Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty Six
That night, when I went up to the pulpit.In a strange state of mind.
The church was unusually crowded.I can't believe that the news that Howes was preaching attracted so many people.Howes' sermons are dull and rigid.Nor would they be attracted by word that I was going to preach.Because my sermons are dull and pedantic.This, I think, cannot be attributed to devotion to religion.
As far as I can tell, everyone came here to see who else was there and, if possible, to whisper in the church porch after the sermon.
Haydock was also in the church, which was unusual, and Lawrence Redding.To my surprise, beside Lawrence, I saw the pale, tense face of Howes.Anne Protheroe was there too, but she usually attended Sunday evening prayers.However, I never expected her to come today.I also saw Lettice, and I was even more surprised.Church service on Sunday was obligatory (Colonel Protheroe firmly believed in it), but I had never seen Lettice attend evening service before.
Gladys Crumb was there too, looking youthful and radiant against a group of haggard-faced spinsters.A moment later, a slow figure slipped in from a corner of the church, and I thought it was Mrs. Lestrands.
It goes without saying that Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Hartnell, Miss Wetherby, and Miss Marple also all arrived.All the villagers were there, and almost no one was absent.I don't know, since when did we have so many parishioners.
Crowds are a weird thing.There was something magnetic about that night, and the first person to feel it was myself.
As usual, I prepared the sermons ahead of time.I am very careful about every part of the sermon script, but no one knows the lack of the script better than I do.
Tonight, I have to give an impromptu sermon.I looked down at the faces looking up, and suddenly a crazy idea entered my mind.I stopped being God's shepherd and became an actor.I have an audience in front of me, I want to infect and incite this audience, and I feel the power that I can infect and incite them.I'm not proud of what I did that night.I'm not a complete believer in the revivalist ethos of the emotionally minded church.But that night, I played the part of the rapturous, outspoken evangelical preacher.
I slowly read my sermon.
"I'm not here to call on the righteous and innocent, but to make sinners repent."
I repeated it twice.I heard my own voice, loud and clear, unlike the usual Leonard Claremont voice.
I saw Griselda, sitting on the front bench, look up in surprise, and Dennis did the same.
I held my breath for a moment, and then, letting myself speak wildly and excitedly.
The parishioners in the church are in a state of emotional repression, just in time to catch incitement.I have done so, and I exhort sinners to repent.I let myself fall into a frenzy of emotion, stretching out a condemning hand again and again, repeating the words:
"I'm telling you..."
Each time, from different corners of the church, there came sighs and gasps. Popular sentiment is a strange and terrible thing.
I close with some beautiful and pungent words—perhaps the most pungent words in the entire Bible:
"Your spirit will leave your body tonight."
For a moment, people were seized by a strange fear.When I got back to the vicarage, I was in my old listless, hesitant manner again.I noticed that Griselda was pale.She reached out and took my arm.
"Len," she said, "you've been pretty scary tonight. I—I don't like it.
I've never heard you preach like this before. "
"I don't think you'll hear again," I said, sinking wearily into the couch.I am very tired.
"What made you do that?"
"A sudden mad feeling."
"Oh, it can't be for some particular reason?"
"What do you mean—some particular reason?"
"I can't say--that's the way it is. You're so unexpected, Len. I never felt I really knew you."
We sat down to a cold dinner because Mary was out.
"There's a letter from you in the drawing room," said Griselda. "Go and get it, Dennis, will you?"
Dennis, who had been silent all this time, obeyed.
I took the letter and let out a cry of surprise.In the upper left corner it says: dear.Urgent.
"It must have been from Miss Marple. No one else left."
I was quite right.
Dear Mr. Claremont:
A thing or two occurred to me that I would very much like to talk to you about.I feel we all have to do what we can to help clarify this very mysterious tragedy.If possible, I will come at half-past nine and knock on your study door.Perhaps dear Griselda can come and keep my nephew company and entertain him.Of course, Mr. Dennis can come if he likes.If I don't hear back, I'll wait for them and pass by the time I say.
you are very sincere
Jane Marple
I handed the letter to Griselda.
"Oh, we'll go!" she said cheerfully. "A glass or two of house liqueur is just what you need on a Sunday night. I think it's Mary's panna cotta that's so depressing, it's like the morgue. What came out."
Dennis doesn't seem all that obsessed with it.
"It's very nice of you," he complained, "you can talk about all these fine things about art books. I'm always sitting there listening to you like a complete fool."
"It's good for you," said Griselda quietly. "It keeps you from being so arrogant. And I don't think Mr. Raymond West is as brilliant as he pretends to be."
"Very few of us do that," I said.
What exactly Miss Marple was going to talk about I wondered very much.Of all my parishioners, I consider her far more shrewd than any other.Not only because she had seen and heard what happened, but because she could infer from the facts she noticed with astonishing accuracy.
If I was ever going to cheat, it was Miss Marple who frightened me.
A little after nine o'clock, what Griselda called the "nephew fun party" began.While I waited for Miss Marple, I passed the time by writing out a rough timetable of the facts connected with the murder.I have tried to keep these facts in chronological order.I'm not a punctual person, but I'm an organized person and like to keep things organized and documented.
At exactly half-past nine there was a soft tapping on the window.I rose to meet Miss Marple.
A dainty Shetland shawl covered her head and shoulders.She looked a little old and weak, and her mouth was filled with incoherent and excited words:
"Let me come, it's very kind of you... Dear Griselda is very kind... Raymond admires her... He always calls her perfect... No, I don't want a footstool."
I put the Shetland shawl on a chair and turn around and sit on the one facing the guests.We looked at each other, and a scornful smile suddenly appeared on her face.
"I feel that you must be wondering why—why I should be so interested in all this. You probably think that a woman shouldn't be like this. No, listen, I'll try to explain."
She paused, her cheeks flushed.
"You see," she began at last, "it's got to be a bit of a craving for a man like me, living alone in a remote corner of the world. Of course, I can do velvet embroidery and read the Guide and the Welfare magazine, a bit of drawing, but my obsession was—and always has been—to study human nature. Ample opportunity to become research-savvy, that's how I see it. One begins to classify people, sharply, as if they were birds or flowers, arranged in groups, of one kind or that class. Of course, sometimes one makes mistakes, but as time goes on, the mistakes become less and less. Then, one begins to test one's judgment. One begins to work on a small problem, such as The gills of the picked prawns, which once delighted Griselda, are in fact an insignificant secret, but incomprehensible unless you unravel it. And the cough drops that have been changed, and the meat The Umbrella of the Merchant's Wife. The latter incident seems meaningless unless we assume that the grocer's and pharmacist's wives were grossly misbehaving, which of course later proved to be the case.
You know, it's very fascinating when a person uses judgment and finds out that he's right. "
"I'm sure you're usually right," I said with a smile.
"I'm afraid, I'm a bit conceited," Miss Marple admitted, "but I always wonder if, if I ever come across a big unsolved case, it can be solved. I mean, it can be solved properly. Logically, it should be exactly the same thing. After all, a tiny working model of a torpedo is exactly the same as a real torpedo."
"You mean it's all a question of relativity," I said slowly, "that it should—logically, I admit. But I don't know if it is."
"Of course, it should be the same," said Miss Marple, "all sorts of factors are the same. Money, the opposite sex - oh - mutual attraction - of course eccentricity - so many People are kind of weird, aren't they? In fact, if you get to know them well, most people are. Normal people do such amazing things sometimes, and abnormal people look very normal and ordinary. In fact, the only way to do that is to compare people with people you've known or met. You'd be surprised to know that, of all people, there are very few distinct types."
"You frighten me," I said, "and I feel like I'm being put under a microscope."
"Of course it wouldn't have occurred to me to tell those words to Colonel Melchett--such an official man, isn't he?--and poor Slack--oh, he's like a young woman in a shoe store , bent on selling you patent leather shoes because she happens to have the size you want, and doesn't care about the fact that you want brown leather shoes."
Indeed, that's an excellent portrayal of Slack.
"But, Mr. Claremont, I trust that you know as much about the case as Inspector Slack. I think that if we cooperate--"
"I think," said I, "that each of us thinks of himself as Sherlock Holmes at heart."
Then I told her about my three appointments that afternoon.I also told her about Anne finding the portrait with the poked face.I also told her about Klamm's attitude at the police station.Finally, I relate Dr. Haydock's identification of the crystals I picked up. "
"Since I discovered it myself," I said at last, "I hope it is important. But perhaps it has nothing to do with the case."
"I've been reading a lot of American detective novels from the library lately," said Miss Marple, "and hope to find them helpful in solving the case."
"Is there an explanation for picric acid?"
"I'm afraid not. I do remember, however, reading a story in which lanolin was anointed as an ointment on a man who had suffered from picric acid poisoning."
"But since no one here has been poisoned, it doesn't seem relevant," I said.
Then, I picked up my time sheet and handed it to her.
"I have summarized the facts of the case as clearly as possible," I said.
my schedule
21st of this month (Thursday)
12.30am: Colonel Protheroe changes his appointment from six to six-thirty.Chances are, half the villagers have heard the change.
12:45: The pistol is last seen in its place. (But that's doubtful, because Mrs. Archer said she couldn't remember.)
About 5:30: From the north gate of the "old house", someone called me anonymously.
6:15: (or a minute or two earlier): Colonel Protheroe arrives at the Vicarage.He was led into the study by Mary.
6:20: Mrs. Protheroe returns along the path, through the garden, to the study window.Colonel Protheroe was not seen.
6:29: A call is made from Lawrence Redding's residence to Mrs. Price Ridley (according to telephone exchange records)
6:30 to 6:35: Gunshots are heard. (Assuming the call came at the right time.) The testimony of Lawrence Redding, Anne Prothero, and Dr. Stone seems to point to an earlier date, but Mrs. Price Ridley may be right. "
6:45: Lawrence Redding arrives at the vicarage and finds the body.
6:48: I meet Lawrence Redding.
6:49: I find the body.
6:55: Haydock post-mortem.
Note: There are only two people, there is no evidence of alibi between 6:30 and 6:35.They were Miss Crumb and Mrs. Lestrands.Miss Crumb said she was at the cemetery, but could not confirm.However, it seems reasonable to exclude her from the case, since nothing seems to link her to it.Mrs. Lestrands left Dr. Haydock's house some time after six o'clock to attend an appointment.Where are you dating?Who are you dating?It was almost impossible to be with Colonel Protheroe, as he was preparing to meet me.It is true that Mrs. Lestrands was near the scene at the time of the murder, but it is doubtful what motive she would have had for the murder.Shangzhi's death will not benefit her, and I don't flatter the inspector's so-called blackmail inference.Lestrands was not that kind of woman.Besides, it was impossible for her to get Laurence Redding's pistol.
"Quite clear," said Miss Marple, nodding approvingly. "Very clear indeed. Gentlemen always come up with such excellent memos."
"Do you agree with what I've written?" I asked.
"Oh yes. You've done a great job of recording."
Then, I asked her the question I've always wanted to ask.
"Miss Marple," I said, "whom do you suspect? You said seven."
"Quite so, I think so," said Miss Marple absently. "I think every one of us would suspect someone else. In fact, you'll see that these seven were suspects."
She didn't ask me who I suspected.
"The point is," she said, "that you have to explain it all. Everything has to be explained satisfactorily. If you have an inference that fits every fact, oh well, it must be true." .But it was extremely difficult. If it wasn't for that note..."
"A note?" I asked in surprise.
"Yes, you remember, I told you. That note has been tormenting me.
Something is wrong. "
"Of course," I said, "it can be explained now. The note was written at six-thirty-five, while the other hand—the murderer's hand—wrote six-twenty at the top of the page, making People make bad judgments. I think that's pretty clear."
"But even so," said Miss Marple, "it's all wrong."
"Why?"
"Listen," said Miss Marple, leaning forward eagerly. "I told you that Mrs. Protheroe, passing my garden, went up to the window, and looked in, but did not see Colonel Protheroe."
"Because he's sitting at his desk," I said.
"That's what made it all wrong. It was six-twenty. We agreed it wasn't until after six-thirty that he said he didn't want to wait any longer, so why was he sitting at his desk Woolen cloth?"
"I never thought of that," I said slowly.
"My dear Mr. Claremont, let us begin the case again. Mrs. Protheroe came to the window and thought the room was empty--she must have thought so, for otherwise she would never have Meet Mr Redding in the studio. It's not safe. If she thinks the room is empty, it must be absolutely quiet. There are three possibilities, aren't there?"
"You mean..."
"Well, the first possibility is that Colonel Protheroe is dead, but I don't think that's the most likely. First, he'll only be there about five minutes before she or I will hear the gunshots. Second, he's It is impossible not to see him who died by the desk.
The second possibility, of course, is that he is sitting at the desk writing a note, but in this case, it must be a completely different note.The note never said he couldn't wait.As for the third possibility—"
"How?" I asked.
"Well, the third possibility, of course, is that Mrs. Protheroe is right that the room is really empty."
"You mean he was shown into the room and then out, and then came back?"
"yes."
"But why did he do that?"
Miss Marple spread her hands in a gesture of bewilderment.
"That means looking at the case from a whole different angle," I said. "We often have to do that—about everything. Don't you think so?"
I didn't answer.I was thinking carefully about the three possibilities that Miss Marple mentioned just now.
The old lady sighed softly and stood up.
"I've got to go back. I'd love to chat with you for a while, but we didn't get into it, did we?"
"Honestly," I said, as I fetched her shawl, "the whole thing seems to me like a dizzying fog."
"Oh, I don't see it that way. I think, on the whole, an inference fits almost everything. That is, if you admit a coincidence--I think it's possible. Of course, how many It couldn't have been a coincidence."
"Do you really think that? I mean, about inferences?" I asked, looking at her.
"I admit that there is a flaw in my reasoning—a flaw that I have not yet overcome. Oh! If only the note had been something different." She sighed, shaking her head. She went to the window, absent-minded. He stretched out his hand caressing the withered plants on the table.
"You know, my dear Mr. Claremont, it should be watered quite often. Poor thing, it needs water so badly. Your maid should be watered every day. I suppose she's in charge?"
"She won't be bothered any more than looking after other things," I said.
"There are still some beginners," said Miss Marple.
"Yes," I said, "but Griselda was too stubborn to fire her. Her idea was that only a completely unsatisfactory maid would be willing to stay with us. But, Mary informed us one day that she was leaving."
"Indeed. I always thought she liked you both."
"I didn't notice it," I said, "but, in fact, it was Lettice Protheroe who pissed her off. Mary came back after the hearing, and found Lettice here, oh, They bickered."
"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Marple.She was about to step across the window when she stopped suddenly, a look of confusion on her face.
"Oh, dear!" she murmured to herself, "I'm a fool indeed. That's how it happened. Probably always has been."
"Would you please say it again?"
She turned a worried face and looked at me.
"Nothing. Just a sudden thought. I gotta go home and figure things out. You know? I've been pretty stupid, unbelievably stupid."
"I find that hard to believe," I said flatteringly.
I walked her past the window and across the lawn.
"Could you tell me what suddenly occurred to you?" I asked.
"I don't want to tell you just yet. You know I could still be wrong. But I don't think I will this time. We're at the garden gate, thank you very much. Please stay."
"Is the note still a stumbling block?" I asked, as she walked through the garden gate and closed it behind her.
She looked at me intently.
"A note? Oh! Of course it can't be a real note. I never thought of it that way.
Good night, Mr Clement. "
She walked quickly along the path leading to the house, leaving me behind and staring at her.
I was at a loss.
Notes:
Notes: