“I can’t help feeling it must have been some kind of an accident,” said Griselda. “Don’t you think so, Len? I mean his coming forward to give himself up looks like that.”
Miss Marple leant forward eagerly.
“He gave himself up, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” said Miss Marple, with a deep sigh. “I am so glad—so very glad.”
I looked at her in some surprise.
“It shows a true state of remorse, I suppose,” I said.
“Remorse?” Miss Marple looked very surprised. “Oh, but surely, dear, dear vicar, you don’t think that he is guilty?”
It was my turn to stare.
“But since he has confessed—”
“Yes, but that just proves it, doesn’t it? I mean that he had nothing to do with it.”
“No,” I said. “I may be dense, but I can’t see that it does. If you have not committed a murder, I cannot see the object of pretending you have.”
“Oh! of course, there’s a reason,” said Miss Marple. “Naturally. There’s always a reason, isn’t there? And young men are so hotheaded and often prone to believe the worst.”
She turned to Griselda.
“Don’t you agree with me, my dear?”