I waved to him and then turned away. Raymond West had departed, but our local chemist, who rejoices in the name of Cherubim, was just setting out for the village. I walked beside him.
“Close shave that,” he observed. “Well, how did the inquest go, Mr. Clement?”
I gave him the verdict.
“Oh! so that’s what happened. I rather thought that would be the verdict. Where’s Dr. Stone off to?”
I repeated what he had told me.
“Lucky not to miss the train. Not that you ever know on this line. I tell you, Mr. Clement, it’s a crying shame. Disgraceful, that’s what I call it. Train I came down by was ten minutes late. And that on a Saturday with no traffic to speak of. And on Wednesday – no, Thursday – yes, Thursday it was – I remember it was the day of the murder because I meant to write a strongly-worded complaint to the company – and the murder put it out of my head – yes, last Thursday. I had been to a meeting of the Pharmaceutical Society. How late do you think the 6.50 was? Half an hour. Half an hour exactly! What do you think of that? Ten minutes I don’t mind. But if the train doesn’t get in till twenty past seven, well, you can’t get home before half-past. What I say is, why call it the 6.50?”
“Quite so,” I said, and wishing to escape from the monologue I broke away with the excuse that I had something to say to Lawrence Redding whom I saw approaching us on the other side of the road.
CHAPTER XIX
“Very glad to have met you,” said Lawrence. “Come to my place.”
We turned in at the little rustic gate, went up the path, and he drew a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock.
“You keep the door locked now,” I observed.
“Yes.” He laughed rather bitterly. “Case of stable door when the steed is gone, eh? It is rather like that. You know, padre,” he held the door open and I passed inside, “there’s something about all this business that I don’t like. It’s too much of – how shall I put it – an inside job. Someone knew about that pistol of mine. That means that the murderer, whoever he was, must have actually been in this house – perhaps even had a drink with me.”
“Not necessarily,” I objected. “The whole village of St. Mary Mead probably knows exactly where you keep your toothbrush and what kind of tooth powder you use.”
“But why should it interest them?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but it does. If you change your shaving cream it will be a topic of conversation.”
“They must be very hard up for news.”
“They are. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
“Well, it has now – with a vengeance.”
I agreed.
“And who tells them all these things anyway? Shaving cream and things like that?”
“Probably old Mrs. Archer.”
“That old crone? She’s practically a half-wit, as far as I can make out.”
“That’s merely the camouflage of the poor,” I explained. “They take refuge behind a mask of stupidity. You’ll probably find that the old lady has all her wits about her. By the way, she seems very certain now that the pistol was in its proper place midday Thursday. What’s made her so positive all of a sudden?”
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“Do you think she’s right?”
“There again I haven’t the least idea. I don’t go round taking an inventory of my possessions every day.”
I looked round the small living-room. Every shelf and table was littered with miscellaneous articles. Lawrence lived in the midst of an artistic disarray that would have driven me quite mad.
“It’s a bit of a job finding things sometimes,” he said, observing my glance. “On the other hand, everything is handy – not tucked away.”
“Nothing is tucked away, certainly,” I agreed. “It might perhaps have been better if the pistol had been.”
“Do you know I rather expected the coroner to say something of the sort. Coroners are such asses. I expected to be censured or whatever they call it.”