Eight
W e were rather silent on our way down to the police station. Haydock drew behind a little and murmured to me:
“You know I don’t like the look of this. I don’t like it. There’s something here we don’t understand.”
He looked thoroughly¹ worried and upset.
Inspector² Slack was at the police station and presently we found ourselves face to face with Lawrence Redding.
He looked pale and strained but quite composed—marvellously so, I thought, considering the circumstances.
Melchett snorted and hummed, obviously nervous.
“Look here, Redding,” he said, “I understand you made a statement to Inspector Slack here. You state you went tothe Vicarage at approximately a quarter to seven, found Protheroe there, quarrelled with him, shot him, and cameaway. I’m not reading it over to you, but that’s the gist³ of it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask a few questions. You’ve already been told that you needn’t answer them unless you choose. Yoursolicitor—”
Lawrence interrupted.
“I’ve nothing to hide. I killed Protheroe.”
“Ah! well—” Melchett snorted. “How did you happen to have a pistol with you?”
Lawrence hesitated. “It was in my pocket.”
“You took it with you to the Vicarage?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I always take it.”
He had hesitated again before answering, and I was absolutely sure that he was not speaking the truth.
“Why did you put the clock back?”
“The clock?” He seemed puzzled.
“Yes, the hands pointed⁴ to 6:22.”
A look of fear sprang up in his face.
“Oh! that—yes. I—I altered it.”
Haydock spoke⁵ suddenly.
“Where did you shoot Colonel Protheroe?”
“In the study at the Vicarage.”
“I mean in what part of the body?”
“Oh!—I—through the head, I think. Yes, through the head.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
“Since you know, I can’t see why it is necessary to ask me.”

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