The Murder at the Vicarage

The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
told me. They've arrested young Mr. Redding.”
    “Arrested Lawrence,” cried Griselda incredulously. “Impossible. It must be some stupid
     mistake.”
    “No 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.
    “Oh! 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.
    “He must be mad,” said Griselda. “Absolutely mad. Or do you think they were looking at the
     pistol together and it suddenly went off.”
    “That doesn't sound at all a likely thing to happen.”
    “But 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.
    “Remember they had had a quarrel,” I said.
    “About Lettice and her bathing dress. Yes, but that's absurd; and even if he and Lettice
     were engaged secretly Ñ well, that's not a reason for killing her father.”
    “We don't know what the true facts of the case may be, Griselda.”
    "You
    
    
     do
    
    
     believe it, Len! Oh! how can you! I tell you, I'm
    
    
     sure
    
    
     Lawrence never touched a hair of his head.''
    “Remember, I met him just outside the gate. He looked like a madman.”
    “Yes, but Ñ oh! it's impossible.”
    “There's the clock, too,” I said. “This explains the clock. Lawrence must have put it back
     to 6.20 with the idea of making an alibi for himself. Look how Inspector Slack fell into
     the trap.”
    “You're wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about that clock being fast. 'Keeping the vicar up to
     time!' he used to say. Lawrence would never have made the mistake of putting it back to
     6.20. He'd have put the hands somewhere possible Ñ like a quarter to seven.”
    “He mayn't have known what time Protheroe got here. Or he may have simply forgotten about
     the clock being fast.”
    Griselda disagreed.
    “No, if you were committing a murder, you'd be awfully careful about things like that.”
    “You don't know, my dear,” I said mildly. “You've never done one.”
    Before Griselda could reply, a shadow fell across the breakfast table, and a very gentle
     voice said:
    “I hope I am not intruding. You must forgive me. But in the sad circumstances Ñ the very
     sad circumstances Ñ”
    It was our neighbour, Miss Marple. Accepting our polite disclaimers, she stepped in
     through the window, and I drew up a chair for her. She looked faintly flushed and quite
     excited.
    “Very terrible, is it not? Poor Colonel Protheroe. Not a very pleasant man, perhaps, and
     not exactly popular, but it's none the less sad for that. And actually shot in the
     Vicarage study, I understand?”
    I said that that had indeed been the case.
    “But the dear vicar was not here at the time?” Miss Marple questioned of Griselda. I
     explained where I had been.
    “Mr. Dennis is not with you this morning?” said Miss Marple, glancing round.
    “Dennis,” said Griselda, “fancies himself as an amateur detective. He is very excited
     about a footprint he found in one of the flower beds, and I fancy has gone off to tell the
     police about it.”
    “Dear, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Such a to?do, is it not? And Mr. Dennis thinks he knows
     who committed the crime. Well, I suppose we all think we know.”
    “You mean it is obvious?” said

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