first he and then she both confessed in the most foolish way—well, I was more relieved than I could say. I had been wrong. And I began to think of other people who had a possible motive for wishing Colonel Protheroe out of the way.”
“The seven suspects!” I murmured.
She smiled at me.
“Yes, indeed. There was that man Archer—not likely, but primed with drink (so inflaming) you never know. And, of course, there was your Mary. She’s been walking out with Archer a long time, and she’s a queer-tempered girl. Motive and opportunity—why, she was alone in the house! Old Mrs. Archer could easily have got the pistol from Mr. Redding’s house for either of those two. And then, of course, there was Lettice—wanting freedom and money to do as she liked. I’ve known many cases where the most beautiful and ethereal girls have shown next to no moral scruple—though, of course, gentlemen never wish to believe it of them.”
I winced.
“And then there was the tennis racquet,” continued Miss Marple.
“The tennis racquet?”
“Yes, the one Mrs. Price Ridley’s Clara saw lying on the grass by the Vicarage gate. That looked as though Mr. Dennis had got back earlier from his tennis party than he said. Boys of sixteen are so very susceptible and so very unbalanced. Whatever the motive—for Lettice’s sake or for yours, it was a possibility. And then, of course, there was poor Mr. Hawes and you—not both of you naturally—but alternatively, as the lawyers say.”
“Me?” I exclaimed in lively astonishment.