“By the way,” I asked, “was it loaded?”
Lawrence shook his head.
“I’m not quite so careless as that. It was unloaded, but there was a box of cartridges beside it.”
“It was apparently loaded in all six chambers and one shot bad been fired.”
Lawrence nodded.
“And whose hand fired it? It’s all very well, sir, but unless the real murderer is discovered I shall be suspected of the crime to the day of my death.”
“Don’t say that, my boy.”
“But I do say it.”
He became silent, frowning to himself. He roused himself at last and said:
“But let me tell you how I got on last night. You know, old Miss Marple knows a thing or two.”
“She is, I believe, rather unpopular on that account.”
Lawrence proceeded to recount his story.
He had, following Miss Marple’s advice, gone up to old Hall. There, with Anne’s assistance, he had had an interview with the parlourmaid. Anne had said simply:
“Mr. Redding wants to ask you a few questions, Rose.”
Then she had left the room.
Lawrence had felt somewhat nervous. Rose, a pretty girl of twenty-five, gazed at him with a limpid gaze which he found rather disconcerting.
“It’s – it’s about Colonel Protheroe’s death.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m very anxious, you see, to get at the truth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I feel that there may be – that someone might – that – that there might be some incident -”
At this point Lawrence felt that he was not covering himself with glory, and heartily cursed Miss Marple and her suggestions.
“I wondered if you could help me?”
“Yes, sir?”
Rose’s demeanour was still that of the perfect servant, polite, anxious to assist, and completely uninterested.
“Dash it all,” said Lawrence, “haven’t you talked the thing over in the servants’ hall?”
This method of attack flustered Rose slightly. Her perfect poise was shaken.
“In the servants’ hall, sir?”
“Or the housekeeper’s room, or the bootboy’s dugout, or wherever you do talk? There must be some place.”
Rose displayed a very faint disposition to giggle, and Lawrence felt encouraged.
“Look here, Rose, you’re an awfully nice girl. I’m sure you must understand what I’m feeling like. I don’t want to be hanged. I didn’t murder your master, but a lot of people think I did. Can’t you help me in any way?”
I can imagine at this point that Lawrence must have looked extremely appealing. His handsome head thrown back, his Irish blue eyes appealing. Rose softened and capitulated.
“Oh! sir, I’m sure – if any of us could help in any way. None of us think you did it, sir. Indeed we don’t.”
“I know, my dear girl, but that’s not going to help me with the police.”
“The police!” Rose tossed her head. “I can tell you, sir, we don’t think much of that inspector. Slack, he calls himself. The police indeed.”
“All the same, the police are very powerful. Now, Rose, you say you’ll do your best to help me. I can’t help feeling that there’s a lot we haven’t got at yet. The lady, for instance, who called to see Colonel Protheroe the night before he died.”
“Mrs. Lestrange?”
“Yes, Mrs. Lestrange. I can’t help feeling there’s something rather odd about that visit of hers.”
“Yes, indeed, sir, that’s what we all said.”
“You did?”
“Coming the way she did. And asking for the colonel. And of course there’s been a lot of talk – nobody knowing anything about her down here. And Mrs. Simmons, she’s the housekeeper, sir, she gave it as her opinion that she was a regular bad lot. But after hearing what Gladdie said, well, I didn’t know what to think.”
“What did Gladdie say?”
“Oh! nothing, sir. It was just – we were talking, you know.”
Lawrence looked at her. He had the feeling of something kept back.
“I wonder very much what her interview with Colonel Protheroe was about.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I believe you know, Rose?”
“Me? Oh I no, sir. Indeed I don’t. How could I?”
“Look here, Rose. You said you’d help me. If you overheard anything, anything at all – it mightn’t seem important, but anything… I’d be so awfully grateful to you. After all, any one might – might chance – just chance to overhear something.”