Luke was relieved to find that Mr. Wake's
special interest was Roman remains. He confessed
gently that he knew very little of medieval
folklore and witchcraft. He mentioned
the existence of certain items in the history
of Wychwood, offered to take Luke to the
particular ledge of hill where it was said the
witches5 Sabbaths had been held, but expressed
himself regretful that he could add
no special information of his own.
Inwardly much relieved, Luke expressed
himself as somewhat disappointed, and then
plunged into inquiries as to deathbed superstitions.
Mr. Wake shook his head gently. "I am
afraid I should be the last person to know
about those. My parishioners would be care
ful to keep anything unorthodox from my ears."
"That's so, of course."
"But I've no doubt, all the same, there is
a lot of superstition still rife. These village
communities are very backward."
Luke plunged boldly. "I've been asking
Miss Conway for a list of all the recent deaths
she could remember. I thought I might get
at something that way. I suppose you could
supply me with a list, so that I could pick
out the likelies."
"Yes, yes; that could be managed. Giles, our sexton, a good fellow, but sadly deaf, could help you there. Let me see now. There
have been a good many--a good many--a
treacherous spring and a hard winter behind
it--and then a good many accidents. Quite a
cycle of bad luck there seems to have been."
"Sometimes," said Luke, "a cycle of bad
luck is attributed to the presence of a particular
person."
"Yes, yes. The old story of Jonah. But I
do not think there have been any strangers
here--nobody, that is to say, outstanding in
any way--and I've certainly never heard any
rumor of such a feeling, but then again, as I
said, perhaps I shouldn't. Now, let me see.
Quite recently we have had Doctor
Humbleby and poor Lavinia Fullerton. A
fine man. Doctor Humbleby."
Bridget put in, "Mr. Fitzwilliam knows
friends of his."
"Do you indeed? Very sad. His loss will
be much felt. A man with many friends."
"But surely a man with some enemies, too," said Luke. "I'm only going by what
I've heard my friends say," he went on hastily.
Mr. Wake sighed. "A man who spoke his
mind, and a man who wasn't always very
tactful, shall we say?" He shook his head.
"It does get people's backs up. But he was
greatly beloved among the poorer class."
Luke said carelessly, "You know, I always
feel that one of the most unpalatable facts to
be faced in life is the fact that every death
that occurs means a gain to someone--I don't
mean only financially."
The vicar nodded thoughtfully. "I see your
meaning, yes. We read in an obituary notice
that a man is regretted by everybody, but
that can only be true very rarely, I fear. In
Doctor Humbleby's case, there is no denying
that his partner. Doctor Thomas, will find
his position very much improved by Doctor
Humbleby's death."
"How is that?"
"Thomas, I believe, is a very capable fellow--certainly
Humbleby always said so--
but he didn't get on here very well. He was, I think, overshadowed by Humbleby, who
was a man of very definite magnetism.
Thomas appeared rather colorless in contrast.
He didn't impress his patients at all. I think
he worried over it, too, and that made him
worse--more nervous and tongue-tied. As a
matter of fact, I've noticed an astonishing
difference already. More aplomb, more personality.
I think he feels a new confidence in
himself. He and Humbleby didn't always
agree, I believe. Thomas was all for newer
methods of treatment and Humbleby preferred
to stick to the old ways. There were
clashes between them more than once--over
that as well as over a matter nearer home.
But there, I mustn't gossip."
Bridget said softly and clearly, "But I think
Mr. Fitzwilliam would like you to gossip."
Luke shot her a quick, disturbed look.
Mr. Wake shook his head doubtfully, and
then went on, smiling a little in deprecation:
"I am afraid one learns to take too much
interest in one's neighbors' affairs. Rose
Humbleby is a very pretty girl. One doesn't
wonder that Geoffrey Thomas lost his heart.
And of course Humbleby's point of view was
quite understandable, too—the girl is young,
and buried away here, she hadn't much
chance of seeing other men."
"He objected?" said Luke.
"Very definitely. Said they were far too
young. And of course young people resent
being told that. There was a very definite
coldness between the two men. But I must
say that I'm sure Doctor Thomas was deeply
distressed at his partner's unexpected death."
"Septicemia, Lord Easterfield told me."
"Yes, just a little scratch that got infected.
Doctors run grave risks in the course of their
profession, Mr. Fitzwilliam."
"They do indeed," said Luke.
Mr. Wake gave a sudden start. "But I
have wandered a long way from what we
were talking about," he said. "A gossiping
old man, I am afraid. We were speaking of
the survival of pagan death customs and of
recent deaths. There was Lavinia Fullerton—
one of our most kindly church helpers. Then
there was that poor girl, Amy Gibbs; you
might discover something in your line there,
Mr. Fitzwilliam. There was just a suspicion,
you know, that it might have been suicide,
and there are certain rather eerie rites in
connection with that type of death. There is
an aunt—not, I fear, a very estimable woman,
and not very much attached to her niece, but
a great talker."
"Valuable," said Luke.
"Then there was Tommy Pierce; he was
in the choir at one time—a beautiful treble—
quite angelic, but not a very angelic boy
otherwise, I am afraid. We had to get rid of
him in the end; he made the other boys
behave badly too. Poor lad, I'm afraid he
was not very much liked anywhere. He was
dismissed from the post office, where we got
him a job as telegraph boy. He was in Mr.
Abbot's office for a while, but there again he
was dismissed very soon—interfered with
some confidential papers, I believe. Then, of
course, he was at Ashe Manor for a time—
wasn't he. Miss Conway?—as a garden boy,
and Lord Easterfield had to discharge him
for gross impertinence. I was so sorry for his
mother—a very decent hardworking soul.
Miss Waynflete very kindly got him some
odd window-cleaning work. Lord
Easterfield
objected at first, then suddenly he gave in;
actually, it was sad that he did so."
"Why?"
"Because the boy was killed that way. He
was cleaning the top windows of the library—
the old hall, you know—and tried some silly
fooling—dancing on the window ledge or
something of that sort--lost his balance, or
else became dizzy, and fell. A nasty business!
He never recovered consciousness and
died a few hours after they got him to the
hospital."
"Did anyone else see him fall?" asked
Luke with interest.
"No. He was on the garden side, not the
front of the house. They estimate he lay
there for about half an hour before anyone
found him."
"Who did find him?"
"Miss Fullerton. You remember, the lady
I mentioned just now who was unfortunately
killed in a street accident the other day. Poor
soul, she was terribly upset. A nasty experience!
She had obtained permission to take a
cutting of some plants and found the boy
there, lying where he had fallen."
"It must have been a very unpleasant
shock," said Luke thoughtfully. "A greater
shock," he thought to himself, "than you
know."
"He was a disgusting bully," said Bridget.
"You know he was, Mr. Wake. Always tormenting
cats and stray puppies and pinching
other little boys."
"I know--I know." Mr. Wake shook his
head sadly. "But you know, my dear Miss
Conway, sometimes cruelty is not so much
innate as due to the fact that imagination is
slow in ripening. That is why, if you conceive
of a grown man with the mentality of a
child, you realize that the cunning and brutality
of a lunatic may be quite unrealized by
the man himself. A lack of growth somewhere,
that, I am convinced, is at the root of
much of the cruelty and stupid brutality in
the world today. One must put away childish
things--" He shook his head and spread out
his hands.
Bridget said, in a voice suddenly hoarse, "Yes, you're right. I know what you mean.
A man who is a child is the most frightening
thing in the world."
Luke Fitzwilliam wondered very much
who the person Bridget was thinking of might
be.
Five
mr. wake murmured a few more names to
himself.
"Let me see now. Poor Mrs. Rose, and
old Bell, and that child of the Elkins', and
Harry Carter. They're not all my people,
you understand. Mrs. Rose and Carter were
dissenters. And that cold spell in March took
off poor old Ben Stanbury at last—ninetytwo
he was."
"Amy Gibbs died in April," said Bridget.
"Yes, poor girl; a sad mistake to happen."
Luke looked up to find Bridget watching
him. She lowered her eyes quickly. He
thought, with some annoyance: "There's
something here that I haven't got on to.
Something to do with this girl, Amy Gibbs."
When they had taken leave of the vicar and
were outside again, he said: "Just who and
what was Amy Gibbs?"
Bridget took a minute or two to answer.
Then she said--and Luke noticed the slight
constraint in her voice--"Amy was one of
the most inefficient housemaids I have ever
known."
"That's why she got the sack?"
"No. She stayed out after hours, playing
about with some young man. Gordon has
very moral and old-fashioned views. Sin, in
his view, does not take place until after eleven
o'clock, but then it is rampant. So he gave
the girl notice and she was impertinent about
it!"
Luke asked, "She's the one who swallowed
off hat paint in mistake for cough
mixture?"
"Yes."
"Rather a stupid thing to do," Luke
hazarded.
"Very stupid."
"Was she stupid?"
"No, she was quite a sharp girl."
Luke stole a look at her. He was puzzled.
Her replies were given in an even tone, without
emphasis or even much interest. But
behind what she said there was, he felt convinced, something not put into words.
At that moment Bridget stopped to speak
to a tall man who swept off his hat and
greeted her with breezy heartiness. Bridget,
after a word or two, introduced Luke, "This
is my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam, who is staying
at the Manor. He's down here to write a
book. This is Mr. Abbot."
Luke looked at Mr. Abbot with some interest.
This was the solicitor who had employed
Tommy Pierce. Mr. Abbot was not
at all the conventional type of lawyer, he was
neither thin, spare, nor tight-lipped. He was
a big florid man, dressed in tweeds, with a
hearty manner and a jovial effusiveness.
There were little creases at the corners of his
eyes, and the eyes themselves were more
shrewd than one appreciated in a first casual
glance. "Writing a book, eh? Novel?"
"Folklore," said Bridget.
"You've come to the right place for that,"
said the lawyer. "Wonderfully interesting
part of the world here."
"So I've been led to understand," said
Luke. "I dare say you could help me a bit.
You must come across curious old deeds or
know of some interesting surviving customs."
"Well, I don't know about that. Maybe--
maybe."
"No haunted houses?"
"No, I don't know of anything of that
kind."
"There's the child superstition, of course,"
said Luke. "Death of a boy child--a violent
death, that is--the boy always walks. Not a
girl child--interesting that."
"Very?" said Mr. Abbot. "I never heard
that before."
Since Luke had just invented it, that was
hardly surprising. "Seems there's a boy
here_Tommy something--was in your office
at one time. I've reason to believe they
think that he's walking."
Mr. Abbot's red face turned slightly purple.
"Tommy Pierce? A good-for-nothing, prying, meddlesome jackanapes. Who's seen
him? What's this story?"
"These things are difficult to pin down,"
said Luke. "People won't come out into the
open with a statement. It's just in the air, so
to speak."
"Yes, yes, I suppose so."
Luke changed the subject adroitly, "The
real person to get hold of is the local doctor.
They hear a lot in the poorer cases they
attend. All sorts of superstitions and charms
_probably love philters and all the rest of
it."
"You must get on to Thomas. Good fellow
Thomas, thoroughly up-to-date man.
Not like poor old Humbleby."
"Bit of a reactionary, wasn't he?"
"Absolutely pigheaded; a diehard of the
<
br /> worst description."
"You had a real row over the water
scheme, didn't you?" asked Bridget.
Again a rich ruddy glow suffused Abbot's
face. "Humbleby stood dead in the way of
progress," he said sharply. "He held out
against the scheme! He was pretty rude, too, in what he said. Didn't mince his words.
Some of the things he said to me were positively
actionable."
Bridget murmured, "But lawyers never go
to law, do they? They know better."
Abbot laughed immoderately. His anger
subsided as quickly as it had risen. "Pretty
good. Miss Bridget! And you're not far
wrong. We who are in it know too much
about the law, ha-ha. Well, I must be getting
along. Give me a call if you think I can help
you in any way, Mr.--er--"
"Fitzwilliam," said Luke. "Thanks, I
will."
As they walked on, Bridget said, "If you
want to hear more about Amy Gibbs, I can
take you to someone who could help you."
"Who is that?"
"A Miss Waynflere. Amy went there after
she left the Manor. She was there when she
died."
"Oh, I see." He was a little taken aback.
"Well, thank you very much."
"She lives just here."
They were crossing the village green. Inclining
her head in the direction of the big
Georgian house that Luke had noticed the
day before, Bridget said: "That's Wych Hall.
It's a library now."
Adjoining the Hall was a little house that
looked rather like a doll's house in proportion.
Its steps were dazzlingly white, its
knocker shone and its window curtains
showed white and prim. Bridget pushed open
the gate and advanced to the steps. As she
did so, the front door opened and an elderly
woman came out. She was, Luke thought, completely the country spinster. Her thin
form was neatly dressed in a tweed coat and
skirt, and she wore a gray silk blouse with a
cairngorm brooch. Her hat, a conscientious
felt, sat squarely upon her well-shaped head.
Her face was pleasant and her eyes, through
their pince-nez, decidedly intelligent.
"Good morning. Miss Waynflete," said
Bridget. "This is Mr. Fitzwilliam." Luke
bowed. "He's writing a book--about deaths
and village customs and general gruesomeness."
"Oh, dear," said Miss Waynflete. "How
very interesting." And she beamed encouragingly
AgathaChristie-EasyToKill Page 4