The Complete Miss Marple Collection by Agatha Christie

father.”
    â€œWe don’t know what the true facts of the case may be, Griselda.”
    â€œYou do believe it, Len! Oh! How can you! I tell you, I’m sure Lawrence never touched a hair of his head.”
    â€œRemember, I met him just outside the gate. He looked like a madman.”
    â€œYes, but—oh! It’s impossible.”
    â€œThere’s the clock, too,” I said. “This explains the clock. Lawrence must have put it back to 6:20 with the idea of making an alibi for himself. Look how Inspector Slack fell into the trap.”
    â€œYou’re wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about that clock being fast. ‘Keeping the Vicar up to time!’ he used to say. Lawrence would never have made the mistake of putting it back to 6:22. He’d have put the hands somewhere possible—like a quarter to seven.”
    â€œHe mayn’t have known what time Protheroe got here. Or he may have simply forgotten about the clock being fast.”
    Griselda disagreed.
    â€œNo, if you were committing a murder, you’d be awfully careful about things like that.”
    â€œYou don’t know, my dear,” I said mildly. “You’ve never done one.”
    Before Griselda could reply, a shadow fell across the breakfast table, and a very gentle voice said:
    â€œI hope I am not intruding. You must forgive me. But in the sad circumstances—the very sad circumstances….”
    It was our neighbour, Miss Marple. Accepting our polite disclaimers, she stepped in through the window, and I drew up a chair for her. She looked faintly flushed and quite excited.
    â€œVery terrible, is it not? Poor Colonel Protheroe. Not a very pleasant man, perhaps, and not exactly popular, but it’s none the less sad for that. And actually shot in the Vicarage study, I understand?”
    I said that that had indeed been the case.
    â€œBut the dear Vicar was not here at the time?” Miss Marple questioned of Griselda. I explained where I had been.
    â€œMr. Dennis is not with you this morning?” said Miss Marple, glancing round.
    â€œDennis,” said Griselda, “fancies himself as an amateur detective. He is very excited about a footprint he found in one of the flower beds, and I fancy has gone off to tell the police about it.”
    â€œDear, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Such a to-do, is it not? And Mr. Dennis thinks he knows who committed the crime. Well, I suppose we all think we know.”
    â€œYou mean it is obvious?” said Griselda.
    â€œNo, dear, I didn’t mean that at all. I dare say everyone thinks it is somebody different. That is why it is so important to have proofs. I, for instance, am quite convinced I know who did it. But I must admit I haven’t one shadow of proof. One must, I know, be very careful of what one says at a time like this—criminal libel, don’t they call it? I had made up my mind to be most careful with Inspector Slack. He sent word he would come and see me this morning, but now he has just phoned up to say it won’t be necessary after all.”
    â€œI suppose, since the arrest, it isn’t necessary,” I said.
    â€œThe arrest?” Miss Marple leaned forward, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I didn’t know there had been an arrest.”
    It is so seldom that Miss Marple is worse informed than we are that I had taken it for granted that she would know the latest developments.
    â€œIt seems we have been talking at cross purposes,” I said. “Yes, there has been an arrest—Lawrence Redding.”
    â€œLawrence Redding?” Miss Marple seemed very surprised. “Now I should not have thought—”
    Griselda interrupted vehemently.
    â€œI can’t believe it even now. No, not though he has actually confessed.”
    â€œConfessed?” said Miss Marple. “You say he has confessed? Oh! dear, I see I have been sadly at sea—yes, sadly at sea.”
    â€œI