Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Five

I find it difficult to shake off the impression made on me by the anonymous letter.Gossip! However, I collected the other three notes, glanced at my watch, and walked out of the house. I am very puzzled, what is the possibility of passing on these three "ears" at the same time?I think it's the same message.But I soon knew that my judgment was wrong. I couldn't pretend that I was passing the police station on a foreign trip.My feet stopped there involuntarily.I'm anxious to know if Inspector Slack has returned from "the old house." I learned that he had returned, and further learned that Miss Crumb had returned with him.Sitting in the police station, the handsome Gladys handled the situation with ease.She denied going into the bushes with a suitcase.

"Just because a garrulous spinster with nothing to do but look out the window all night, you're free to assume it's me. Remember, she said she saw me at the end of the road the afternoon of the murder, She was mistaken, how could she recognize me on a moonlit night if she could be mistaken in the daytime?" "It's wicked what these old women are doing here. They're talking shit. I was in bed, innocent. You should be ashamed of yourselves, you people." "Suppose the proprietress of the 'Blue Boar' recognizes this suitcase as yours, Miss Kramm, how do you explain it?"

"If she said anything of the sort, she was wrong. The suitcase had no name on it. Almost everyone had a suitcase like that. As for poor Dr. Stone, accusing him of being a common thief! He There are many titles before your name." "So, Miss Kramm, you refuse to explain anything to us?" "There's no question of refusal. You're mistaken, that's all. You and your nosy Marple. I won't say a word, and I won't say anything without my lawyer. I've got to go now." unless you want to arrest me." In reply, the inspector got up and opened the door for her.She shook her head and walked out.

"That's her trick," Slack said, returning to his seat, "to deny it completely. Of course, the old lady could be wrong too.No jury would believe that you could make out anyone from that distance on a moonlit night.So, of course, like I said, the boss may have made a mistake. " "She may be wrong," I said, "but I don't think she is. Miss Marple is usually right. That's what makes her unlikable." The inspector smiled, showing his teeth. "That's what Hurst said. My God, these villagers!" "How about the silver, Inspector?"

"It seems neat. That means, of course, that one of them might be a fake. There's a very good man in March Burnham who's an authority on silver. I've called him and sent a car to pick him up.We'll soon find out which is which: the theft was either a fait accompli or a premeditated event.Either way, it doesn't make a fucking difference - I mean, as far as we're concerned.Theft was a trivial matter compared with murder, and neither had anything to do with murder.We may get clues about him through this girl, which is why I let her go quietly. " "I still don't borrow it." I said.

"Pity to Mr Redding. You don't often see a man go out of his way to thank you." "I don't think so," I said, smiling slightly. "Women get into a lot of trouble," said the Inspector preachingly. He sighed and said something that surprised me a bit: "And Archer, of course." "Oh!" I said, "you think of him?" "Hey, of course, sir. First thing that comes to mind. It doesn't take an anonymous letter to get me on him." "Anonymous letter," I said sharply, "did you get one, too?" "It's nothing new, sir. We get at least a dozen a day. Oh yes, we got the lead from Archer. As if the police couldn't figure it out themselves, Archer from We were skeptical from the start. The problem is, he has an alibi. It doesn't say much, but it's not easy to get around."

"What do you mean it doesn't mean anything?" I asked. "Oh, looks like he's been with some friends all afternoon. That doesn't mean much, I say. People like Archer and his friends can swear on anything. Can't believe what they say Anyhow, we know that. But the public doesn't know, and the jury is chosen from among the public, and will be more sympathetic to him. They don't know anything, and nine times out of ten they will believe what the witness box says Everything, whoever said it. Of course, Archer himself would have sworn in a fit of rage that he hadn't done it."

"Not as earnestly as Mr. Redding," I said, laughing. "He won't," said the Inspector, speaking only for the sake of fact. "I think survival is a natural thing." I said thoughtfully. "You'd be surprised to know that some murderers get away with the tenderness of the jury," said the inspector darkly. "But do you really think Archer did it?" I asked. It always struck me as odd that Inspector Slack never seemed to have an opinion of his own about murder.The ease of conviction seemed to be the only thing that attracted him. "I need more definite evidence," he admitted. "Now, all it takes is fingerprints or footprints, or being seen near the scene of the murder at about the time of the murder. He cannot be arrested without such evidence. Adventurous. He's been seen once or twice around Mr. Redding's house, but he'll say he's gone to talk to his mother. She's a respectable person. No, on the whole I agree with that lady. I would just like to have definite evidence of blackmail, but in this case you don't get any definite evidence, just speculation, speculation, speculation. Mr. Clermont, there is no old maid who lives in your residence. It's a real pity that way. I bet if there was anything, she'd see it."

His words reminded me of my visit, so I left.It was probably the only time I saw him be kind. The first person I called on was Miss Hartnell.She must have been watching me from the window, because before I rang the bell she had opened the front door, took my hand firmly in hers, and led me through the door. "It's very kind of you to come. Come here. Be more secret." We went into a small room, about the size of a chicken coop.Miss Hartnell closed the door, and with a very secret look, beckoned me to a seat (there were only three of them).I saw that she was complacent. "I'm not one to beat around the bush," she said in a cheery voice, her last sentence lowered slightly to match the mood of the room.

"You know how things go around in a village like this." "Unfortunately," I said, "I know." "I agree with you. No one hates gossip more than I do. But there is gossip. I thought I went to see Mrs. Lestrands on the afternoon of the murder, but she went out and told the police about it. It is my duty. I didn't expect to be thanked for fulfilling my obligations, I just did it. In this kind of life, you will always encounter forgetfulness.Wow, just yesterday, that shameless Mrs Baker..." "Yes, yes," I said, trying to get her to stop talking too much. "So sad. So sad. But keep talking."

"The lower classes don't know who their real friends are," said Miss Hartnell, "and when I call on them I say the right things, and I'm never thanked for it." "You told the Inspector about your visit to Mrs. Leslunds," I urged. "Exactly. He didn't thank me, by the way. Just said he'd ask if he needed a situation. That wasn't what he said, but it meant it. Now, there's a different kind of guy in the police." "Very likely," I said, "but what were you going to say?" "I decided not to go near any bloody inspectors this time. After all, the priest is a gentleman, at least some of them are," she added. I think this categorization includes me as well. "I'd like to help you," I said. "It's a matter of duty," said Miss Hartnell, and fell silent. "I don't want to say these things. Nobody hates these things more. But duty is duty after all. " I am waiting. "I thought," continued Miss Hartnell, flushing. "Mrs. Lestrands claims that she has been at home, and she didn't answer because—oh—she didn't like it. Look at the pretentiousness. I'm just calling out of duty, and I'm being treated like this!" "She's sick," I said gently. "Sick? Nonsense. You're so childish, Mr. Clermont. The woman isn't sick at all. She'd be too sick to attend the trial! Dr. Haydock's medical certificate! She can send him around, and everybody's admirable." Yes. Oh, where did I go?" I'm not so sure either.Talking to Miss Hartnell, it is difficult to know when her story ends and the invective begins. "Call, talk about visiting her that afternoon. Oh, it's nonsense to say she's at home. She's not. I know that." "How do you know?" Miss Hartnell grew redder.A more unkind person would have said her behavior was embarrassing. "I knocked and rang the bell," she explained, "twice, if not three times. Then it occurred to me that the bell might not be working." I noticed with pleasure that she dared not meet my eyes when she said this.The same builder built all of our houses, and he installed the doorbell, which rings clearly from the pad outside the front door.Miss Hartnell and I are well aware of this, but I think face must be preserved. "Really?" I murmured. "I don't want to put my card in the mailbox. It's vulgar, but I'm not vulgar anyway." She was unusually calm when she uttered this startling sentence. "So, I thought, I'm going to go around the back of the house and tap on the windows," she went on without shame, "and I went around the house and looked in all the windows, but there was no one in the house. " I totally get it.Taking advantage of the absence of the house, Miss Hartnell gratified her curiosity by going round the house, examining the garden, and peeping into the windows as much as she could.She decided to tell her story to me because she thought I would be more compassionate and tolerant than the police.It is believed that priests look out for the best of their parishioners. I didn't express any opinion on this, just asked: "When was that, Miss Hartnell?" "As far as I can remember," said Miss Hartnell, "it must have been nearly six o'clock. Then I went straight home and got home about ten past six. Then Mrs. Protheroe came in about half-past six, Leaving Dr. Stone and Mr. Redding outside while we talked about the light bulb. The poor Colonel was lying in a pool of blood all the while. It's a sad world." "Sometimes the world is very unpleasant," I said. I stand up. "Is that all you want to tell me?" "I just thought it might be important." "Probably," I agreed. I would not listen, and was going away, much to Miss Hartnell's disappointment. Miss Wetherby was my next call, and she received me with some excitement. "My dear pastor, it is very kind of you. Have you had your tea? You really haven't? A cushion for your back? It is very kind of you to come so soon. You are always willing to serve others .” She chattered like this for a long time before turning to the topic.Even then, she was always beating around the bush. "You must understand that I have heard it from the most reliable sources." In St. Mary Mead, the most reliable source is often someone's servant. "Can you tell me who told you that?" "I made promises, Mr. Claremont. I've always held promises to be sacred." Her expression was unusually solemn. "Let's say a bird told me, shall we? That's safe, isn't it?" I'm tempted to say, "This is asshole as hell." I wish I had said that. I should like to see what Miss Wetherby's reaction will be. "Oh, this little bird told me that she saw someone too old, and it was better not to say her name." "Another crow?" I asked. To my astonishment, Miss Wetherby burst into a fit of laughter, and, patting me on the arm, said: "Oh, pastor, you can't be so naughty!" After recovering her breath, she said again: "Mrs., where do you say this lady is going? She turned into the parsonage road, but before she turned in she looked up and down the road very strangely. I think she was looking Acquaintances are watching her." "And this little bird..." I asked. "Going to the fishmonger. That's the room opposite the shop." I know where the servants go when they go out.I know there's one place they won't go if they can avoid it -- and that's the open air. "And the time," went on Miss Wetherby, leaning forward mysteriously. "Just before six o'clock." "What day?" Miss Wetherby gave a little cry. "Of course it was the day of the murder, didn't I say?" "I figured it out," I replied, "and the name of the big one?" "It starts with an L," said Miss Weatherby, nodding her head several times. Miss Wetherby thought I knew all about it, and changed the subject.I stand up. "You're not going to have the police question me, are you?" she said piteously, clutching my hand in both of hers. "I hate to be in public. Let alone in court!" "In exceptional circumstances," I said, "they sit witnesses." Then, I slipped away. And to see Mrs. Price Ridley.This woman cut to the chase. "I don't want to get involved with any court business," she said grimly, after shaking my hand coolly. people's attention." "Does it have anything to do with Mrs. Lestrands?" I asked. "Why?" asked Mrs. Price Ridley coldly. She beat me to the punch. "It's very simple," she went on, "my maid, Clara, was standing at the front door, and she'd been there for a minute or two—for fresh air, she said. I'd say, very likely.But it was more likely that she wanted to see the fishmonger boy--she called him a boy, a brash brat--because he was seventeen, and that was what he called him.He's got a hippie smile on all the girls.Oh, like I said, she was standing by the front door when she heard a sneeze. " "Yes," I said, waiting for the next sentence. "It's over. I tell you, she heard a sneeze. Don't tell me I'm not as young as I used to be. You may be mistaken. Clara heard it. She's only nineteen." "But," I said, "why doesn't she hear the sneeze?" Seeing me so dull, Mrs. Price Ridley looked at me with obvious pity. "On the day of the murder, when your house was empty, she heard a sneeze. There is no doubt that the murderer was hiding in the bushes, waiting to strike. You are after a man with a cold." "Or hay fever," I said. "But as a matter of fact, Mrs. Price Ridley, I think the secret is easy to uncover. Mary, our maid, has had a bad cold lately. In fact, her sneezing is giving us headaches. Listen, your maid. It must have been her sneeze." "It was a man's sneeze," said Mrs. Price Ridley firmly, "and you can't hear your maid sneezing in the kitchen from our gate." "You can't hear any sneezing in the study from your door," I said, "at least I doubt it very much." "As I said, the man might be hiding in the bushes," said Mrs. Price Ridley. "No doubt he went in by the front door as soon as Clara came in." "Oh, sure, that's possible," I said. I tried not to sound indifferent, but I must have missed it, because Mrs. Price Ridley was staring at me suddenly. "I'm used to people not listening to me, but I must also mention that dropping a tennis racquet carelessly on the grass and not putting it in a clip can break a tennis racquet. Now, tennis racquets are very Dear." This insinuation seemed so nondescript that it completely confused me. "But maybe you don't agree," said Mrs. Price Ridley. "Well, of course I agree." "I'm glad. Oh, that's all I have to say. I'm out of the whole thing." She leaned back and closed her eyes, like a person who is tired of the world.I thanked her and said goodbye to her. At the doorstep, I ventured to ask Clara what her master had said. "Quite true, sir, I heard a sneeze. Not an ordinary sneeze, not at all." There is nothing ordinary about crime.Gunshots are no ordinary gunshots.A sneeze is no ordinary sneeze.I figured it must be some murderer's sneeze.I asked the girl what time it was, but she was confused, she thought it was between a quarter past six and half past six.Anyway, "before Mrs. answered the phone and got scared." I asked her if she heard any gunshots.The gunshots were horrific, she said.After that, I seldom believed her words. I was about to turn into my own gate when I decided to call on a friend. Glancing at my watch, I saw that there was just time to make this visit before attending vespers.I walked down the road to Dr. Haydock's house.He came up the steps to meet me. Again I noticed how worried and haggard he looked.The incident seemed to isolate him from the world. "Nice to meet you," he said. "Any news?" I gave him the latest news about Stone. "A high-society thief," said he, "well, that might say a great deal. He was absorbed in his studies, and made mistakes with me from time to time. Protheroe must have once noticed his mistake. You Remember their quarrel? What do you think of the girl? Was she involved?" "It's hard to judge," I said. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think there's anything wrong with the girl." "She's a total idiot," I added. "Oh, I don't see it that way. She's very shrewd, I mean Miss Gladys Crumb. A very healthy person. Not likely to bother anyone in our line of business." I told him I was worried about Howes, and I was desperate for him to leave for a real break and a change of scenery. When I said this, he showed a kind of evasive look.His answer was also somewhat insincere. "Yes," he said slowly, "I think that's the best way. Poor fellow, poor fellow." "I thought you didn't like him." "I don't like him very much. But I have sympathy for many people I don't like." After a while he added: "I feel more sympathy for Protheroe. Poor chap, nobody quite Like him. Too blunt, too self-confident. It's an unlikable character. He's always been like that, even from a young age." "I didn't know you knew him then." "Oh yes, I practiced not far away when we lived in Westmoreland. That was a long time ago. Nearly twenty years ago." I sigh.Twenty years ago, Griselda was five years old.Time is an amazing thing... "Claremont, is that what you came here to talk about?" I gave him a surprised look.Haydock was watching me keenly. "There's something else, isn't it?" he said. I nod. When I came in, I hadn't decided to say it or not to say it, but now I decided to.I like Haydock as much as I like anyone else.Everywhere he is charming.I felt that what I was about to tell him might be of use to him. I told him about my conversation with Miss Hartnell and Miss Wetherby. After I spoke, he was silent for a long time. "Exactly, Claremont," he said at last, "I've been doing my best to keep Mrs. Lestrunds out of any trouble. In fact, she's an old friend of mine, but that's not the only one." The reason. That medical certificate is not a fake certificate as you think." He paused for a moment, then said solemnly: "Only you and I know, Claremont. Mrs. Lestrands is dying." "what?" "She's a dying woman. I don't think she'll live more than a month. Don't you think it's strange that I've kept her safe from harassment and questioning?" He continued: "When she turned into this road that night, it was here she came—this house." "You didn't tell me about it before." "I don't want to provoke gossip. Six to seven isn't my patient time, and everyone knows that. But you'll have to take my word for it, she's here." "But she wasn't there when I came for you. I mean, when we found the body." "Yes," he seemed disturbed. "She left—had an appointment." "Where is the appointment? In her own house?" "I don't know, Claremont, on my honor, I don't know." I believe him, but— "What if an innocent man is hanged?" I said. "No," said he, "no one will be hanged for the murder of Colonel Protheroe. You may take my word for it." But, I just can't believe it.However, his tone was very certain. "No one will be hanged," he repeated. "This man, Archer—" He made an impatient gesture. "He wasn't smart enough to wipe his fingerprints off the pistol." "Maybe not." I said vaguely. Then, remembering something, I took out of my pocket a brown crystal I had found in a bush, handed it to him, and asked him what it was. "Well," he said hesitantly, "like picric acid. Where did you find it?" "This is the Sherlock Holmes secret," I said. He smiled. "What is picric acid?" "Oh, it's an explosive product." "Yes, I know that, but it has other uses, doesn't it?" He nodded. "It's used medically to treat burns. Very good medicine." I held out my hand and he reluctantly handed me the picric acid back. "Perhaps it will lead nowhere," I said, "but I found it in an unusual place." "Won't you tell me where it is?" I'm like a child, I don't want to tell him. He has his secrets.Well, I have my secret too. It made me feel a little annoyed that he didn't trust me more fully.