Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

Griselda and Dennis haven't come home yet.I realized that the most natural thing would be for me to go over with Miss Marple and call them home.She and I have been so engrossed in solving this murder mystery that we have forgotten that there are other people in the world besides us. I was standing in the living room, wondering if I should call them now, when the doorbell rang. I went to the door and saw a letter in the mailbox.This, I thought, was why the doorbell rang, and I took out the letter. But when I got the letter, the doorbell rang again, and I hastily stuffed the letter into my pocket and opened the front door.

It was Colonel Melchett. "Hello, Claremont. I'm driving home from town. Wanted to come in and see if you could give me something to drink." "Happy to oblige," I said. "Come to the study." He took off the leather jacket he was wearing and followed me into the study.I fetch whiskey and soda, and two glasses.Melchett stood by the fireplace with his legs spread apart, plucking his thick beard with his hands. "I've got some news for you, Claremont. The most startling news you've ever heard. But I'll tell you later. How's the situation here? Are there any other old ladies pressing on the case?" ?”

"They haven't done too badly," I said. "Anyway, one of them thinks she's got something." "Is it our friend Miss Marple?" "yes." "Women like her always think they know it all," said Colonel Melchett. He took a sip of the whiskey and soda with relish. "Maybe I'm asking the question of unnecessary interference," I said, "but I think the boy who sells the fish was killed. I mean, if the murderer left by the front door, the boy might have seen it." "Slack asked him enough," Melchett said, "but the boy said he didn't see anyone. It was unlikely he did. A murderer wouldn't just catch his attention. There's a Lots of shelter. He'd make sure to see if anyone was in the way first. The boy had to go to the vicarage, the Haydocks, Mrs. Price Ridley. It was easy to avoid him."

"Yes," I said, "I think so." "On the other hand," continued Melchett, "if it happened to be that scoundrel Archer, and little Fred Jackson saw him around, I doubt he would cover him. Archer was His cousin." "Do you really doubt Archer?" "Well, you know, old Protheroe gave Archer a hard stab. They have a deep grudge. Kindness is not Protheroe's forte." "Yes," I said, "he was a heartless man." "What I'm trying to say," said Melchett, "is that you can forgive and forgive. The law is the law, of course, but there's no harm in thinking the best of people. That's something Protheroe can never do. "

"He's proud of it," I said. After a short pause, I asked: "What do you mean by 'amazing news'?" "Oh, amazing indeed. You know that letter that Protheroe left unfinished when he was murdered?" "Remember." "We have invited an expert to determine whether the words 'twenty past six' were added by someone else. Of course, we also sent a sample of Prothero's handwriting. What do you want the result of the identification? Then That letter was not written by Protheroe at all." "You mean the letter was a forgery?"

"It's a forgery. They think the words 'twenty past six' were written by another man, but they can't be sure. The letterhead is in a different ink, but the letter itself is A forgery. Protheroe never wrote." "Are they sure?" "Oh, the experts are always sure. You know what experts look like! Oh! But they're pretty sure." "Amazing," I said.Later, I suddenly remembered one thing. "Wow," said I, "I now remember that Mrs. Protheroe once said that it didn't look like her husband's handwriting at all, and I didn't mind."

"real?" "I think that's a stupid thing women say. If there's anything true, it's that Prothero wrote that note." We look at each other. "How strange," I said slowly, "that Miss Marple said tonight that there was nothing quite right about that note." "Nasty woman! Even if she committed the crime, it is impossible to know more." At this time, the phone rang.The telephone has always had an odd temper, and it was ringing obstinately now, as if calling from an old maid. I went over and picked up the microphone. "The Vicarage," I said, "who are you?"

A strange, thin and hysterical voice came from the microphone: "I want to confess," said the voice. "My God, I have to confess." "Hey," I said, "hey. Listen, don't hang up. Give me the number, please?" "Don't know," said a languid voice, adding, "Sorry to bother you." I put down the receiver and said to Melchett: "You said you would go mad if anyone else said you were guilty of this crime." "How about it?" "Another person wanted to surrender...the telephone company hung up the phone."

Melchett rushed over and grabbed the phone. "I'm going to speak to them." "Please," I said, "you might have some effect. You try it. I've got to get out. I have a feeling, I know the sound."