“Good afternoon, madam,” he began.
“Good afternoon, Inspector.”
At this moment, he caught sight of me and scowled. There is no doubt about it, Slack does not like me.
“You have no objection to the Vicar’s presence, I hope?”
I suppose that Slack could not very well say he had.
“No-o,” he said grudgingly. “Though, perhaps, it might be better—”
Mrs. Lestrange paid no attention to the hint.
“What can I do for you, Inspector?” she asked.
“It’s this way, madam. Murder of Colonel Protheroe. I’m in charge of the case and making inquiries.”
Mrs. Lestrange nodded.
“Just as a matter of form, I’m asking every one just where they were yesterday evening between the hours of 6 and 7 p.m. Just as a matter of form, you understand.”
“You want to know where I was yesterday evening between six and seven?”
“If you please, madam.”
“Let me see.” She reflected a moment. “I was here. In this house.”
“Oh!” I saw the Inspector’s eyes flash. “And your maid—you have only one maid, I think—can confirm that statement?”
“No, it was Hilda’s afternoon out.”
“I see.”
“So, unfortunately, you will have to take my word for it,” said Mrs. Lestrange pleasantly.
“You seriously declare that you were at home all the afternoon?”
“You said between six and seven, Inspector. I was out for a walk early in the afternoon. I returned some time before five o’clock.”
“Then if a lady—Miss Hartnell, for instance—were to declare that she came here about six o’clock, rang the bell, but could make no one hear and was compelled to go away again—you’d say she was mistaken, eh?”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Lestrange shook her head.
“But—”
“If your maid is in, she can say not at home. If one is alone and does not happen to want to see callers—well, the only thing to do is to let them ring.”
Inspector Slack looked slightly baffled.
“Elderly women bore me dreadfully,” said Mrs. Lestrange. “And Miss Hartnell is particularly boring. She must have rung at least half a dozen times before she went away.”
She smiled sweetly at Inspector Slack.
The Inspector shifted his ground.
“Then if anyone were to say they’d seen you out and about then—”
“Oh! but they didn’t, did they?” She was quick to sense his weak point. “No one saw me out, because I was in, you see.”
“Quite so, madam.”
The Inspector hitched his chair a little nearer.
“Now I understand, Mrs. Lestrange, that you paid a visit to Colonel Protheroe at Old Hall the night before his death.”
Mrs. Lestrange said calmly: “That is so.”
“Can you indicate to me the nature of that interview?”
“It concerned a private matter, Inspector.”
“I’m afraid I must ask you tell me the nature of that private matter.”
“I shall not tell you anything of the kind. I will only assure you that nothing which was said at that interview could possibly have any bearing upon the crime.”
“I don’t think you are the best judge of that.”
“At any rate, you will have to take my word for it, Inspector.”
“In fact, I have to take your word about everything.”
“It does seem rather like it,” she agreed, still with the same smiling calm.
Inspector Slack grew very red.
“This is a serious matter, Mrs. Lestrange. I want the truth—” He banged his fist down on a table. “And I mean to get it.”
Mrs. Lestrange said nothing at all.
“Don’t you see, madam, that you’re putting yourself in a very fishy position?”
Still Mrs. Lestrange said nothing.
“You’ll be required to give evidence at the inquest.”
“Yes.”
Just the monosyllable. Unemphatic, uninterested. The Inspector altered his tactics.
“You were acquainted with Colonel Protheroe?”
“Yes, I was acquainted with him.”
“Well acquainted?”
There was a pause before she said:
“I had not seen him for several years.”
“You were acquainted with Mrs. Protheroe?”
“No.”
“You’ll excuse me, but it was a very unusual time to make a call.”
“Not from my point of view.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I wanted to see Colonel Protheroe alone. I did not want to see Mrs. Protheroe or Miss Protheroe. I considered this the best way of accomplishing my object.”
“Why didn’t you want to see Mrs. or Miss Protheroe?”
“That, Inspector, is my business.”
“Then you refuse to say more?”
“Absolutely.”
Inspector Slack rose.
“You’ll be putting yourself in a nasty position, madam, if you’re not careful. All this looks bad—it looks very bad.”
She laughed. I could have told Inspector Slack that this was not the kind of woman who is easily frightened.
“Well,” he said, extricating himself with dignity, “don’t say I haven’t warned you, that’s all. Good afternoon, madam, and mind you we’re going to get at the truth.”
He departed. Mrs. Lestrange rose and held out her hand.
“I am going to send you away—yes, it is better so. You see, it is too late for advice now. I h
ave chosen my part.”
She repeated in a rather forlorn voice:
“I have chosen my part.”
Sixteen
As I went out I ran into Haydock on the doorstep. He glanced sharply after Slack, who was just passing through the gate, and demanded: “Has he been questioning her?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been civil, I hope?”
Civility, to my mind, is an art which Inspector Slack has never learnt, but I presumed that according to his own lights, civil he had been, and anyway, I didn’t want to upset Haydock any further. He was looking worried and upset as it was. So I said he had been quite civil.
Haydock nodded and passed on into the house, and I went on down the village street, where I soon caught up to the inspector. I fancy that he was walking slowly on purpose. Much as he dislikes me, he is not the man to let dislike stand in the way of acquiring any useful information.
“Do you know anything about the lady?” he asked me point blank.
I said I knew nothing whatever.
“She’s never said anything about why she came here to live?”
“No.”
“Yet you go and see her?”
“It is one of my duties to call on my parishioners,” I replied, evading to remark that I had been sent for.
“H’m, I suppose it is.” He was silent for a minute or two and then, unable to resist discussing his recent failure, he went on: “Fishy business, it looks to me.”
“You think so?”
“If you ask me, I say ‘blackmail.’ Seems funny, when you think of what Colonel Protheroe was always supposed to be. But there, you never can tell. He wouldn’t be the first churchwarden who’d led a double life.”
Faint remembrances of Miss Marple’s remarks on the same subject floated through my mind.
“You really think that’s likely?”
“Well, it fits the facts, sir. Why did a smart, well-dressed lady come down to this quiet little hole? Why did she go and see him at that funny time of day? Why did she avoid seeing Mrs. and Miss Protheroe? Yes, it all hangs together. Awkward for her to admit—blackmail’s a punishable offence. But we’ll get the truth out of her. For all we know it may have a very important bearing on the case. If Colonel Protheroe had some guilty secret in his life—something disgraceful—well, you can see for yourself what a field it opens up.”