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could have been drinking, but repudiated the idea
     immediately
    “Hullo,” I said, “have you been to see me again? Sorry I was out. Come back now. I've got
     to see Protheroe about some accounts Ñ but I dare say we shan't be long.”
    “Protheroe,” he said. He began to laugh. “Protheroe? You're going to see Protheroe? Oh!
     you'll see Protheroe all right. Oh! my God Ñ yes.”
    I stared. Instinctively I stretched out a hand towards him. He drew sharply aside.
    “No,” he almost cried out. “I've got to get away Ñ to think. I've got to think. I must
     think.”
    He broke into a run and vanished rapidly down the road towards the village, leaving me
     staring after him, my first idea of drunkenness recurring.
    Finally I shook my head, and went on to the Vicarage. The front door is always left open,
     but nevertheless I rang the bell. Mary came, wiping her hands on her apron.
    “So you're back at last,” she observed.
    “Is Colonel Protheroe here?” I asked.
    “In the study. Been here since a quarter past six.”
    “And Mr. Redding's been here?”
    “Come a few minutes ago. Asked for you. I told him you'd be back any minute and that
     Colonel Protheroe was waiting in the study, and he said he'd wait too, and went there.
     He's there now.”
    “No, he isn't,” I said. “I've just met him going down the road.”
    “Well, I didn't hear him leave. He can't have stayed more than a couple of minutes. The
     mistress isn't back from town yet.”
    I nodded absentmindedly. Mary beat a retreat to the kitchen quarters and I went down the
     passage and opened the study door.
    After the dusk of the passage, the evening sunshine that was pouring into the room made my
     eyes blink. I took a step or two across the floor and then stopped dead.
    For a moment I could hardly take in the meaning of the scene before me.
    Colonel Protheroe was lying sprawled across my writing table in a horrible unnatural
     position. There was a pool of some dark fluid on the desk by his head, and it was slowly
     dripping on to the floor with a horrible drip, drip, drip.
    I pulled myself together and went across to him. His skin was cold to the touch. The hand
     that I raised fell back lifeless. The man was dead Ñ shot through the head.
    I went to the door and called Mary. When she came I ordered her to run as fast as she
     could and fetch Dr. Haydock, who lives just at the corner of the road. I told her there
     had been an accident.
    Then I went back and closed the door to await the doctor's coming.
    Fortunately, Mary found him at home. Haydock is a good fellow, a big, fine, strapping man
     with an honest, rugged face.
    His eyebrows went up when I pointed silently across the room. But, like a true doctor, he
     showed no signs of emotion. He bent over the dead man, examining him rapidly. Then he
     straightened himself and looked across at me.
    “Well?” I asked.
    “He's dead right enough Ñ been dead half an hour, I should say.”
    “Suicide?”
    “Out of the question, man. Look at the position of the wound. Besides, if he shot himself,
     where's the weapon?”
    True enough, there was no sign of any such thing.
    “We'd better not mess around with anything,” said Haydock. “I'd better ring up the police.”
    He picked up the receiver and spoke into it. He gave the facts as curtly as possible and
     then replaced the telephone and came across to where I was sitting.
    “This is a rotten business. How did you come to find him?”
    I explained. “Is Ñ is it murder?” I asked rather faintly.
    “Looks like it. Mean to say, what else can it be? Extraordinary business. Wonder who had a
     down on the poor old fellow. Of course I know he wasn't popular, but one isn't often
     murdered for that reason Ñ worse luck.”
    “There's one rather curious thing,” I said. “I was telephoned for this afternoon to go to
     a dying parishioner. When I got there every one was very surprised to see me. The sick man
     was very