Murder At the Vicarage by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie [Christie, Agatha]
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780553350067
Publisher: Bantam Doubleday Dell
Published: 2008-06-23T11:49:38+00:00

The Murder at the Vicarage

Chapter XVII

Inspector Slack came round to see me the following morning. He is, I think, thawing towards me. In time, he may forget the incident of the clock.

“Well, sir,” he greeted me. “I've traced that telephone call that you received.”

“Indeed?” I said eagerly.

“It's rather odd. It was put through from the North Lodge of Old Hall. Now that lodge is empty, the lodgekeepers have been pensioned off and the new lodgekeepers aren't in yet. The place was empty and convenient Ñ a window at the back was open. No fingerprints on the instrument itself Ñ it had been wiped clear. That's suggestive.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that it shows that call was put through deliberately to get you out of the way. Therefore the murder was carefully planned in advance. If it had been just a harmless practical joke, the fingerprints wouldn't have been wiped off so carefully.”

“No. I see that.”

“It also shows that the murderer was well acquainted with Old Hall and its surroundings. It wasn't Mrs. Protheroe who put that call through. I've accounted for every moment of her time that afternoon. There are half a dozen servants who can swear that she was at home up till five?thirty. Then the car came round and drove Colonel Protheroe and her to the village. The colonel went to see Quinton, the vet, about one of the horses. Mrs. Protheroe did some ordering at the grocers and at the fish shop, and from there came straight down the back lane where Miss Marple saw her. All the shops agree she carried no handbag with her. The old lady was right.”

“She usually is,” I said mildly.

“And Miss Protheroe was over at Much Benham at 5.30.”

“Quite so,” I said. “My nephew was there too.”

“That disposes of her. The maids seems all right Ñ a bit hysterical and upset, but what can you expect? Of course, I've got my eye on the butler Ñ what with giving notice and all. But I can't think he knows anything about it.”

“Your inquiries seem to have had rather a negative result, inspector.”

“They do and they do not, sir. There's one very queer thing has turned up Ñ quite unexpectedly, I may say.”

“Yes?”

“You remember the fuss that Mrs. Price Ridley, who lives next door to you, was kicking up yesterday morning? About being rung up on the telephone?”

“Yes?” I said.

“Well, we traced the call just to calm her Ñ and where on this earth do you think it was put through from?”

“A call office?” I hazarded.

“No, Mr. Clement. That call was put through from Mr. Lawrence Redding's cottage.”

“What?” I exclaimed, surprised.

“Yes. A bit odd, isn't it? Mr. Redding had nothing to do with it. At that time, 6.30, he was on his way to the Blue Boar with Dr. Stone in full view of the village. But there it is. Suggestive, oh? Someone walked into that empty cottage and used the telephone, who was it? That's two queer telephone calls in one day. Makes you think there's some connection between them.

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