All this time Colonel Melchett had sat like a man in a trance. Now he showed signs of coming to. He snorted once or twice, blew his nose in a bewildered fashion, and said:
“Upon my word! Well, upon my word!”
Beyond that, he did not commit himself. I think that he, like myself, was impressed with the logical certainty of Miss Marple’s conclusions. But for the moment he was not willing to admit it.
Instead, he stretched out a hand, picked up the crumpled letter and barked out:
“All very well. But how do you account for this fellow Hawes! Why, he actually rang up and confessed.”
“Yes, that was what was so providential. The vicar’s sermon, doubtless. You know, dear Mr. Clement, you really preached a most remarkable sermon. It must have affected Mr. Hawes deeply. He could bear it no longer, and felt he must confess about the misappropriations of the church funds.”
“What?”
“Yes – and that, under Providence, is what has saved his life. (For I hope and trust it is saved. Dr. Haydock is so clever.) As I see the matter, Mr. Redding kept this letter (a risky thing to do, but I expect he hid it in some safe place) and waited till he found out for certain to whom it referred. He soon made quite sure that it was Mr. Hawes. I understand he came back here with Mr. Hawes last night and spent a long time with him. I suspect that he then substituted a cachet of his own for one of Mr. Hawes, and slipped this letter in the pocket of Mr. Hawes’s dressing-gown. The poor young man would swallow the fatal cachet in all innocence – after his death his things would be gone through and the letter found and every one would jump to the conclusion that he had shot Colonel Protheroe and taken his own life out of remorse. I rather fancy Mr. Hawes must have found that letter to-night just after taking the fatal cachet. In his disordered state, it must have seemed like something supernatural, and, coming on top of the vicar’s sermon, it must have impeded him to confess the whole thing.”
“Upon my word,” said Colonel Melchett. “Upon my word! Most extraordinary! I – I – don’t believe a word of it.”
He had never made a statement that sounded more unconvincing. It must have sounded so in his own ears, for he went on:
“And can you explain the other telephone call – the one from Mr. Redding’s cottage to Mrs. Price Ridley?”
“Ah!” said Miss Marple. “That is what I call the coincidence. Dear Griselda sent that call – she and Mr. Dennis between them, I fancy. They had heard the rumours Mrs. Price Ridley was circulating about the vicar, and they thought of this (perhaps rather childish) way of silencing her. The coincidence lies in the fact that the call should have been put through at exactly the same time as the fake shot from the wood. It led one to believe that the two must be connected.”
I suddenly remembered how every one who spoke of that shot had described it as “different” from the usual shot. They had been right. Yet how hard to explain just in what way the “difference” of the shot consisted.
Colonel Melchett cleared his throat.
“Your solution is a very plausible one, Miss Marple,” he said. “But you will allow me to point out that there is not a shadow of proof.”
“I know,” said Miss Marple. “But you believe it to be true, don’t you?”
There was a pause, then the colonel said almost reluctantly:
“Yes, I do. Dash it all, it’s the only way the thing could have happened. But there’s no proof – not an atom.”
Miss Marple coughed.
“That is why I thought perhaps – under the circumstances -”
“Yes?”
“A little trap might be permissible.”
CHAPTER XXXI
Colonel Melchett and I both stared at her.
“A trap? What kind of a trap?”
Miss Marple was a little diffident, but it was clear that she had a plan fully outlined.
“Supposing Mr. Redding were to be rung up on the telephone and warned.”