“Quite true,” said Griselda. “He seems to have been writing a note to say he couldn’t wait any longer. The note was dated 6:20, and the clock on the table was overturned and had stopped at 6:22, and that’s just what has been puzzling Len and myself so frightfully.”
She explained our custom of keeping the clock a quarter of an hour fast.
“Very curious,” said Miss Marple. “Very curious indeed. But the note seems to me even more curious still. I mean—”
She stopped and looked round. Lettice Protheroe was standing outside the window. She came in, nodding to us and murmuring “Morning.”
She dropped into a chair and said, with rather more animation than usual:
“They’ve arrested Lawrence, I hear.”
“Yes,” said Griselda. “It’s been a great shock to us.”
“I never really thought anyone would murder father,” said Lettice. She was obviously taking a pride in letting no hint of distress or emotion escape her. “Lots of people wanted to, I’m sure. There are times when I’d have liked to do it myself.”
“Won’t you have something to eat or drink, Lettice?” asked Griselda.
“No, thank you. I just drifted round to see if you’d got my beret here—a queer little yellow one. I think I left it in the study the other day.”
“If you did, it’s there still,” said Griselda. “Mary never tidies anything.”
“I’ll go and see,” said Lettice, rising. “Sorry to be such a bother, but I seem to have lost everything else in the hat line.”
“I’m afraid you can’t get it now,” I said. “Inspector Slack has locked the room up.”