Miss Marple 3-Book Collection 1: The Murder at the Vicarage, The Body in the Library, The Moving Finger

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Агата Кристи

Год написания книги

2019

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Manning was a nice lad, not more than twenty-five or six years of age. He was inclined to be awed by the Inspector.

‘Now, then, my lad,’ said Slack, ‘I want a little information from you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ stammered the chauffeur. ‘Certainly, sir.’

If he had committed the murder himself he could not have been more alarmed.

‘You took your master to the village yesterday?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Five-thirty.’

‘Mrs Protheroe went too?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You went straight to the village?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You didn’t stop anywhere on the way?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What did you do when you got there?’

‘The Colonel got out and told me he wouldn’t want the car again. He’d walk home. Mrs Protheroe had some shopping to do. The parcels were put in the car. Then she said that was all, and I drove home.’

‘Leaving her in the village?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What time was that?’

‘A quarter past six, sir. A quarter past exactly.’

‘Where did you leave her?’

‘By the church, sir.’

‘Had the Colonel mentioned at all where he was going?’

‘He said something about having to see the vet…something to do with one of the horses.’

‘I see. And you drove straight back here?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There are two entrances to Old Hall, by the South Lodge and by the North Lodge. I take it that going to the village you would go by the South Lodge?’

‘Yes, sir, always.’

‘And you came back the same way?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘H’m. I think that’s all. Ah! Here’s Miss Protheroe.’

Lettice drifted towards us.

‘I want the Fiat, Manning,’ she said. ‘Start her for me, will you?’

‘Very good, miss.’

He went towards a two-seater and lifted the bonnet.

‘Just a minute, Miss Protheroe,’ said Slack. ‘It’s necessary that I should have a record of everybody’s movements yesterday afternoon. No offence meant.’

Lettice stared at him.

‘I never know the time of anything,’ she said.

‘I understand you went out soon after lunch yesterday?’

She nodded.

‘Where to, please?’

‘To play tennis.’

‘Who with?’

‘The Hartley Napiers.’

‘At Much Benham?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you returned?’

‘I don’t know. I tell you I never know these things.’

‘You returned,’ I said, ‘about seven-thirty.’

‘That’s right,’ said Lettice. ‘In the middle of the shemozzle. Anne having fits and Griselda supporting her.’