Chapter 5 chapter Five

When I approached the door of the vicarage it was nearly seven o'clock, not six-thirty.I was about to go through the door when it was thrown open and Laurence Redding came out.When he saw me, he froze suddenly, and I was also amazed by his expression.He looked like a man about to go mad, his eyes were staring, his face was pale, and he was trembling and throbbing. I wondered for a moment whether he was drunk, but then dismissed the idea. "Hi," I said, "have you come to see me again? I'm sorry, I'm out. I'm only coming back now. I've got to see Protheroe and talk about the accounts—but I don't think it'll be very long. Time."

"Prothero," he said, laughing. "Prothero? You want to see Prothero? Well, you'll see Prothero! Oh, my God—go and see!" I stared at him and instinctively held out a hand to him, but he quickly stepped aside, "No," he almost shouted, "I have to go—to think. I have to think about it.I have to think. " He ran away suddenly, and soon disappeared at the end of the path leading to the village.I stared in the direction he was running, and the idea that he was drunk came back to my mind. Then, shaking my head, I walked forward to the vicarage.The front door was always open, but I rang the bell anyway.Mary heard the sound and wiped her hands on the apron.

"You're back at last," she said. "Is Colonel Protheroe here?" I asked. "In the study. Been here a quarter past six." "Has Mr. Redding been here, too?" I asked. "Arrived a few minutes ago. Wanted to see you. I told him you'd be back soon. Colonel Protheroe was waiting for you in the study. He said he was waiting too, and went there. He's in the study now." .” "No, he's not there," I said. "I just saw him go down the road." "Oh, I didn't hear him go. He wasn't there a few minutes. Madame hasn't come back from town yet."

I nodded absently.Mary withdrew to the kitchen and I walked across the corridor and opened the study door. After passing through the dark corridor, the afterglow of the setting sun shooting into the room made me have to blink my eyes.I took a step or two around the room, then stopped abruptly. For a while, the sight in front of me stunned me! Colonel Protheroe was sprawled across my desk in a very ugly and terrible position.On the desk next to his head, there was a puddle of black liquid, dripping slowly onto the floor.This scene is still creepy. I tried my best to calm down, walked towards him, and touched his skin, it was already cold.The hand I let go hangs down stiffly again.The man was dead—the bullet had gone through his head.

I went to the door and called Mary.When she came, I ordered her to run as quickly as possible for Dr. Haydock.He lives just around the corner from the road.I told her there was an accident. Then, I went back and closed the door and waited for the doctor to come. Fortunately, Mary found him at the doctor's house.Haydock was a good fellow, big and strong, with an honest rough face. I didn't speak, and pointed to that place in the room.His brows were furrowed, but, like a seasoned doctor, he was unemotional.He bent over the dead man and took a quick look.Then he got up and stared at me.

"How?" I asked. "He's dead, hopeless—for half an hour, I'm sure." "Is it suicide?" "Absolutely impossible, sir. You see where the shot was shot. Besides, even if it was suicide, where is the weapon?" Indeed, there was no such thing in the house. "We'd better not mess around with anything," Haydock said. "I'd better call the police." He picked up the phone and started talking.He explained the case as briefly as possible, hung up the phone, and returned to where I was sitting. "It's a terrible thing. How did you find him?"

I explained the situation. "Is this—murder?" I asked a little confused. "Looks like it is. I mean to say the same thing, could it be something else? That's horrible.I can't figure out who's holding a grudge against the poor old guy.Of course, I know he's not famous, but one doesn't often get murdered for a reason like this.What a pity! " "One more strange thing," I said, "I was called this afternoon to see a parishioner who was dying. When I got there, everyone was surprised to see me. The patient was better than he was a few days ago." Too much, and his wife categorically denies calling me."

Haydock's brows knit together again. "That's suspicious—very suspicious. You've been dismissed. Where's your wife?" "Today went to London." "Where's the maid?" "In the kitchen—just on the other side of the house." "She won't be able to hear any noise from here. It's a nuisance. Does anyone know that Protheroe will be here tonight?" "On the road in the village this morning, he was yelling as usual and speaking about it." "That means the whole village knows? They always know everything. Know anyone who has a grudge against him?"

I picture Laurence Redding's pale face and staring eyes.I was about to answer when there was a slight sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. "It's the police," my friend said, standing up. Representing our police force here is Sergeant Hurst, who looks very proud, but also a little worried. "Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted us. "The inspector will be here in a moment. In the meantime, I must follow his instructions. I understand that Colonel Protheroe has been found murdered in the vicarage." He paused for a moment, and cast me a cold, suspicious look, which I tried to meet with inner equanimity and proper patience.

He went to the desk and announced, "Nothing shall be done until the Superintendent arrives." For the convenience of the reader, I attach a sketch of the room. He took out his notebook, moistened his pencil, and looked at us expectantly. I recounted the circumstances of the discovery of the body.It took him a while to write it all down, and he turned to the doctor again. "What, in your opinion, is the cause of death, Dr. Haydock?" "Shot through the brain at close range." "Where are the weapons?" "Until the cartridge is removed, I cannot say for sure. But I would say that the cartridge was probably fired from a small-caliber pistol, say a Mauser of 0.25 caliber."

I was taken aback secretly, and remembered our conversation the night before, when Lawrence Redding admitted to having such a pistol.The sergeant looked at me again with his cold, fish-like eyes. "What do you want to say, sir?" I shake my head.Whatever doubts I have, they are only doubts, and I can only let myself know. "In your opinion, when did the murder take place?" The doctor hesitated for a moment before answering: "The man's been dead for half an hour, I daresay. Certainly not longer than that." Hurst turned to me and asked, "Did the maid hear anything?" "She hasn't heard anything, so far as I know," I said, "but you'd better ask her." But at this moment Inspector Slack arrived, having driven up from Much Burnham, two miles away, and for, I'll say, I've never seen a man so out of his name.He was dark, energetic, and restless, with dark eyes that kept darting from side to side.His demeanor was rude and arrogant to the extreme. He greeted us with a slight nod, grabbed his subordinate's notebook and read it carefully for a while, whispered to him a few words, and then walked straight to the corpse, "I think everything has been messed up." He said. "I didn't move a thing," said Haydock. "I didn't move anything," I said.For some time the Inspector was busy examining the contents of the table and the pool of blood. "Aha!" he said triumphantly, "that's what we're looking for. He knocked over the alarm clock as he fell forward. That'll give us time for the crime. Twenty-two past six. When did you say the death happened, doctor?" "I said about half an hour ago, but—" The inspector glanced at his watch. "It is five past seven. I was notified about ten minutes ago, at five minutes to seven. The body was found at about a quarter to seven. I think you were called at once. I presume your inspector It's seven o'clock . . . well, it seems to be almost the exact moment." "I can't guarantee it will be that time," said Haydock, "that's just a rough estimate." "Good enough, sir, good enough." I've been meaning to insert a sentence. "As for the alarm clock—" "I'm sorry, sir, but I will ask you any questions I want to know. Time is short. All I need is absolute silence." "Yes, but I have to tell you—" "Absolute silence," said the inspector, staring at me angrily.I had to do as he asked. He was still examining the desk carefully. "Why is he sitting here?" he grumbled. "Is he trying to write a note—well—what's this?" He held up a note triumphantly.He was so pleased with what he had found that he allowed us to come over to him and read the note with him. It was a parsonage note with 6:20 written on the top. "Dear Claremont,"—the first sentence of the note read—"I'm sorry I can't wait any longer, but I must—" Here, the sentence is scrawled and broken. "Very clearly," said Inspector Slack confidently, "he sat down here to write this note, and while he was writing, the murderer crept in through the window and shot him. You can draw more inferences." ?" "I just wanted to say—" I started. "Excuse me, sir, just step aside. I want to see if there are any footprints here." He got on his stomach and crawled towards the open window. "I think you should know—" I said stubbornly again. The inspector stood up.He spoke, not angry, but in a firm tone. "We shall speak of all this later. Gentlemen, I shall be most obliged if you all get out of here. Please get out!" We just had to allow ourselves to be coaxed out like children. It seemed hours, but it was only a quarter past seven. "Oh," said Dr. Haydock, "that's all. If that pompous ass needs me, you can send him to the operating room to meet me. Good-bye!" "Ma'am is back," said Mary.She came out of the kitchen for a while. Her wide-open eyes glowed with excitement. "Come back about five minutes ago." I met Griselda in the living room.She looked surprised, but excited, and I told her everything.She listened intently. "It was six-twenty when I started the letter," I said at last. "The alarm-clock was overturned, and the hands stopped at six-twenty-two." "Yes," Griselda said. "But, you know the clock, didn't you tell him that the alarm clock was always a quarter of an hour fast?" "No," I said, "I didn't tell him. He won't let me tell him. There's nothing I can do." Griselda frowned, looking puzzled. "But, Lun," she said, "that makes the whole thing special. Because when the clock says twenty past six, it's only five minutes past six, and at five past six, I think Colonel Protheroe hasn't even come to the house yet."

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