The Complete Miss Marple Collection by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

explaining that he would return on the morrow for a fuller interview.
    â€œHe was quite decent in his way,” said Griselda grudgingly.
    â€œHow did Mrs. Protheroe take it?” I asked.
    â€œWell—she was very quiet—but then she always is.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “I can’t imagine Anne Protheroe going into hysterics.”
    â€œOf course it was a great shock. You could see that. She thanked me for coming and said she was very grateful but that there was nothing I could do.”
    â€œWhat about Lettice?”
    â€œShe was out playing tennis somewhere. She hadn’t got home yet.” There was a pause, and then Griselda said:
    â€œYou know, Len, she was really very quiet—very queer indeed.”
    â€œThe shock,” I suggested.
    â€œYes—I suppose so. And yet—” Griselda furrowed her brows perplexedly. “It wasn’t like that, somehow. She didn’t seem so much bowled over as—well—terrified.”
    â€œTerrified?”
    â€œYes—not showing it, you know. At least not meaning to show it. But a queer, watchful look in her eyes. I wonder if she has a sort of idea who did kill him. She asked again and again if anyone were suspected.”
    â€œDid she?” I said thoughtfully.
    â€œYes. Of course Anne’s got marvellous self-control, but one could see that she was terribly upset. More so than I would have thought, for after all it wasn’t as though she were so devoted to him. I should have said she rather disliked him, if anything.”
    â€œDeath alters one’s feelings sometimes,” I said.
    â€œYes, I suppose so.”
    Dennis came in and was full of excitement over a footprint he had found in one of the flower beds. He was sure that the police had overlooked it and that it would turn out to be the turning point of the mystery.
    I spent a troubled night. Dennis was up and about and out of the house long before breakfast to “study the latest developments,” as he said.
    Nevertheless it was not he, but Mary, who brought us the morning’s sensational bit of news.
    We had just sat down to breakfast when she burst into the room, her cheeks red and her eyes shining, and addressed us with her customary lack of ceremony.
    â€œWould you believe it? The baker’s just told me. They’ve arrested young Mr. Redding.”
    â€œArrested Lawrence,” cried Griselda incredulously. “Impossible. It must be some stupid mistake.”
    â€œNo mistake about it, mum,” said Mary with a kind of gloating exultation. “Mr. Redding, he went there himself and gave himself up. Last night, last thing. Went right in, threw down the pistol on the table, and ‘I did it,’ he says. Just like that.”
    She looked at us both, nodded her head vigorously, and withdrew satisfied with the effect she had produced. Griselda and I stared at each other.
    â€œOh! It isn’t true,” said Griselda. “It can’t be true.”
    She noticed my silence, and said: “Len, you don’t think it’s true?”
    I found it hard to answer her. I sat silent, thoughts whirling through my head.
    â€œHe must be mad,” said Griselda. “Absolutely mad. Or do you think they were looking at the pistol together and it suddenly went off?”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound at all a likely thing to happen.”
    â€œBut it must have been an accident of some kind. Because there’s not a shadow of a motive. What earthly reason could Lawrence have for killing Colonel Protheroe?”
    I could have answered that question very decidedly, but I wished to spare Anne Protheroe as far as possible. There might still be a chance of keeping her name out of it.
    â€œRemember they had had a quarrel,” I said.
    â€œAbout Lettice and her bathing dress. Yes, but that’s absurd; and even if he and Lettice were engaged secretly—well, that’s not a reason for killing her