The Murder at the Vicarage - Christie Agatha (книги бесплатно без txt) 📗

"It is supposed," I said, "to induce punctuality."

"I don't think we need go further into that now, Inspector," said Colonel Melchett tactfully. "What we want now is the true story from both Mrs. Protheroe and young Redding. I telephoned to Haydock and asked him to bring Mrs. Protheroe over here with him. They ought to be here in about a quarter of an hour. I think it would be as well to have Redding here first."

"I'll get on to the station," said Inspector Slack, and took up the telephone.

"And now," he said, replacing the receiver, "we'll get to work on this room." He looked at me in a meaning fashion.

"Perhaps," I said, "you'd like me out of the way."

The inspector immediately opened the door for me. Melchett called out:

"Come back when young Redding arrives, will you, Vicar? You're a friend of his and you may have sufficient influence to persuaded him to speak the truth."

I found my wife and Miss Marple with their heads together.

"We've been discussing all sorts of possibilities," said Griselda. "I wish you'd solve the case, Miss Marple, like you did the way Miss Wetherby's gill of picked shrimps disappeared. And all because it reminded you of something quite different about a sack of coals."

"You're laughing, my dear," said Miss Marple, "but after all, that is a very sound way of arriving at the truth. It's really what people call intuition and make such a fuss about. Intuition is like reading a word without have to spell it out. A child can't do that because it has had so little experience. But a grown-up person knows the word because they've seen it often before. You catch my meaning, vicar?"

"Yes," I said slowly, "I think I do. You mean that if a thing reminds you of something else - well, it's probably the same kind of thing."

"Exactly."

"And what precisely does the murder of Colonel Protheroe remind you of?"

Miss Marple sighed.

"That is just the difficulty. So many parallels come to the mind. For instance, there was Major Hargraves, a churchwarden and a man highly respected in every way. And all the time he was keeping a separate second establishment - a former housemaid, just think of it! And five children - actually five children - a terrible shock to his wife and daughter."

I tried hard to visualise Colonel Protheroe in the role of secret sinner and failed.

"And then there was that laundry business," went on Miss Marple. "Miss Hartnell's opal pin - left most imprudently in a frilled blouse and sent to the laundry. And the woman who took it didn't want it in the least and wasn't by any means a thief. She simply hid it in another woman's house and told the police she'd seen this other woman take it. Spite, you know, sheer spite. It's an astonishing motive - spite. A man in it, of course. There always is."

This time I failed to see any parallel, however remote.

"And then there was poor Elwell's daughter - such a pretty ethereal girl - tried to stifle her little brother. And there was the money for the Choir Boys' Outing (before your time, vicar) actually taken by the organist. His wife was sadly in debt. Yes, this case makes one think so many things - too many. It's very hard to arrive at the truth."

"I wish you would tell me," I said, "who were, the seven suspects?"

"The seven suspects?"

"You said you could think of seven people who would - well, be glad of Colonel Protheroe's death."

"Did I? Yes, I remember I did."

"Was that true?"

"Oh! certainly it was true. But I mustn't mention names. You can think of them quite easily yourself. I am sure."

"Indeed I can't. There is Lettice Protheroe, I suppose, since she probably comes into money on her father's death. But it is absurd to think of her in such a connection, and outside her I can think of nobody."

"And you, my dear?" said Miss Marple, turning to Griselda.

Rather to my surprise Griselda coloured up. Something very like tears started into her eyes. She clenched both her small hands.

"Oh!" she cried indignantly. "People are hateful - hateful. The things they say! The beastly things they say…"

I looked at her curiously. It is very unlike Griselda to be so upset. She noticed my glance and tried to smile.

"Don't look at me as though I were an interesting specimen you didn't understand, Len? Don't let's get heated and wander from the point. I don't believe that it was Lawrence or Anne, and Lettice is out of the question. There must be some clue or other that would help us."

"There is the note, of course," said Miss Marple. "You will remember my saying this morning that that struck me as exceedingly peculiar."

"It seems to fix the time of his death with remarkable accuracy,'' I said. "And yet, is that possible? Mrs. Protheroe would only have just left the study. She would hardly have had time to reach the studio. The only way in which I can account for it is that he consulted his own watch and that his watch was slow. That seems to me a feasible solution."

"I 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!"

"It 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."

"What do you think, Miss Marple?" asked Griselda.

"My 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."

"I don't see that," I said. ''Colonel Protheroe merely wrote that he couldn't wait any longer -"

"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 had 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.

"If only," I said, "the letter hadn't been dated -"

Miss Marple nodded her head.

"Exactly," 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.

"Supposing," 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 -"

"Or through the door," suggested Griselda.

"He'd hear the door and look up."

"Colonel Protheroe was rather deaf, you remember," said Miss Marple.

"Yes, 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."

"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 - 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 - 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."