Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger. Агата Кристи
Читать онлайн книгу.
Of course. In all the excitement it had gone right out of my head.’ She broke off and called to her maid. ‘Emily – Emily. Not those sheets. The frilled ones with the monogram, and don’t put them too near the fire.’
She closed the door and returned to me on tiptoe.
‘It’s just rather a curious thing that happened last night,’ she explained. ‘I thought you would like to hear about it, though at the moment it doesn’t seem to make sense. I felt very wakeful last night – wondering about all this sad business. And I got up and looked out of my window. And what do you think I saw?’
I looked, inquiring.
‘Gladys Cram,’ said Miss Marple, with great emphasis. ‘As I live, going into the wood with a suitcase.’
‘A suitcase?’
‘Isn’t it extraordinary? What should she want with a suitcase in the wood at twelve o’clock at night?
‘You see,’ said Miss Marple, ‘I dare say it has nothing to do with the murder. But it is a Peculiar Thing. And just at present we all feel we must take notice of Peculiar Things.’
‘Perfectly amazing,’ I said. ‘Was she going to – er – sleep in the barrow by any chance?’
‘She didn’t, at any rate,’ said Miss Marple. ‘Because quite a short time afterwards she came back, and she hadn’t got the suitcase with her.’
The inquest was held that afternoon (Saturday) at two o’clock at the Blue Boar. The local excitement was, I need hardly say, tremendous. There had been no murder in St Mary Mead for at least fifteen years. And to have someone like Colonel Protheroe murdered actually in the Vicarage study is such a feast of sensation as rarely falls to the lot of a village population.
Various comments floated to my ears which I was probably not meant to hear.
‘There’s Vicar. Looks pale, don’t he? I wonder if he had a hand in it. ’Twas done at Vicarage, after all.’
‘How can you, Mary Adams? And him visiting Henry Abbott at the time.’ ‘Oh! But they do say him and the Colonel had words. There’s Mary Hill. Giving herself airs, she is, on account of being in service there. Hush, here’s coroner.’
The coroner was Dr Roberts of our adjoining town of Much Benham. He cleared his throat, adjusted his eyeglasses, and looked important.
To recapitulate all the evidence would be merely tiresome. Lawrence Redding gave evidence of finding the body, and identified the pistol as belonging to him. To the best of his belief he had seen it on the Tuesday, two days previously. It was kept on a shelf in his cottage, and the door of the cottage was habitually unlocked.
Mrs Protheroe gave evidence that she had last seen her husband at about a quarter to six when they separated in the village street. She agreed to call for him at the Vicarage later. She had gone to the Vicarage about a quarter past six, by way of the back lane and the garden gate. She had heard no voices in the study and had imagined that the room was empty, but her husband might have been sitting at the writing-table, in which case she would not have seen him. As far as she knew, he had been in his usual health and spirits. She knew of no enemy who might have had a grudge against him.
I gave evidence next, told of my appointment with Protheroe and my summons to the Abbotts’. I described how I had found the body and my summoning of Dr Haydock.
‘How many people, Mr Clement, were aware that Colonel Protheroe was coming to see you that evening?’
‘A good many, I should imagine. My wife knew, and my nephew, and Colonel Protheroe himself alluded to the fact that morning when I met him in the village. I should think several people might have overheard him, as, being slightly deaf, he spoke in a loud voice.’
‘It was, then, a matter of common knowledge? Anyone might know?’
I agreed.
Haydock followed. He was an important witness. He described carefully and technically the appearance of the body and the exact injuries. It was his opinion that the deceased had been shot at approximately 6.20 to 6.30 – certainly not later than 6.35. That was the outside limit. He was positive and emphatic on that point. There was no question of suicide, the wound could not have been self-inflicted.
Inspector Slack’s evidence was discreet and abridged. He described his summons and the circumstances under which he had found the body. The unfinished letter was produced and the time on it – 6.20 – noted. Also the clock. It was tacitly assumed that the time of death was 6.22. The police were giving nothing away. Anne Protheroe told me afterwards that she had been told to suggest a slightly earlier period of time than 6.20 for her visit.
Our maid, Mary, was the next witness, and proved a somewhat truculent one. She hadn’t heard anything, and didn’t want to hear anything. It wasn’t as though gentlemen who came to see the Vicar usually got shot. They didn’t. She’d got her own jobs to look after. Colonel Protheroe had arrived at a quarter past six exactly. No, she didn’t look at the clock. She heard the church chime after she had shown him into the study. She didn’t hear any shot. If there had been a shot she’d have heard it. Well, of course, she knew there must have been a shot, since the gentleman was found shot – but there it was. She hadn’t heard it.
The coroner did not press the point. I realized that he and Colonel Melchett were working in agreement.
Mrs Lestrange had been subpoenaed to give evidence, but a medical certificate, signed by Dr Haydock, was produced saying she was too ill to attend.
There was only one other witness, a somewhat doddering old woman. The one who, in Slack’s phrase, ‘did for’ Lawrence Redding.
Mrs Archer was shown the pistol and recognized it as the one she had seen in Mr Redding’s sitting-room ‘over against the bookcase, he kept it, lying about.’ She had last seen it on the day of the murder. Yes – in answer to a further question – she was quite sure it was there at lunch time on Thursday – quarter to one when she left.
I remembered what the Inspector had told me, and I was mildly surprised. However vague she might have been when he questioned her, she was quite positive about it now.
The coroner summed up in a negative manner, but with a good deal of firmness. The verdict was given almost immediately:
Murder by Person or Persons unknown.
As I left the room I was aware of a small army of young men with bright, alert faces and a kind of superficial resemblance to each other. Several of them were already known to me by sight as having haunted the Vicarage the last few days. Seeking to escape, I plunged back into the Blue Boar and was lucky enough to run straight into the archaeologist, Dr Stone. I clutched at him without ceremony.
‘Journalists,’ I said briefly and expressively. ‘If you could deliver me from their clutches?’
‘Why, certainly, Mr Clement. Come upstairs with me.’
He led the way up the narrow staircase and into his sitting-room, where Miss Cram was sitting rattling the keys of a typewriter with a practised touch. She greeted me with a broad smile of welcome and seized the opportunity to stop work.
‘Awful, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Not knowing who did it, I mean. Not but that I’m disappointed in an inquest. Tame, that’s what I call it. Nothing what you might call spicy from beginning to end.’
‘You were there, then, Miss Cram?’
‘I was there all right. Fancy your not seeing me. Didn’t you see me? I feel a bit hurt about that. Yes, I do. A gentleman, even if he is a clergyman, ought to have eyes in his head.’
‘Were you present also?’ I asked Dr Stone, in an effort to escape from this playful badinage. Young women like Miss Cram always make me