“Yes. Yes—of course. But who can one imagine doing such a dreadful thing?”
I shook my head.
“Colonel Protheroe was not a popular man, I know that. But murder! For murder—one would need a very strong motive.”
“So I should imagine,” I said.
“Who could have such a motive? Have the police any idea?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“He might have made enemies, you know. The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that he was the kind of man to have enemies. He had a reputation on the Bench for being very severe.”
“I suppose he had.”
“Why, don’t you remember, sir? He was telling you yesterday morning about having been threatened by that man Archer.”
“Now I come to think of it, so he did,” I said. “Of course, I remember. You were quite near us at the time.”
“Yes, I overheard what he was saying. Almost impossible to help it with Colonel Protheroe. He had such a very loud voice, hadn’t he? I remember being impressed by your own words. That when his time came, he might have justice meted out to him instead of mercy.”
“Did I say that?” I asked, frowning. My remembrance of my own words was slightly different.
“You said it very impressively, sir. I was struck by your words. Justice is a terrible thing. And to think the poor man was struck down shortly afterwards. It’s almost as though you had a premonition.”