wasn’t popular, but one isn’t often murdered for that reason—worse luck.”
“There’s one rather curious thing,” I said. “I was telephoned for this afternoon to go to a dying parishioner. When I got there everyone was very surprised to see me. The sick man was very much better than he had been for some days, and his wife flatly denied telephoning for me at all.”
Haydock drew his brows together.
“That’s suggestive—very. You were being got out of the way. Where’s your wife?”
“Gone up to London for the day.”
“And the maid?”
“In the kitchen—right at the other side of the house.”
“Where she wouldn’t be likely to hear anything that went on in here. It’s a nasty business. Who knew that Protheroe was coming here this evening?”
“He referred to the fact this morning in the village street at the top of his voice as usual.”
“Meaning that the whole village knew it? Which they always do in any case. Know of anyone who had a grudge against him?”
The thought of Lawrence Redding’s white face and staring eyes came to my mind. I was spared answering by a noise of shuffling feet in the passage outside.
“The police,” said my friend, and rose to his feet.
Our police force was represented by Constable Hurst, looking very important but slightly worried.