack indicated to me that I could return to the other side of the room. Mrs. Protheroe re_entered through the window.
"Is that exactly how it was?" asked Colonel Melchett.
"I think exactly."
"Then can you tell us, Mrs. Protheroe, just exactly where the vicar was in the room when you looked in?" asked Inspector Slack.
"The vicar? I — no, I'm afraid I can't. I didn't see him."
Inspector Slack nodded.
"That's how you didn't see your husband. He was round the corner at the writing_desk."
"Oh!" she paused. Suddenly her eyes grew round with horror. "It wasn't there that — that —"
"Yes, Mrs. Protheroe. It was while he was sitting there."
"Oh!" She quivered.
He went on with his questions.
"Did you know, Mrs. Protheroe, that Mr. Redding had a pistol?"
"Yes. He told me so once."
"Did you ever have that pistol in your possession?''
She shook her head. "No."
"Did you know where he kept it?"
"I'm not sure. I think — yes, I think I've seen it on a shelf in his cottage. Didn't you keep it there, Lawrence?"
"When was the last time you were at the cottage, Mrs. Protheroe?"
"Oh! about three weeks ago. My husband and I had tea there with him.''
"And you have not been there since?"
"No. I never went there. You see, it would probably cause a lot of talk in the village."
"Doubtless," said Colonel Melchett dryly. "Where were you in the habit of seeing Mr. Redding, if I may ask?"
"He used to come up to the Hall. He was painting Lettice, We — we often met in the woods afterwards."
Colonel Melchett nodded.
"Isn't that enough?" Her voice was suddenly broken. "It's so awful — having to tell you all these things. And — and there wasn't anything wrong about it. There wasn't — indeed, there wasn't. We were just friends. We — we couldn't help caring for each other."
She looked pleadingly at Dr. Haydock, and that soft_hearted man stepped forward.
"I really think, Melchett," he said, "that Mrs. Protheroe has had enough. She's had a great shock — in more ways than one."
The Chief Constable nodded.
"There is really nothing more I want to ask you, Mrs. Protheroe," he said. "Thank you for answering my questions so frankly."
"Then — then I may go?"
"Is your wife in?'' asked Haydock. "I think Mrs. Protheroe would like to see her."
"Yes," I said, "Griselda is in. You'd find her in the drawing-room."
She and Haydock left the room together and Lawrence Redding with them.
Colonel Melchett had pursed up his lips and was playing with a paper knife. Slack was looking at the note. It was then that I mentioned Miss Marple's theory. Slack looked closely at it.
"My word," he said, "I believe the old lady's right. Look here, sir, don't you see? — these figures are written in different ink. That date was written with a fountain pen or I'll eat my boots!"
We were all rather excited.
"You've examined the note for finger_prints, of course," said the Chief Constable.
"What do you think, colonel? No finger_prints on the note at all. Finger_prints on the pistol those of Mr. Lawrence Redding. May have been some others once, before he went tooling round with it and carrying it around in his pocket, but there's nothing clear enough to get hold of now."
"At first the case looked very black against Mrs. Protheroe," said the colonel thoughtfully. "Much blacker than against young Redding. There was that old woman Marple's evidence that she didn't have the pistol with her, but these elderly ladies are often mistaken."
I was silent, but I did not agree with him. I was quite sure that Anne Protheroe had had no pistol with her since Miss Marple had said so. Miss Marple is not the type of elderly lady who makes mistakes. She has got an uncanny knack of being always right.
"What did get me was that nobody heard the shot. If it was fired then — somebody must have heard it — wherever they thought it came from. Slack, you'd better have a word with the maid."
Inspector Slack moved with alacrity towards the door.
"I shouldn't ask her if she heard a shot in the house," I said. "Because if you do, she'll deny it. Call it a shot in the wood. That's the only kind of shot she'd admit to hearing."
"I know how to manage them," said Inspector Slack, and disappeared.
"Miss Marple says she heard a shot later," said Colonel Melchett thoughtfully. "We must see if she can fix the time at all precisely. Of course it may be a stray shot that had nothing to do with the case."
"It may be, of course," I agreed.
The colonel took a turn or two up and down the room.
"Do you know, Clement," he said suddenly, "I've a feeling that this is going to turn out a much more intricate and difficult business than any of us think. Dash it all, there's something behind it." He snorted. "Something we don't know about. We're only beginning, Clement. Mark my words, we're only beginning. All these things, the clock, the note, the pistol — they don't make sense as they stand."
I shook my head. They certainly didn't.
"But I'm going to get to the bottom of it. No calling in of Scotland Yard. Slack's a smart man. He's a very smart man. He's a kind of ferret. He'll nose his way through to the truth. He's done several very good things already, and this case will be his chef d'?uvre. Some men would call in Scotland Yard. I shan't. We'll get to the bottom of this here in Downshire."
"I hope so, I'm sure," I said.
I tried to make my voice enthusiastic, but I had already taken such a dislike to Inspector Slack that the prospect of his success failed to appeal to me. A successful Slack would, I thought, be even more odious than a baffled one.
"Who has the house next door?" asked the Colonel suddenly. "You mean at the end of the road? Mrs. Price Ridley."
"We'll go along to her after Slack has finished with your maid. She might just possibly have heard something. She isn't deaf or anything, is she?"
"I should say her hearing was remarkably keen. I'm going by the amount of scandal she has started by 'just happening to overhear accidentally.'"
"That's the kind of woman we want. Oh! here's Slack."
The inspector had the air of one emerging from a severe tussle.
"Phew!" he said. "That's a tartar you've got, sir."
"Mary is essentially a girl of strong character," I replied.
"Doesn't like the police," he said. "I cautioned her — did what I could to put the fear of the law into her, but no good. She stood right up to me."
"Spirited," I said, feeling more kindly towards Mary.
"But I pinned her down all right. She heard one shot — and one shot only. And it was a good long time after Colonel Protheroe came. I couldn't get her to name a time, but we fixed it at last by means of the fish. The fish was late, and she blew the boy up when he came, and he said it was barely half_past six anyway, and it was just after that she heard the shot. Of course, that's not accurate, so to speak, but it gives us an idea."
"H'm," said Melchett.
"I don't think Mrs. Protheroe's in this after all," said Slack,
With a note of regret in his voice. "She wouldn't have had time, to begin with, and then women never like fiddling about with firearms. Arsenic's more in their line. No, I don't think she did it. It's a pity!" He sighed.
Melchett explained that he was going round to Mrs. Price Ridley's, and Slack approved.
"May I come with you?" I asked. "I'm getting interested."
I was given permission, and we set forth. A loud "Hie" greeted us as we emerged from the Vicarage gate, and my nephew, Dennis, came running up the road from the village to join us.
"Look here," he said to the inspector, "what about that footprint I told you about?"
"Gardener's," said Inspector Slack laconically.
"You don't think it might be someone else wearing the gardener's boots?"
"No, I don't!" said Inspector Slack in a discouraging way.
It would take more than that to discourage Dennis, however.
He held out a couple of burnt matches.
"I found these by the Vicarage gate."
"Thank you," said Slack, and put them in his pocket.
Matters appeared now to have reached a deadlock.
"You're not arresting Uncle Len, are you?" inquired Dermis facetiously.
"Why should I?" inquired Slack.
"There's a lot of evidence against him," declared Dennis. "You ask Mary. Only the day before the murder he was wishing Colonel Protheroe out of the world. Weren't you, Uncle Len?"
