The Murder at the Vicarage

"I'm going to the police station now."
As I entered through the front door a murmur of voices caught my ear. I opened the drawing-room door.
On the sofa beside Griselda, conversing animatedly, sat Miss Gladys Cram. Her legs, which were encased in particularly shiny pink stockings, were crossed, and I had every opportunity of observing that she wore pink striped silk knickers.
"Hullo, Len," said Griselda.
"Good-morning, Mr. Clement," said Miss Cram. "Isn't the news about the colonel really too awful? Poor old gentleman."
"Miss Cram," said my wife, "very kindly came in to offer to help us with the Guides. We asked for helpers last Sunday, you remember."
I did remember, and I was convinced, and so, I knew from her tone, was Griselda, that the idea of enrolling herself among them would never have occurred to Miss Cram but for the exciting incident which had taken place at the Vicarage.
"I was only just saying to Mrs. Clement," went on Miss Cram, "you could have struck me all of a heap when I heard the news. A murder? I said. In this quiet one-horse village - for quiet it is, you must admit - not so much as a picture house, and as for Talkies! And then when I heard it was Colonel Protheroe - why, I simply couldn't believe it. He didn't seem the kind, somehow, to get murdered."
''And so," said Griselda, "Miss Cram came round to find out all about it."
I feared this plain speaking might offend the lady, but she merely flung her head back and laughed uproariously, showing every tooth she possessed.
"That's too bad. You're a sharp one, aren't you, Mrs. Clement? But it's only natural, isn't it, to want to hear the ins and out of a case like this? And I'm sure I'm willing enough to help with the Guides in any way you like. Exciting, that's what it is. I've been stagnating for a bit of fun. I have, really I have. Not that my job isn't a very good one, well paid, and Dr. Stone quite the gentleman in every way. But a girl wants a bit of life out of office hours, and except for you, Mrs. Clement, who is there in the place to talk to except a lot of old cats?"
"There's Lettice Protheroe," I said.
Gladys Cram tossed her head.
"She's too high and mighty for the likes of me. Fancies herself the county, and wouldn't demean herself by noticing a girl who had to work for her living. Not but what I did hear her talking of earning her living herself. And who'd employ her, I should like to know? Why, she'd be fired in less than a week. Unless she went as one of those mannequins, all dressed up and sidling about. She could do that, I expect."
"She'd make a very good mannequin," said Griselda. "She's got such a lovely figure." There's nothing of the cat about Griselda. "When was she talking of earning her own living?"
Miss Cram seemed momentarily discomfited, but recovered herself with her usual archness.
"That would be telling, wouldn't it?" she said. "But she did say so. Things not very happy at home, I fancy. Catch me living at home with a stepmother. I wouldn't sit down under it for a minute."
"Ah! but you're so high spirited and independent," said Griselda gravely, and I looked at her with suspicion.
Miss Cram was clearly pleased.
"That's right. That's me all over. Can be led, not driven. A palmist told me that not so very long ago. No. I'm not one to sit down and be bullied. And I've made it clear all along to Dr. Stone that I must have my regular times off. These scientific gentlemen, they think a girl's a kind of machine - half the time they just don't notice her or remember she's there."
"Do you find Dr. Stone pleasant to work with? It must be an interesting job if you are interested in archжology."
"Of course, I don't know much about it," confessed the girl. "It still seems to me that digging up people that are dead and have been dead for hundreds of years isn't - well, it seems a bit nosey, doesn't it? And there's Dr. Stone so wrapped up in it all that half the time he'd forget his meals if it wasn't for me."
"Is he at the barrow this morning?" asked Griselda.
Miss Cram shook her head.
"A bit under the weather this morning," she explained. "Not up to doing any work. That means a holiday for little Gladys."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Oh! it's nothing much. There's not going to be a second death. But do tell me, Mr. Clement, I hear you've been with the police all morning. What do they think?"
"Well," I said slowly, "there is still a little - uncertainty."
"Ah!" cried Miss Cram. "Then they don't think it is Mr. Lawrence Redding after all. So handsome, isn't he? Just like a movie star. And such a nice smile when he says good-morning to you. I really couldn't believe my ears when I heard the police had arrested him. Still, one has always heard they're very stupid - the county police."
"You can hardly blame them in this instance," I said. ''Mr. Redding came in and gave himself up."
"What?" the girl was clearly dumbfounded. "Well - of all the poor fish! If I'd committed a murder, I wouldn't go straight off and give myself up. I should have thought Lawrence Redding would have had more sense. To give in like that! What did he kill Protheroe for? Did he say? Was it just a quarrel?"
"It's not absolutely certain that he did kill him," I said.
"But surely - if he says he has - why really, Mr. Clement, he ought to know."
"He ought to, certainly," I agreed. "But the police are not satisfied with his story."
"But why should he say he'd done it if he hasn't?"
That was a point on which I had no intention of enlightening Miss Cram. Instead I said rather vaguely:
"I believe that in all prominent murder cases, the police receive numerous letters from people accusing themselves of the crime."
Miss Cram's reception of this piece of information was:
"They must be chumps!" in a tone of wonder and scorn.
"Well," she said with a sigh, "I suppose I must be trotting along." She rose. "Mr. Redding accusing himself of the murder will be a bit of news for Dr. Stone."
"Is he interested? " asked Griselda.
Miss Cram furrowed her brows perplexedly.
"He's a queer one. You never can tell with him. All wrapped up in the past. He'd a hundred times rather look at a nasty old bronze knife out of one of those humps of ground than he would see the knife Crippen cut up his wife with, supposing he had a chance to."
"Well," I said, "I must confess I agree with him."
Miss Cram's eyes expressed incomprehension and slight contempt. Then, with reiterated good-byes, she took her departure.
"Not such a bad sort, really," said Griselda, as the door closed behind her. "Terribly common, of course, but one of those big, bouncing, good-humoured girls that you can't dislike. I wonder what really brought her here?"
"Curiosity."
"Yes, I suppose so. Now, Len, ten me all about it. I'm simply dying to hear."
I sat down and recited faithfully all the happenings of the morning, Griselda interpolating the narrative with little exclamations of surprise and interest.
"So it was Anne Lawrence was after all along! Not Lettice. How blind we've all been! That must have been what old Miss Marple was hinting at yesterday. Don't you think so?"
"Yes," I said, averting my eyes.
Mary entered.
"There's a couple of men here - come from a newspapers so they say. Do you want to see them?"
"No," I said, "certainly not. Refer them to Inspector Slack at the police station."
Mary nodded and turned away.
"And when you've got rid of them, I said, come back here. There's something I want to ask you."
Mary nodded again.
It was some few minutes before she returned.
"Had a job getting rid of them," she said. "Persistent. You never saw anything like it. Wouldn't take no for an answer."
"I expect we shall be a good deal troubled with them," I said. ''Now, Mary, what I want to ask you is this: Are you quite certain you didn't hear the shot yesterday evening?"