and he altered the clock to 6.22. It was a
clever idea. It gave him, or so he would think, a perfect alibi.”
“And what we want to find,” said Griselda, “is someone who has a cast?iron alibi for 6.20,
but no alibi at all for Ñ well, that isn't so easy. One can't fix the time.”
“We 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.”
“Then that shot I heard Ñ yes, I suppose it is quite possible. And I thought nothing about
it Ñ 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.”
“Louder?” 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 Ñ 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.
“Still puzzling over that note?” I asked.
“No.”
She gave a sudden shiver and shook her shoulders impatiently.
“Len, I've been thinking. How badly someone must have hated Anne Protheroe!”
“Hated her?”
“Yes. Don't you see? There's no real evidence against Lawrence Ñ all the evidence against
him is what you might call accidental. He just happens to take it into his head to come
here. If he hadn't Ñ well, no one would have thought of connecting him with the crime. But
Anne is different. Suppose someone knew that she was here at exactly 6.20 Ñ the clock and
the time on the letter Ñ everything pointing to her. I don't think it was only because of
an alibi it was moved to that exact time Ñ I think there was more in it than that Ñ a
direct attempt to fasten the business on her. If it hadn't been for Miss Marple saying she
hadn't got the pistol with her and noticing that she was only a moment before going down
to the studio Ñ Yes, if it hadn't been for that . . .” She shivered again. “Len, I feel
that someone hated Anne Protheroe very much. I Ñ I don't like it.”
The Murder at the Vicarage
Chapter XII
I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived. He looked haggard, and, I
thought, suspicious. Colonel Melchett greeted him with something approaching cordiality.
“We want to ask you a few questions Ñ here, on the spot,” he said.
Lawrence sneered slightly.
“Isn't that a French idea? Reconstruction of the crime?”
“My dear boy,” said Colonel Melchett, “don't take that tone with us. Are you aware that
someone else has also confessed to committing the crime which you pretend to have
committed?”
The effect of these words on Lawrence was painful and immediate.
“S?s?omeone else?” he stammered. “Who Ñ who?”
“Mrs. Protheroe,” said Colonel Melchett, watching him.
“Absurd. She never did it. She couldn't have. It's impossible.”
Melchett interrupted him.
“Strangely enough, we did not believe her story. Neither, I may say, do we believe yours.
Dr. Haydock says positively that the murder could not have been committed at the time you
say it was.”
“Dr. Haydock says that?”
“Yes, so, you see, you are cleared whether you like it or not. And now we want you to help
us, to tell us exactly what occurred.”
Lawrence still hesitated.
“You're not deceiving me about Ñ about Mrs.
clever idea. It gave him, or so he would think, a perfect alibi.”
“And what we want to find,” said Griselda, “is someone who has a cast?iron alibi for 6.20,
but no alibi at all for Ñ well, that isn't so easy. One can't fix the time.”
“We 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.”
“Then that shot I heard Ñ yes, I suppose it is quite possible. And I thought nothing about
it Ñ 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.”
“Louder?” 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 Ñ 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.
“Still puzzling over that note?” I asked.
“No.”
She gave a sudden shiver and shook her shoulders impatiently.
“Len, I've been thinking. How badly someone must have hated Anne Protheroe!”
“Hated her?”
“Yes. Don't you see? There's no real evidence against Lawrence Ñ all the evidence against
him is what you might call accidental. He just happens to take it into his head to come
here. If he hadn't Ñ well, no one would have thought of connecting him with the crime. But
Anne is different. Suppose someone knew that she was here at exactly 6.20 Ñ the clock and
the time on the letter Ñ everything pointing to her. I don't think it was only because of
an alibi it was moved to that exact time Ñ I think there was more in it than that Ñ a
direct attempt to fasten the business on her. If it hadn't been for Miss Marple saying she
hadn't got the pistol with her and noticing that she was only a moment before going down
to the studio Ñ Yes, if it hadn't been for that . . .” She shivered again. “Len, I feel
that someone hated Anne Protheroe very much. I Ñ I don't like it.”
The Murder at the Vicarage
Chapter XII
I was summoned to the study when Lawrence Redding arrived. He looked haggard, and, I
thought, suspicious. Colonel Melchett greeted him with something approaching cordiality.
“We want to ask you a few questions Ñ here, on the spot,” he said.
Lawrence sneered slightly.
“Isn't that a French idea? Reconstruction of the crime?”
“My dear boy,” said Colonel Melchett, “don't take that tone with us. Are you aware that
someone else has also confessed to committing the crime which you pretend to have
committed?”
The effect of these words on Lawrence was painful and immediate.
“S?s?omeone else?” he stammered. “Who Ñ who?”
“Mrs. Protheroe,” said Colonel Melchett, watching him.
“Absurd. She never did it. She couldn't have. It's impossible.”
Melchett interrupted him.
“Strangely enough, we did not believe her story. Neither, I may say, do we believe yours.
Dr. Haydock says positively that the murder could not have been committed at the time you
say it was.”
“Dr. Haydock says that?”
“Yes, so, you see, you are cleared whether you like it or not. And now we want you to help
us, to tell us exactly what occurred.”
Lawrence still hesitated.
“You're not deceiving me about Ñ about Mrs.
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