“You think he can have shot him earlier? At six-thirty say?”
“He can’t have done that.”
“You’ve checked up his movements?”
The inspector nodded.
“He was in the village near the Blue Boar at ten past six. From there he came along the back lane where you say the old lady next door saw him – she doesn’t miss much, I should say – and kept his appointment with Mrs. Protheroe in the studio in the garden. They left there together just after six-thirty, and went along the lane to the village, being joined by Dr. Stone. He corroborates that all right – I’ve seen him. They all stood talking just by the post office for a few minutes, then Mrs. Protheroe went into Miss Hartnell’s to borrow a gardening magazine. That’s all right too. I’ve seen Miss Hartnell. Mrs. Protheroe remained there talking to her till just on seven o’clock, when she exclaimed at the lateness of the hour and said she must get home.”
“What was her manner?”
“Very easy and pleasant, Miss Hartnell said. She seemed in good spirits – Miss Hartnell is quite sure there was nothing on her mind.”
“Well, go on.”
“Redding, he went with Dr. Stone to the Blue Boar and they had a drink together. He left there at twenty minutes to seven, went rapidly along the village street and down the road to the Vicarage. Lots of people saw him.”
“Not down the back lane this time?” commented the colonel.
“No – he came to the front, asked for the vicar, heard Colonel Protheroe was there, went in – and shot him – just as he said he did! That’s the truth of it, and we needn’t look further.”
Melchett shook his head.
“There’s the doctor’s evidence. You can’t get away from that. Protheroe was shot not later than six-thirty.”
“Oh! doctors!” Inspector Slack looked contemptuous. “If you’re going to believe doctors. Take out all your teeth – that’s what they do nowadays – and then say they’re very sorry, but all the time it was appendicitis. Doctors!”
“This isn’t a question of diagnosis. Dr. Haydock was absolutely positive on the point. You can’t go against the medical evidence, Slack.”
“And there’s my evidence for what it is worth,” I said, suddenly recalling a forgotten incident. “I touched the body and it was cold. That I can swear to.”
“You see, Slack?” said Melchett.
“Well, of course, if that’s so. But there it was – a beautiful case. Mr. Redding only too anxious to be hanged, so to speak.”
“That, in itself, strikes me as a little unnatural,” observed Colonel Melchett.
“Well, there’s no accounting for tastes,” said the inspector. “There’s a lot of gentlemen went a bit balmy after the war. Now, I suppose, it means starting again at the beginning.” He turned on me. “Why you went out of your way to mislead me about the clock, sir, I can’t think. Obstructing the ends of justice, that’s what that was.”
“I tried to tell you on three separate occasions,” I said. “And each time you shut me up and refused to listen.”
“That’s just a way of speaking, sir. You could have told me perfectly well if you had had a mind to. The clock and the note seemed to tally perfectly. Now, according to you, the clock was all wrong. I never knew such a case. What’s the sense of keeping a clock a quarter of an hour fast anyway?”
“It is supposed,” I said, “to induce punctuality.”
“I don’t think we need go further into that now, Inspector,” said Colonel Melchett tactfully. “What we want now is the true story from both Mrs. Protheroe and young Redding. I telephoned to Haydock and asked him to bring Mrs. Protheroe over here with him. They ought to be here in about a quarter of an hour. I think it would be as well to have Redding here first.”
“I’ll get on to the station,” said Inspector Slack, and took up the telephone.
“And now,” he said, replacing the receiver, “we’ll get to work on this room.” He looked at me in a meaning fashion.
“Perhaps,” I said, “you’d like me out of the way.”