“She wasn’t carrying a handbag.”
“Well it might have been concealed – er – upon her person.”
Miss Marple directed a glance of sorrow and scorn upon him.
“My dear Colonel Melchett, you know what young women are nowadays. Not ashamed to show exactly how the creator made them. She hadn’t so much as a handkerchief in the top of her stocking.”
Melchett was obstinate.
“You must admit that it all fits in,” he said. “The time, the overturned clock pointing to 6.22 -”
Miss Marple turned on me.
“Do you mean you haven’t told him about that clock yet?”
“What about the clock, Clement?”
I told him. He showed a good deal of annoyance.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell Slack this last night?”
“Because,” I said, “he wouldn’t let me.”
“Nonsense, you ought to have insisted.”
“Probably,” I said, “Inspector Slack behaves quite differently to you than he does to me. I had no earthly chance of insisting.”
“It’s an extraordinary business altogether,” said Melchett. “If a third person comes along and claims to have done this murder, I shall go into a lunatic asylum.”
“If I might be allowed to suggest -” murmured Miss Marple.
“Well?”
“If you were to tell Mr. Redding what Mrs. Protheroe has done and then explain that you don’t really believe it is her. And then if you were to go to Mrs. Protheroe and tell her that Mr. Redding is all right – why then, they might each of them tell you the truth. And the truth is helpful, though I dare say they don’t know very much themselves, poor things.”
“It’s all very well, but they are the only two people who had a motive for making away with Protheroe.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Colonel Melchett,” said Miss Marple.
“Why, can you think of any one else?”
“Oh! yes, indeed. Why,” she counted on her fingers, “one, two, three, four, five, six – yes, and a possible seven. I can think of at least seven people who might be very glad to have Colonel Protheroe out of the way.”
The colonel looked at her feebly.
“Seven people? In St. Mary Mead?”
Miss Marple nodded brightly.
“Mind you I name no names,” she said. “That wouldn’t be right. But I’m afraid there’s a lot of wickedness in the world. A nice honourable upright soldier like you doesn’t know about these things, Colonel Melchett.”
I thought the Chief Constable was going to have apoplexy.
CHAPTER X
His remarks on the subject of Miss Marple as we left the house we’re far from complimentary.
“I really believe that wizened-up old maid thinks she knows everything there is to know. And hardly been out of this village all her life. Preposterous. What can she know of life?”
I said mildly that though doubtless Miss Marple knew next to nothing of Life with a capital L, she knew practically everything that went on in St. Mary Mead.
Melchett admitted that grudgingly. She was a valuable witness – particularly valuable from Mrs. Protheroe’s point of view.
“I suppose there’s no doubt about what she says, eh?”
“If Miss Marple says she had no pistol with her, you can take it for granted that it is so,” I said. “If there was the least possibility of such a thing, Miss Marple would have been on to it like a knife.”
“That’s true enough. We’d better go and have a look at the studio.”
The so-called studio was a mere rough shed with a skylight. There were no windows and the door was the only means of entrance or egress. Satisfied on this score, Melchett announced his intention of visiting the Vicarage with the inspector.
“I’m going to the police station now.”
As I entered through the front door a murmur of voices caught my ear. I opened the drawing-room door.
On the sofa beside Griselda, conversing animatedly, sat Miss Gladys Cram. Her legs, which were encased in particularly shiny pink stockings, were crossed, and I had every opportunity of observing that she wore pink striped silk knickers.
“Hullo, Len,” said Griselda.
“Good-morning, Mr. Clement,” said Miss Cram. “Isn’t the news about the colonel really too awful? Poor old gentleman.”