“A lady?” Melchett was surprised. “Who was she?”
The butler couldn’t remember her name. It was a lady he had not seen before. Yes, she had given her name, and when he told her that the family were at dinner, she had said that she would wait. So he had shown her into the little morning-room.
She had asked for Colonel Protheroe, not Mrs. Protheroe. He had told the colonel and the colonel had gone to the morning-room directly dinner was over.
How long had the lady stayed? He thought about half an hour. The colonel himself had let her out. Ah! yes, he remembered her name now. The lady had been a Mrs. Lestrange.
This was a surprise.
“Curious,” said Melchett. “Really very curious.”
But we pursued the matter no further, for at that moment a message came that Mrs. Protheroe would see us.
Anne was in bed. Her face was pale and her eyes very bright. There was a look on her face that puzzled me – a kind of grim determination. She spoke to me.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” she said. “I see you’ve understood what I meant by bringing any one you liked with you.” She paused.
“It’s best to get it over quickly, isn’t it?” she said. She gave a queer, half-pathetic little smile. “I suppose you’re the person I ought to say it to, Colonel Melchett. You see, it was I who killed my husband.”
Colonel Melchett said gently:
“My dear Mrs. Protheroe -”
“Oh! it’s quite true. I suppose I’ve said it rather bluntly, but I never can go into hysterics over anything. I’ve hated him for a long time, and yesterday I shot him.”
She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
“That’s all. I suppose you’ll arrest me and take me away. I’ll get up and dress as soon as I can. At the moment I am feeling rather sick.”
“Are you aware, Mrs. Protheroe, that Mr. Lawrence Redding has already accused himself of committing the crime.”
Anne opened her eyes and nodded brightly.
“I know. Silly boy. He’s very much in love with me, you know. It was frightfully noble of him – but very silly.”
“He knew that it was you who had committed the crime?”
“Yes.”
“How did he know?”
She hesitated.
“Did you tell him?”
Still she hesitated. Then at last she seemed to make up her mind.
“Yes – I told him…”
She twitched her shoulders with a movement of irritation.
“Can’t you go away now? I’ve told you. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
“Where did you get the pistol, Mrs. Protheroe?”
“The pistol! Oh! it was my husband’s. I got it out of the drawer of his dressing-table.”
“I see. And you took it with you to the Vicarage?”
“Yes. I knew he would be there -”
“What time was this?”
“It must have been after six – quarter – twenty past – something like that.”
“You took the pistol meaning to shoot your husband?”
“No – I – I meant it for myself.”
“I see. But you went to the Vicarage?”
“Yes. I went along to the window. There were no voices. I looked in. I saw my husband. Something came over me – and I fired.”
“And then?”
“Then? Oh! then I went away.”
“And told Mr. Redding what you had done?”
Again I noticed the hesitation in her voice before she said: “Yes.”
“Did anybody see you entering or leaving the Vicarage?”
“No – at least, yes. Old Miss Marple. I talked to her a few minutes. She was in her garden.”
She moved restlessly on the pillows.
“Isn’t that enough? I’ve told you. Why do you want to go on bothering me?”
Dr. Haydock moved to her side and felt her pulse.
He beckoned to Melchett.
“I’ll stay with her,” he said in a whisper, “whilst you make the necessary arrangements. She oughtn’t to be left. Might do herself a mischief.”
Melchett nodded.
We left the room and descended the stairs. I saw a thin cadaverous-looking man come out of the adjoining room and on impulse I remounted the stairs.
“Are you Colonel Protheroe’s valet?”