The Complete Miss Marple Collection by Agatha Christie Page A

me a feasible solution.”
    â€œI have another idea,” said Griselda. “Suppose, Len, that the clock had already been put back—no, that comes to the same thing—how stupid of me!”
    â€œIt hadn’t been altered when I left,” I said. “I remember comparing it with my watch. Still, as you say, that has no bearing on the present matter.”
    â€œWhat do you think, Miss Marple?” asked Griselda.
    â€œMy dear, I confess I wasn’t thinking about it from that point of view at all. What strikes me as so curious, and has done from the first, is the subject matter of that letter.”
    â€œI don’t see that,” I said. “Colonel Protheroe merely wrote that he couldn’t wait any longer—”
    â€œ At twenty minutes past six? ” said Miss Marple. “Your maid, Mary, had already told him that you wouldn’t be in till half past six at the earliest, and he appeared to be quite willing to wait until then. And yet at twenty past six he sits down and says he ‘can’t wait any longer.’”
    I stared at the old lady, feeling an increased respect for her mental powers. Her keen wits had seen what we had failed to perceive. It was an odd thing—a very odd thing.
    â€œIf only,” I said, “the letter hadn’t been dated—”
    Miss Marple nodded her head.
    â€œExactly,” she said. “If it hadn’t been dated!”
    I cast my mind back, trying to recall that sheet of notepaper and the blurred scrawl, and at the top that neatly printed 6:20. Surely these figures were on a different scale to the rest of the letter. I gave a gasp.
    â€œSupposing,” I said, “it wasn’t dated. Supposing that round about 6:30 Colonel Protheroe got impatient and sat down to say he couldn’t wait any longer. And as he was sitting there writing, someone came in through the window—”
    â€œOr through the door,” suggested Griselda.
    â€œHe’d hear the door and look up.”
    â€œColonel Protheroe was rather deaf, you remember,” said Miss Marple.
    â€œYes, that’s true. He wouldn’t hear it. Whichever way the murderer came, he stole up behind the Colonel and shot him. Then he saw the note and the clock and the idea came to him. He put 6:20 at the top of the letter and he altered the clock to 6:22. It was a clever idea. It gave him, or so he would think, a perfect alibi.”
    â€œAnd what we want to find,” said Griselda, “is someone who has a cast-iron alibi for 6:20, but no alibi at all for—well, that isn’t so easy. One can’t fix the time.”
    â€œWe can fix it within very narrow limits,” I said. “Haydock places 6:30 as the outside limit of time. I suppose one could perhaps shift it to 6:35 from the reasoning we have just been following out, it seems clear that Protheroe would not have got impatient before 6:30. I think we can say we do know pretty well.”
    â€œThen that shot I heard—yes, I suppose it is quite possible. And I thought nothing about it—nothing at all. Most vexing. And yet,now I try to recollect, it does seem to me that it was different from the usual sort of shot one hears. Yes, there was a difference.”
    â€œLouder?” I suggested.
    No, Miss Marple didn’t think it had been louder. In fact, she found it hard to say in what way it had been different, but she still insisted that it was.
    I thought she was probably persuading herself of the fact rather than actually remembering it, but she had just contributed such a valuable new outlook to the problem that I felt highly respectful towards her.
    She rose, murmuring that she must really get back—it had been so tempting just to run over and discuss the case with dear Griselda. I escorted her to the boundary wall and the back gate and returned to find Griselda wrapped in thought.
    â€œStill puzzling over that note?” I