“Len, I’ve been thinking. How badly someone must have hated Anne Protheroe!”
“Hated her?”
“Yes. Don’t you see? There’s no real evidence against Lawrence—all the evidence against him is what you might call accidental. He just happens to take it into his head to come here. If he hadn’t—well, no one would have thought of connecting him with the crime. But Anne is different. Suppose someone knew that she was here at exactly 6:20—the clock and the time on the letter—everything pointing to her. I don’t think it was only because of an alibi it was moved to that exact time—I think there was more in it than that—a direct attempt to fasten the business on her. If it hadn’t been for Miss Marple saying she hadn’t got the pistol with her and noticing that she was only a moment before going down to the studio—Yes, if it hadn’t been for that. …” She shivered again. “Len—I feel that someone hated Anne Protheroe very much. I—I don’t like it.”