“That doesn’t sound at all a likely thing to happen.”
“But it must have been an accident of some kind. Because there’s not a shadow of a motive. What earthly reason could Lawrence have for killing Colonel Protheroe?”
I could have answered that question very decidedly, but I wished to spare Anne Protheroe as far as possible. There might still be a chance of keeping her name out of it.
“Remember they had had a quarrel,” I said.
“About Lettice and her bathing dress. Yes, but that’s absurd; and even if he and Lettice were engaged secretly—well, that’s not a reason for killing her father.”
“We don’t know what the true facts of the case may be, Griselda.”
“You do believe it, Len! Oh! How can you! I tell you, I’m sure Lawrence never touched a hair of his head.”
“Remember, I met him just outside the gate. He looked like a madman.”
“Yes, but—oh! it’s impossible.”
“There’s the clock, too,” I said. “This explains the clock. Lawrence must have put it back to 6:20 with the idea of making an alibi for himself. Look how Inspector Slack fell into the trap.”
“You’re wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about that clock being fast. ‘Keeping the vicar up to time!’ he used to say. Lawrence would never have made the mistake of putting it back to 6:22. He’d have put the hands somewhere possible—like a quarter to seven.”
“He mayn’t have known what time Protheroe got here. Or he may have simply forgotten about the clock being fast.”