“Very sorry to bother you, Miss Marple,” said the colonel, when I had introduced him, putting on his bluff military manner which he had an idea was attractive to elderly ladies. “Got to do my duty, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” said Miss Marple. “I quite understand. Won’t you sit down? And might I offer you a little glass of cherry brandy? My own making. A receipt of my grandmother’s.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Marple. Very kind of you. But I think I won’t. Nothing till lunch time, that’s my motto. Now, I want to talk to you about this sad business—very sad business indeed. Upset us all, I’m sure. Well, it seems possible that owing to the position of your house and garden, you may have been able to tell us something we want to know about yesterday evening.”
“As a matter of fact, I was in my little garden from five o’clock onwards yesterday, and, of course, from there—well, one simply cannot help seeing anything that is going on next door.”
“I understand, Miss Marple, that Mrs. Protheroe passed this way yesterday evening?”
“Yes, she did. I called out to her, and she admired my roses.”
“Could you tell us about what time that was?”
“I should say it was just a minute or two after a quarter past six. Yes, that’s right. The church clock had just chimed the quarter.”
“Very good. What happened next?”
“Well, Mrs. Protheroe said she was calling for her husband at the Vicarage so that they could go home together. She had come along the lane, you understand, and she went into the Vicarage by the back gate and across the garden.”