“I expect someone overheard something, though, don’t you?” said Miss Marple. “I mean, somebody always does . I think that is where Mr. Redding may find out something.”
“But Mrs. Protheroe knows nothing.”
“I didn’t mean Anne Protheroe,” said Miss Marple. “I meant the women servants. They do so hate telling anything to the police. But a nice-looking young man—you’ll excuse me, Mr. Redding—and one who has been unjustly suspected—oh! I’m sure they’d tell him at once.”
“I’ll go and have a try this evening,” said Lawrence with vigour. “Thanks for the hint, Miss Marple. I’ll go after—well, after a little job the vicar and I are going to do.”
It occurred to me that we had better be getting on with it. I said goodbye to Miss Marple and we entered the woods once more.
First we went up the path till we came to a new spot where it certainly looked as though someone had left the path on the right-hand side. Lawrence explained that he had already followed this particular trail and found it led nowhere, but he added that we might as well try again. He might have been wrong.
It was, however, as he had said. After about ten or twelve yards any sign of broken and trampled leaves petered out. It was from this spot that Lawrence had broken back towards the path to meet me earlier in the afternoon.
We emerged on the path again and walked a little farther along it. Again we came to a place where the bushes seemed disturbed. The signs were very slight but, I thought, unmistakable. This time the trail was more promising. By a devious course, it wound steadily nearer to the Vicarage. Presently we arrived at where the bushes grew thickly up to the wall. The