Read The Murder at the Vicarage for Free Online Page B

much better than he had been for some days, and his wife flatly denied
     telephoning for me at all.”
    Haydock drew his brows together.
    “That's suggestive Ñ very. You were being got out of the way. Where's your wife?”
    “Gone up to London for the day.”
    “And the maid?”
    “In the kitchen Ñ right at the other side of the house.”
    “Where she wouldn't be likely to hear anything that went on in here. It's a nasty
     business. Who knew that Protheroe was coming here this evening?”
    “He referred to the fact this morning in the village street at the top of his voice as
     usual.”
    “Meaning that the whole village knew it? Which they always do in any case. Know of any one
     who had a grudge against him? ”
    The thought of Lawrence Redding's white face and staring eyes came to my mind. I was
     spared answering by a noise of shuffling feet in the passage outside.
    “The police,” said my friend, and rose to his feet.
    Our police force were represented by Constable Hurst, looking very important but slightly
     worried.
    “Good?evening, gentlemen,” he greeted us. “The Inspector will be here any minute. In the
     meantime I'll follow out his instructions. I understand Colonel Protheroe's been found
     shot Ñ in the Vicarage.”
    He paused and directed a look of cold suspicion at me, which I tried to meet with a
     suitable bearing of conscious innocence.
    He moved over to the writing table and announced:
    “Nothing to be touched until the Inspector comes.”
    For the convenience of my readers I append a sketch plan of the room.
    PLAN B
    He got out his notebook, moistened his pencil and looked expectantly at both of us.
    I repeated my story of discovering the body. When he had got it all down, which took some
     time, he turned to the doctor.
    “In your opinion, Dr. Haydock, what was the cause of death?”
    “Shot through the head at close quarters.”
    “And the weapon?”
    “I can't say with certainty until we get the bullet out. But I should say in all
     probability the bullet was fired from a pistol of small calibre Ñ say a Mauser .25.”
    I started, remembering our conversation of the night before, and Lawrence Redding's
     admission. The police constable brought his cold, fish?like eye round on me.
    “Did you speak, sir?”
    I shook my head. Whatever suspicions I might have, they were no more than suspicions, and
     as such to be kept to myself.
    “When, in your opinion, did the tragedy occur?”
    The doctor hesitated for a minute before he answered. Then he said:
    “The man has been dead just over half an hour, I should say. Certainly not longer.”
    Hurst turned to me. “Did the girl hear anything?”
    “As far as I know she heard nothing,” I said. “But you bad better ask her.”
    But at this moment Inspector Slack arrived, having come by car from Much Benham, two miles
     away.
    All that I can say of Inspector Slack is that never did a man more determinedly strive to
     contradict his name. He was a dark man, restless and energetic in manner, with black eyes
     that snapped ceaselessly. His manner was rude and overbearing in the extreme.
    He acknowledged our greetings with a curt nod, seized his subordinate's notebook, perused
     it, exchanged a few curt words with him in an undertone, then strode over to the body.
    “Everything's been messed up and pulled about, I suppose,” he said.
    “I've touched nothing,” said Haydock.
    “No more have I,” I said.
    The Inspector busied himself for some time peering at the things on the table and
     examining the pool of blood.
    “Ah!” he said in a tone of triumph. “Here's what we want. Clock overturned when he fell
     forward. That'll give us the time of the crime. Twenty?two minutes past six. What time did
     you say death occurred, doctor?”
    “I said about half an hour, but Ñ”
    The Inspector consulted his watch.
    “Five minutes past seven. I got word about ten minutes ago, at five minutes to seven.
     Discovery of the