The Complete Miss Marple Collection by Agatha Christie Page B

never really thought anyone would murder father,” said Lettice. She was obviously taking a pride in letting no hint of distress or emotion escape her. “Lots of people wanted to, I’m sure. There are times when I’d have liked to do it myself.”
    â€œWon’t you have something to eat or drink, Lettice?” asked Griselda.
    â€œNo, thank you. I just drifted round to see if you’d got my beret here—a queer little yellow one. I think I left it in the study the other day.”
    â€œIf you did, it’s there still,” said Griselda. “Mary never tidies anything.”
    â€œI’ll go and see,” said Lettice, rising. “Sorry to be such a bother, but I seem to have lost everything else in the hat line.”
    â€œI’m afraid you can’t get it now,” I said. “Inspector Slack has locked the room up.”
    â€œOh, what a bore! Can’t we get in through the window?”
    â€œI’m afraid not. It is latched on the inside. Surely, Lettice, a yellow beret won’t be much good to you at present?”
    â€œYou mean mourning and all that? I shan’t bother about mourning. I think it’s an awfully archaic idea. It’s a nuisance about Lawrence—yes, it’s a nuisance.”
    She got up and stood frowning abstractedly.
    â€œI suppose it’s all on account of me and my bathing dress. So silly, the whole thing….”
    Griselda opened her mouth to say something, but for some unexplained reason shut it again.
    A curious smile came to Lettice’s lips.
    â€œI think,” she said softly, “I’ll go home and tell Anne about Lawrence being arrested.”
    She went out of the window again. Griselda turned to Miss Marple. “Why did you step on my foot?”
    The old lady was smiling.
    â€œI thought you were going to say something, my dear. And it is often so much better to let things develop on their own lines. I don’t think, you know, that that child is half so vague as she pretends to be. She’s got a very definite idea in her head and she’s acting upon it.”
    Mary gave a loud knock on the dining room door and entered hard upon it.
    â€œWhat is it?” said Griselda. “And Mary, you must remember not to knock on doors. I’ve told you about it before.”
    â€œThought you might be busy,” said Mary. “Colonel Melchett’s here. Wants to see the master.”
    Colonel Melchett is Chief Constable of the county. I rose at once.
    â€œI thought you wouldn’t like my leaving him in the hall, so I put him in the drawing room,” went on Mary. “Shall I clear?”
    â€œNot yet,” said Griselda. “I’ll ring.”
    She turned to Miss Marple and I left the room.

Seven
    C olonel Melchett is a dapper little man with a habit of snorting suddenly and unexpected. He has red hair and rather keen bright blue eyes.
    â€œGood morning, Vicar,” he said. “Nasty business, eh? Poor old Protheroe. Not that I liked him. I didn’t. Nobody did, for that matter. Nasty bit of work for you, too. Hope it hasn’t upset your missus?”
    I said Griselda had taken it very well.
    â€œThat’s lucky. Rotten thing to happen in one’s house. I must say I’m surprised at young Redding—doing it the way he did. No sort of consideration for anyone’s feelings.”
    A wild desire to laugh came over me, but Colonel Melchett evidently saw nothing odd in the idea of a murderer being considerate, so I held my peace.
    â€œI must say I was rather taken aback when I heard the fellow had marched in and given himself up,” continued Colonel Melchett, dropping on to a chair.
    â€œHow did it happen exactly?”
    â€œLast night. About ten o’clock. Fellow rolls in, throws down a pistol, and says: ‘Here I am. I did it.’ Just like that.”
    â€œWhat account does he give of the business?”
    â€œPrecious