“Which gives him an additional reason for wanting to make it appear that the murder was committed a good deal later on,” interpolated Hemingway.
“It does, of course. But there's a snag, sir. I'm willing to believe—though I can't say I like the idea—that at some time or other he parked a rifle where he could pick it up easily; I'm willing to believe he again parked it, after committing the murder. But what I can't believe is that he parked it a third time! He may be a cool customer, but it just isn't in human nature to leave the fatal weapon hidden in a ditch, or some such place—and there aren't any ponds he could have thrown in into—when you know the police are going to be on the spot, and searching thoroughly, within a matter of half an hour! Whoever did it must have got rid of the rifle where it wouldn't be found—which indeed he has done!—and Plenmeller didn't have enough time to do any such thing. If the chap who owns the Red Lion is to be believed, and I don't see any reason for disbelieving him, Plenmeller was in his bar-parlour round about 7.30 to 7.45. I grant you he could have reached the Red Lion from here in that time, but that's all he could have done. And limp or no limp, you aren't going to tell me he sat in the Red Lion with a rifle stuck down his trouser-leg! You'll remember, too, that the landlord told Carsethorn he'd stayed to dinner there. Where was the rifle all that time? And whose rifle was it? We know it wasn't his own!”
Hemingway regarded him with a half-smile. “You know, Horace, there's no pleasing you at all,” he said. “First, nothing will do for you but to pin this crime on to Plenmeller, and now, when it begins to look as if we might be able to do it, you turn round and argue that he couldn't have done it!”
“Now, that's not fair, Chief!” Harbottle protested. “You know very well I don't want to pin it on to anyone but the right man! All I said was that as far as appearances go he seems to me a more likely murderer than any of the others, except, perhaps, that chap Lindale. I daresay he wouldn't stick at much, but for the purposes of this argument he's out of it. I don't see how Plenmeller could have got rid of the rifle, but I do see that it wouldn't have been difficult for any one of the other three to have done so. The Vicar—mind you, I'm not saying it was him, and I don't think it was, either—the Vicar wasn't at The Cedars after 6.00, so he might have committed the murder at 6.15; and as we don't know what he was doing after he left that sick parishioner of his he might possibly have fired your second shot. Since he could have got into the grounds of Fox House from his own meadow, there would have been very little fear of his being seen; and he had all the time in the world to dispose of the rifle.”
“The only difficulty being that his rifle wasn't in his possession at the time,” said Hemingway. “However, the rifle is the stumbling-block in every instance, so I won't press that point.”
“I've nothing more to say about the Vicar. You've met him, and I haven't. What I do think is that we can't rule out Ladislas any longer. He told you that he didn't know anything about that tennis-party. That might be true, or it might not. My experience of a place like this is that everyone knows when someone's giving a party. Say he did know! All right! He shoots Warrenby, realises he's bound to be suspected, and so hangs about until he hears someone coming. He may even have sneaked along the common to watch the footpath, knowing that several people were likely to leave The Cedars by the garden-gate. He's got a motor-bike; his landlady was out that evening: what was to stop him driving off anywhere he pleased—perhaps to the river—and getting rid of the rifle?”
“What rifle?” asked Hemingway, all polite interest.
“I don't know. One of those we haven't checked up on, probably.”
“What made him wait for three-quarters of an hour before shooting Warrenby? We know he was seen turning into Fox Lane at 5.30; if Crailing's to be believed, Father Time turned up at the Red Lion at about 6.30, which means that he must have heard the shot he did hear at about 6.15, or a few minutes earlier. I agree that the murderer didn't want to have to do the job in a hurry, but three quarters of an hour seems to me a long time to wait.”
“Well, from your description of him, he sounds a temperamental, nervy sort of a chap,” offered the Inspector. “Perhaps he couldn't make up his mind to do it straight off.”