with Dr. Stone to the Blue Boar and they had a drink together. He left there at twenty minutes to seven, went rapidly along the village street and down the road to the Vicarage. Lots of people saw him.”
“Not down the back lane this time?” commented the colonel.
“No—he came to the front, asked for the vicar, heard Colonel Protheroe was there, went in—and shot him—just as he said he did! That’s the truth of it, and we needn’t look further.”
Melchett shook his head.
“There’s the doctor’s evidence. You can’t get away from that. Protheroe was shot not later than six-thirty.”
“Oh, doctors!” Inspector Slack looked contemptuous. “If you’re going to believe doctors. Take out all your teeth—that’s what they do nowadays—and then say they’re very sorry, but all the time it was appendicitis. Doctors!”