The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie Page B

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 Ñ 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 Ñ that almost any one might have taken that pistol?”
    “It seems so Ñ 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 Ñ” 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 Ñ very foolish? But that's all over. What I want now, Mrs. Protheroe,
     is the truth Ñ the absolute truth.”
    She nodded gravely.
    “I will tell you. I suppose you know about Ñ about everything.”
    “Yes.”
    “I was to meet Lawrence Ñ Mr. Redding Ñ 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 Ñ 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 Ñ 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.