Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

I saw at a glance that Colonel Melchett and Inspector Slack were at odds on the case.Melchett flushed and exasperated, and the Inspector looked sullen, "I regret to say," said Melchett, "that I hold young Redding innocent, and Inspector Slack disagrees with me. " "If he didn't, why does he say he did it?" asked Slack suspiciously. "Remember, Slack, Mrs. Protheroe did the same thing." "That's different. She's a woman, and women tend to do stupid things like that. I'm not saying she did it on the spur of the moment. She heard he was charged and she made up a lie. I'm all too familiar with this It's a trick. You don't have to believe the foolish tricks of the women I know. But Redding is different. He has a good head, and if he admits he did it, oh, I say he did it. It was his Gun, you can't deny that. Because of Mrs. Protheroe, we know the motive. We didn't know the motive before, but now we know, oh, the whole thing is clear."

"You think he might have killed him earlier? Say, at six-thirty?" "He couldn't have done that." "Have you investigated his activities?" The inspector nodded. "At ten past six he was in the village near the 'Blue Boar' Inn. From there he came along the path behind the garden—you say the old woman next door saw him here, and it must be said she saw him—to the garden Mrs. Protheroe in the studio in the middle of the book. Just after six-thirty, they left there together and walked down the lane to the village, meeting Dr. Stone on the way. He fully confirmed this. I have seen He. They all stood at the post office talking for a few minutes, and then Mrs. Protheroe went into Miss Hartnell's to borrow a gardening magazine. It was also true, and I saw Hart Miss Nell. Mrs. Protheroe stayed there chatting with her till seven o'clock, when she cried out that it was getting late, and that she must go home."

"How does she look?" "Miss Hartnell said it was very lighthearted. Seemed to be in high spirits. Miss Hartnell was quite sure she had nothing on her mind." "Okay, let's continue." "Redding, he and Dr. Stone went to the 'Blue Boar' and drank together. He left there at twenty to seven, trotted down the village street, and down the lane to the Vicarage. Many saw he." "Didn't you come along the back path of the garden this time?" asked the colonel sharply. "No, he came to the front door to see the chaplain, and when he heard the colonel was there, he went in and shot him—just as he said! That's the truth of the case, and we needn't go any further."

Melchett shook his head. "And the doctor's statement. You can't deny it. Protheroe was shot no later than six-thirty." "Ah, doctor," said Inspector Slack with a look of contempt. "You have to trust the doctor. Pull all your teeth out, that's all they'll do today, and say sorry, when in fact you've been suffering from appendicitis. Doctor!" "It's not a question of diagnosis. Dr. Haydock is absolutely sure of that. You can't argue with medical evidence, Slack." "And my valuable evidence," I said, suddenly remembering something I'd forgotten. "I touched the body and it was cold. I could swear it."

"Got it, Slack?" Melchett said. "Oh, of course, if that's the case. But it's--an excellent case. Mr. Redding was too eager to be hanged, for instance." "That itself strikes me as a little odd," said Colonel Melchett. "Sing, don't talk about the taste," said the Inspector. "There are a lot of gentlemen who got a little silly after the war. Now we have to start all over again, I suppose." He turned to me. "Why do you deliberately make me misjudge the time of the alarm clock, sir, I don't understand. The purpose of interfering with justice, that is."

"Three times I tried to tell you," I said, "but each time you refused to let me speak or listen to me." "Sir, that's just a way of talking. If you really wanted to tell me, you would have made it clear to me. The alarm clock and the note seem to match perfectly. Now, according to the information you have given, the alarm clock time is completely wrong. I've never seen a case like it. What good is it to set a clock forward a quarter of an hour?" "To keep the clock on time," I said. "I don't think we need to dwell on that, Purdue," said Colonel Melchett strategically. "What we need now is to get the truth from Mrs. Protheroe and young Redding. I'll give Haydock Call up and tell him to bring Mrs. Protheroe here. They should be here in a quarter of an hour. I think first get Redding here too."

"I'm coming to the police station," Slackpuddle said, picking up the phone. "Now," he said after putting down the phone, "we have to study this room." He looked at me meaningfully. "Perhaps," I said, "you want me to avoid it." The inspector immediately opened the door for me.Melchett yelled: "Master, will Redding be back then? You are a friend of his, and you have enough influence to persuade him to tell the truth." I saw my wife talking head to head with Miss Marple. "We've been judging all kinds of possibilities," said Griselda. "I hope you can solve this mystery, Miss Marple, just like the shrimp gills that Miss Wetherby picked up last time." That's what you did when it disappeared. All because it reminded you of something different about a sack of coal."

"You're laughing at me, dear," said Miss Marple, "but after all it's a good way of finding out the truth. It's really what people call intuition and make a fuss about. Intuition is like It's like reading a word without spelling it. Children can't do that because they have little experience. Adults know the word because they've seen it so often before. Priest, do you understand me?" "Yes," I said slowly, "I think I understand. You mean, if one thing reminds you of another—well, maybe it's the same kind of thing." "Not bad."

"Then what does the murder of Colonel Protheroe remind you of?" Miss Marple sighed. "This is what troubles me. So many parallel judgments come into my head. For example, I think of Major Hargreaves, a deacon, an unreasonable and respected man. .But he's been having an affair with a former maid, and think about it: five kids — really five — have been a blast to his wife and daughter." I tried very hard to imagine Colonel Protheroe playing the part of the cheater, but I couldn't. "And about the laundromat," continued Miss Marple, "Miss Hartnell's opal brooch was very carelessly left on a frilled smock and sent to the laundromat. Take this The woman with the pin had no intention of asking for the pin, nor was it a base. She just hid the pin in another woman's house and told the police she saw the woman take it. Resentment, you know, pure resentment. Astonishing motive—resentment. Of course, by a man. Always."

This time, I see no parallel judgments, no matter how far apart they may be. "Also, poor Elville's daughter--such a classy girl--tried to strangle her little brother. Before you took office, and the money for the choir excursions was stolen by the organist. His wife was in debt .Yes, the case brings to mind so many things—too many. It makes it difficult to judge the truth." "I wish you could tell me," I said, "who are the seven suspects?" "Seven suspects?" "You said you could think of seven people who would be - oh - happy about the death of Colonel Protheroe."

"Did I say that? Yes, I remember I did." "Is that true?" "Ah! Of course it's true. But I mustn't mention the name. I'm sure you can easily think of it yourself." "I really can't think of it. Lettice Protheroe is one, I guess, because she may have gotten a sum of money for her father's death. But it's absurd to connect her with that, and besides her, I Can't think of anyone." "What do you think, dear?" asked Miss Marple, turning to Griselda. To my surprise, Griselda blushed.Something resembling tears began to appear in her eyes.She clenched her little hands tightly. "Ah!" she exclaimed angrily, "the people are odious, odious, the things they say! The nasty things . . . " I looked at her curiously.It was not Griselda's usual character to be so agitated.She caught my gaze and tried to smile. "Don't look at me like I'm some interesting animal you don't understand. Don't get us excited and off topic. I don't believe it's Lawrence or Anne, let alone Lettice. There must be some kind of Clues can help us." "There's a note, of course," said Miss Marple. "You'll remember that I said it this morning, and that strikes me as particularly unusual." "That seems to have fixed the time of his death with great precision," said I; "but is that possible? In that case Mrs. Protheroe left the study and had barely reached the studio. The only explanation I can give is that, He looked at his watch, and his watch was slow. That seemed like a plausible answer, I thought." "I have another idea," said Griselda, "Len, suppose the alarm clock has been set back—no, it's the same, I'm so stupid!" ’ said I, ‘I remember checking the time with my watch. And, as you say, that has nothing to do with the present case.’ "What do you think, Miss Marple?" asked Griselda. "My dear, I must confess that I did not think of it that way at all. What struck me from the first was the content of the letter." "I don't understand that," I said. "Colonel Protheroe just wrote that he couldn't wait any longer." "Twenty after six?" said Miss Marple. "Your maid Mary has told him that you won't be back until half past six at the earliest, and it seems he would like to wait until then. But at six Twenty cents and he sat down and said he 'couldn't wait any longer'." As I gazed at the old lady, I admired her judgment all the more.Her sharp mind allows her to see things we fail to see.It's incredible, very incredible. "If the letter isn't dated—" I said. Miss Marple nodded. "Yes!" she said. "It would be fine if you didn't mark the time!" I started remembering, trying to remember the note, the blindingly cursive script, and the neatly written six-twenty at the top of the letter.Clearly, the figures are not in the same proportion as the rest of the letter.I took a breath. "Let's suppose the letter is untimed," I said. "Suppose Colonel Protheroe gets impatient about six-thirty and sits down and says he can't wait any longer. As he sits writing the note, Somebody came in through the window—" "Or through the door," Griselda added. "He'll hear the door open and look up." "Colonel Protheroe is a little deaf, you must remember," said Miss Marple. "Yes, that's it. He won't hear the door open. No matter where the murderer comes in, he sneaks up behind the colonel and shoots him. Then he sees the note and the clock, and he has an idea. Written on the top of the letterhead, changing the time of the clock to twenty-two past six. It was a clever idea. He thought it gave him ample excuse for not being at the scene of the crime." "What we need to find," said Griselda, "is someone who has a real six-twenty alibi, but there's no such excuse -- oh, it's not that easy .We can't be sure about the time." "We can fix time within a very narrow range," said I. "Haydock made six-thirty as the maximum range of time. From the reasoning we have just done, I imagine that it might be possible to change the time range to six." Thirty-five, for it seems clear that Protheroe cannot possibly grow impatient before six-thirty. I think we may say that we understand very well." "The next thing I heard was the gunshot - yes, I think it's quite possible. I didn't pay attention, didn't pay attention at all. It was annoying! But let me try to recall now, I seem to think it was with a The gunshots that people normally hear are different. Yes, it is different." "Louder?" I reminded. No, Miss Marple didn't think that shot was louder.In fact, she found it hard to tell what was different.But she insisted it was different. I think she was just stating a fact and didn't remember it very well, but she just made some valuable new insights on the matter, so I still have a lot of respect for her. She stood up and said softly that she really I must go back, and said that it was very interesting to analyze the case from the beginning with dear Griselda.I sent her to the back door of the wall, and when I came back, I found Griselda lost in thought. "Still thinking about that note?" I asked. "No." She shuddered suddenly and shook her shoulders impatiently. "Len, I've been thinking that someone must have a crush on Anne Proserogen!" "Hate her?" "Yes. Don't you see? There's no real evidence against Lawrence, because all the evidence against him is incidental. He just happened to be here. If he hadn't come—oh, no one would." Link him to the murder. But Anne is different. Suppose she happens to be here at six-twenty—the clock and the letter will tell—everything is against her. I think, It wasn't just an excuse that the alarm clock was pulled at exactly that time - I think it was something else - obviously an attempt to blame her. If Miss Marple hadn't said she didn't have a gun with her, and noticed she was just In a moment into the studio—yes, if not that..." She shuddered again. "Len, I feel someone hates Anne Protheroe. I—I hate that."