The man looked surprised. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you know whether your late master kept a pistol anywhere?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“Not in one of the drawers of his dressing-table? Think, man.”
The valet shook his head decisively.
“I’m quite sure he didn’t, sir. I’d have seen it if so. Bound to.”
I hurried down the stairs after the others.
Mrs. Protheroe had lied about the pistol.
Why?
CHAPTER IX
After leaving a message at the police station, the Chief Constable announced his intention of paying a visit to Miss Marple.
“You’d better come with me, vicar,” he said. “I don’t want to give a member of your flock hysterics. So lend the weight of your soothing presence.”
I smiled. For an her fragile appearance, Miss Marple is capable of holding her own with any policeman or Chief Constable in existence.
“What’s she like?” asked the colonel, as we rang the bell. “Anything she says to be depended upon or otherwise?”
I considered the matter.
“I think she is quite dependable,” I said cautiously. “That is, in so far as she is talking of what she has actually seen. Beyond that, of course, when you get on to what she thinks – well, that is another matter. She has a powerful imagination and systematically thinks the worst of every one.”
“The typical elderly spinster, in fact,” said Melchett, with a laugh. “Well, I ought to know the breed by now. Gad, the tea parties down here!”
We were admitted by a very diminutive maid and shown into a small drawing-room.
“A bit crowded,” said Colonel Melchett, looking round. “But plenty of good stuff. A lady’s room, eh, Clement?”
I agreed, and at that moment the door opened and Miss Marple made her appearance.
“Very sorry to bother you, Miss Marple,” said the colonel, when I had introduced him, putting on his bluff military manner which he had an idea was attractive to elderly ladies. “Got to do my duty, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” said Miss Marple. “I quite understand. Won’t you sit down? And might I offer you a little glass of cherry brandy? My own making. A receipt of my grandmother’s.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Marple. Very kind of you. But I think I won’t. Nothing till lunch time, that’s my motto. Now, I want to talk to you about this sad business – very sad business indeed. Upset us all, I’m sure. Well, it seems possible that owing to the position of your house and garden, you may have been able to tell us something we want to know about yesterday evening.”
“As a matter of fact, I was in my little garden from five o’clock onwards yesterday, and, of course, from there – well, one simply cannot help seeing anything that is going on next door.”
“I understand, Miss Marple, that Mrs. Protheroe passed this way yesterday evening?”
“Yes, she did. I called out to her, and she admired my roses.”
“Could you tell us about what time that was?”
“I should say it was just a minute or two after a quarter past six. Yes, that’s right. The church clock had just chimed the quarter.”
“Very good. What happened next?”
“Well, Mrs. Protheroe said she was calling for her husband at the Vicarage so that they could go home together. She had come along the lane, you understand, and she went into the Vicarage by the back gate and across the garden.”
“She came from the lane?”
“Yes, I’ll show you.”
PLAN C
Full of eagerness, Miss Marple led us out into the garden and pointed out the lane that ran along by the bottom of the garden.
“The path opposite with the stile leads to the Hall,” she explained. “That was the way they were going home together. Mrs. Protheroe came from the village.”
“Perfectly, perfectly,” said Colonel Melchett. “And she went across to the Vicarage, you say?”
“Yes. I saw her turn the corner of the house. I suppose the colonel wasn’t there yet, because she came back almost immediately, and went down the lawn to the studio – that building there. The one the vicar lets Mr. Redding use as a studio.”