Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger. Агата Кристи
gate and across the garden.’
‘She came from the lane?’
‘Yes, I’ll show you.’
Full of eagerness, Miss Marple led us out into the garden and pointed out the lane that ran along by the bottom of the garden.
‘The path opposite with the stile leads to the Hall,’ she explained. ‘That was the way they were going home together. Mrs Protheroe came from the village.’
‘Perfectly, perfectly,’ said Colonel Melchett. ‘And she went across to the Vicarage, you say?’
‘Yes. I saw her turn the corner of the house. I suppose the Colonel wasn’t there yet, because she came back almost immediately, and went down the lawn to the studio – that building there. The one the Vicar lets Mr Redding use as a studio.’
‘I see. And – you didn’t hear a shot, Miss Marple?’
‘I didn’t hear a shot then,’ said Miss Marple.
‘But you did hear one sometime?’
‘Yes, I think there was a shot somewhere in the woods. But quite five or ten minutes afterwards – and, as I say, out in the woods. At least, I think so. It couldn’t have been – surely it couldn’t have been –’
She stopped, pale with excitement.
‘Yes, yes, we’ll come to all that presently,’ said Colonel Melchett. ‘Please go on with your story. Mrs Protheroe went down to the studio?’
‘Yes, she went inside and waited. Presently Mr Redding came along the lane from the village. He came to the Vicarage gate, looked all round –’
‘And saw you, Miss Marple.’
‘As a matter of fact, he didn’t see me,’ said Miss Marple, flushing slightly. ‘Because, you see, just at that minute I was bending right over – trying to get up one of those nasty dandelions, you know. So difficult.
And then he went through the gate and down to the studio.’
‘He didn’t go near the house?’
‘Oh, no! He went straight to the studio. MrsProtheroe came to the door to meet him, and then they both went inside.’
Here Miss Marple contributed a singularly eloquent pause.
‘Perhaps she was sitting for him?’ I suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Marple.
‘And they came out – when?’
‘About ten minutes later.’
‘That was roughly?’
‘The church clock had chimed the half-hour. They strolled out through the garden gate and along the lane, and just at that minute, Dr Stone came down the path leading to the Hall, and climbed over the stile and joined them. They all walked towards the village together. At the end of the lane, I think, but I can’t be quite sure, they were joined by Miss Cram. I think it must have been Miss Cram because her skirts were so short.’
‘You must have very good eyesight, Miss Marple, if you can observe as far as that.’
‘I was observing a bird,’ said Miss Marple. ‘A golden crested wren, I think he was. A sweet little fellow. I had my glasses out, and that’s how I happened to see Miss Cram (if it was Miss Cram, and I think so), join them.’
‘Ah! Well, that may be so,’ said Colonel Melchett. ‘Now, since you seem very good at observing, did you happen to notice, Miss Marple, what sort of expression Mrs Protheroe and Mr Redding had as they passed along the lane?’
‘They were smiling and talking,’ said Miss Marple. ‘They seemed very happy to be together, if you know what I mean.’
‘They didn’t seem upset or disturbed in any way?’
‘Oh, no! Just the opposite.’
‘Deuced odd,’ said the Colonel. ‘There’s something deuced odd about the whole thing.’
Miss Marple suddenly took our breath away by remarking in a placid voice:
‘Has Mrs Protheroe been saying that she committed the crime now?’
‘Upon my soul,’ said the Colonel, ‘how did you come to guess that, Miss Marple?’
‘Well, I rather thought it might happen,’ said Miss Marple. ‘I think dear Lettice thought so, too. She’s really a very sharp girl. Not always very scrupulous, I’m afraid. So Anne Protheroe says she killed her husband. Well, well. I don’t think it’s true. No, I’m almost sure it isn’t true. Not with a woman like Anne Protheroe. Although one never can be quite sure about anyone, can one? At least that’s what I’ve found. When does she say she shot him?’
‘At twenty minutes past six. Just after speaking to you.’
Miss Marple shook her head slowly and pityingly. The pity was, I think, for two full-grown men being so foolish as to believe such a story. At least that is what we felt like.
‘What did she shoot him with?’
‘A pistol.’
‘Where did she find it?’
‘She brought it with her.’
‘Well, that she didn’t do,’ said Miss Marple, with unexpected decision. ‘I can swear to that. She’d no such thing with her.’
‘You mightn’t have seen it.’
‘Of course I should have seen it.’
‘If it had been in her handbag.’
‘She wasn’t carrying a handbag.’
‘Well, it might have been concealed – er – upon her person.’
Miss Marple directed a glance of sorrow and scorn upon him.
‘My dear Colonel Melchett, you know what young women are nowadays. Not ashamed to show exactly how the creator made them. She hadn’t so much as a handkerchief in the top of her stocking.’
Melchett was obstinate.
‘You must admit that it all fits in,’ he said. ‘The time, the overturned clock pointing to 6.22 –’
Miss Marple turned on me.
‘Do you mean you haven’t told him about that clock yet?’
‘What about the clock, Clement?’
I told him. He showed a good deal of annoyance.
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell Slack this last night?’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘he wouldn’t let me.’
‘Nonsense, you ought to have insisted.’
‘Probably,’ I said, ‘Inspector Slack behaves quite differently to you than he does to me. I had no earthly chance of insisting.’
‘It’s an extraordinary business altogether,’ said Melchett. ‘If a third person comes along and claims to have done this murder, I shall go into a lunatic asylum.’
‘If I might be allowed to suggest –’ murmured Miss Marple.
‘Well?’
‘If you were to tell Mr Redding what Mrs Protheroe has done and then explain that you don’t really believe it is her. And then if you were to go to Mrs Protheroe and tell her that Mr Redding is all right – why then, they might each of them tell you the truth. And the truth is helpful, though I dare say they don’t know very much themselves, poor things.’
‘It’s all very well, but they are the only two people who had a motive for making away