Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger. Агата Кристи
own troubles sharpen one’s eyes sometimes,’ I said.
‘That’s very true.’ She paused and then said:
‘Mr Clement, there’s one thing I absolutely cannot make out. If my husband were shot immediately after I left him, how was it that I didn’t hear the shot?’
‘They have reason to believe that the shot was fired later.’
‘But the 6.20 on the note?’
‘Was possibly added by a different hand – the murderer’s.’
Her cheek paled.
‘It didn’t strike you that the date was not in his handwriting?’
‘How horrible!’
‘None of it looked like his handwriting.’
There was some truth in this observation. It was a somewhat illegible scrawl, not so precise as Protheroe’s writing usually was.
‘You are sure they don’t still suspect Lawrence?’
‘I think he is definitely cleared.’
‘But, Mr Clement, who can it be? Lucius was not popular, I know, but I don’t think he had any real enemies. Not – not that kind of enemy.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s a mystery.’
I thought wonderingly of Miss Marple’s seven suspects. Who could they be?
After I took leave of Anne, I proceeded to put a certain plan of mine into action.
I returned from Old Hall by way of the private path. When I reached the stile, I retraced my steps, and choosing a place where I fancied the undergrowth showed signs of being disturbed, I turned aside from the path and forced my way through the bushes. The wood was a thick one, with a good deal of tangled undergrowth. My progress was not very fast, and I suddenly became aware that someone else was moving amongst the bushes not very far from me. As I paused irresolutely, Lawrence Redding came into sight. He was carrying a large stone.
I suppose I must have looked surprised, for he suddenly burst out laughing.
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not a clue, it’s a peace offering.’
‘A peace offering?’
‘Well, a basis for negotiations, shall we say? I want an excuse for calling on your neighbour, Miss Marple, and I have been told there is nothing she likes so much as a nice bit of rock or stone for the Japanese gardens she makes.’
‘Quite true,’ I said. ‘But what do you want with the old lady?’
‘Just this. If there was anything to be seen yesterday evening Miss Marple saw it. I don’t mean anything necessarily connected with the crime – that she would think connected with the crime. I mean some outré or bizarre incident, some simple little happening that might give us a clue to the truth. Something that she wouldn’t think worth while mentioning to the police.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘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