AgathaChristie-EasyToKill

by Easy To Kill (lit)

  Lord Easterfield. His voice trembled with

  intense feeling. The man hesitated a minute, then shambled away slowly. Lord Easterfield

  exploded, "Colossal impertinence! To me!

  Speaking to me like that! Something very

  serious will happen to that man! No respect, no proper sense of his station in life. When I

  think of what I do for these people--good

  wages, every comfort, a pension when they

  retire. The ingratitude--the base ingratitude!"

  He choked with excitement, then perceived

  Miss Waynflete, who was standing silently

  by. "Is that you, Honoria? I'm deeply distressed

  that you should have witnessed such

  a disgraceful scene. That man's language--"

  "I'm afraid he wasn't quite himself. Lord

  Easterfield," said Miss Waynflete primly.

  "He was drunk, that's what he was--

  drunk!"

  "Just a bit lit up," said Luke.

  "Do you know what he did?" Lord

  Easterfield looked from one to the other of

  them. "Took out my car--my car! Thought

  I shouldn't be back so soon. Bridget drove

  me over to Lyne in the two-seater. And this

  fellow had the impertinence to take a girl--

  Lucy Carter, I believe--out in my car!"

  Miss Waynflete said gently, "A most improper

  thing to do."

  Lord Easterfield seemed a little comforted. "Yes, wasn't it?"

  "But I'm sure he'll regret it."

  "I shall see that he does."

  "You've dismissed him," Miss Waynflete

  pointed out.

  Lord Easterfield shook his head. "He'll

  come to a bad end, that fellow." He threw

  back his shoulders. "Come up to the house, Honoria, and have a glass of sherry."

  "Thank you, Lord Easterfield, but I must

  go to Mrs. Humbleby with these books. . . .

  Good night, Mr. Fitzwilliam. You'll be quite

  all right now." She gave him a smiling nod

  and walked briskly away. It was so much the

  attitude of a nurse who delivers a child at a

  party that Luke caught his breath as a sudden

  idea struck him. Was it possible that

  Miss Waynflete had accompanied him solely

  in order to protect him? The idea seemed

  Lord Easterfield's voice interrupted his

  meditations. "Very capable woman, Honoria

  Waynflete."

  "Very, I should think."

  Lord Easterfield began to walk toward the

  house. He moved rather stiffly and his hand

  went to his posterior and rubbed it gingerly.

  Suddenly he chuckled. "I was engaged to

  Honoria once, years ago. She was a nicelooking

  girl--not so skinny as she is today.

  Seems funny to think of now. Her people

  were the nobs of this place."

  "Yes?"

  Lord Easterfield ruminated. "Old Colonel

  Waynflete bossed the show. One had to come

  out and touch one's cap pretty sharp. One of

  the old school he was, and proud as Lucifer."

  He chuckled again. "The fat was in the

  fire all right when Honoria announced she

  was going to marry me! Called herself a radical, she did. Very earnest. Was all for abolishing

  class distinctions. She was a serious

  kind of girl."

  "So her family broke up the romance?"

  Lord Easterfield rubbed his nose. "Well, not exactly. Matter of fact, we had a bit of a

  row over something. Blinking bird she had--

  one of those beastly twittering canaries; always

  hated them--bad business--wrung its

  neck. Well, no good dwelling on all that

  now. Let's forget it." He shook his shoulders

  like a man who throws off an unpleasant

  memory. Then he said, rather jerkily, "Don't think she's ever forgiven me. Well, perhaps it's only natural."

  "I think she's forgiven you, all right," said

  Luke.

  Lord Easterfield brightened up. "Do you?

  Glad of that. You know, I respect Honoria.

  Capable woman and a lady! That still counts, even in these days. She runs that library

  business very well." He looked up and his

  voice changed. "Hullo," he said. "Here

  comes Bridget."

  Seventeen

  luke felt a tightening of his muscles as

  Bridget approached. He had had no word

  alone with her since the day of the tennis

  party. By mutual consent, they had avoided

  each other. He stole a glance at her now. She

  looked provokingly calm, cool, and indifferent.

  She said lightly, "I was beginning to

  wonder what on earth had become of you, Gordon."

  Lord Easterfield grunted. "Had a bit of a

  dust-up! That fellow. Rivers, had the impertinence

  to take the Rolls out this afternoon."

  "Lese-majeste," said Bridget.

  "It's no good making a joke out of it, Bridget. The thing's serious. He took a girl

  out."

  "I don't suppose it would have given him

  any pleasure to go solemnly for a drive by

  himself."

  Lord Easterfield drew himself up. "On

  my estate I'll have decent moral behavior."

  "It isn't actually immoral to take a girl joy

  riding."

  "It is when it's my car."

  "That, of course, is worse than immorality!

  It practically amounts to blasphemy. But

  you can't cut out the sex stuff altogether, Gordon. The moon is at the full and it's

  actually Midsummer Eve."

  "Is it, by Jove?" said Luke.

  Bridget threw him a glance. "That seems

  to interest you?"

  "It does."

  Bridget turned back to Lord Easterfield.

  "Three extraordinary people have arrived at

  the Bells and Motley. Item one, a man with

  shorts, spectacles and a lovely plum-colored

  silk shirt! Item two, a female with no eyebrows, dressed in a peplum, a pound of

  assorted sham Egyptian beads, and sandals.

  Item three, a fat man in a lavender suit and

  co-respondent shoes. I suspect them of being

  friends of our Mr. EUsworthy. Says the gossip

  writer: 'Someone has whispered that there

  will be gay doings in the Witches' Meadow

  tonight.' "

  Lord Easterfield turned purple and said, "I won't have it!"

  "You can't help it, darling. The Witches' Meadow is public property."

  "I won't have this irreligious mumbo

  jumbo going on down here! I'll expose it in Scandals." He paused, then said, "Remind

  me to make a note about that and get Siddely

  on to it. I must go up to town tomorrow."

  "Lord Easterfield's campaign against

  witchcraft," said Bridget flippantly. "Medieval

  superstitions still rife in quiet country

  village."

  Lord Easterfield stared at her with a puzzled

  frown, then he turned and went into the

  house.

  Luke said pleasantly, "You must do your

  stuff better than that, Bridget."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It would be a pity if you lost your job.

  That hundred thousand isn't yours yet. Nor

  are the diamonds and pearls. I should wait

  until after the marriage ceremony to exercise

  your sarcastic gifts, if I were you."

  Her glance met
his coolly. "You are so

  thoughtful, dear Luke. It's kind of you to

  take my future so much to heart."

  "Kindness and consideration have always

  been my strong points."

  "I hadn't noticed it."

  "No? You surprise me."

  Bridget twitched the leaf off a creeper.

  She said, "What have you been doing today?"

  "The usual spot of sleuthing."

  "Any results?"

  "Yes and no, as the politicians say. By the

  way, have you got any tools in the house?"

  "I expect so. What kind of tools?"

  "Oh, any handy little gadgets. Perhaps I

  could inspect same." Ten minutes later Luke

  had made his selection from a cupboard shelf.

  "That little lot will do nicely," he said, slapping

  the pocket in which he had stowed them away.

  "Are you thinking of doing a spot of forcing

  and entering?"

  "Maybe."

  "You're very uncommunicative on the

  subject."

  "Well, after all, the situation bristles with

  difficulties. I'm in the hell of a position.

  After our little dust-up on Saturday, I suppose

  I ought to clear out of here."

  "To behave as a perfect gentleman, you

  should."

  "But since I'm convinced that I am pretty

  hot on the trail of a homicidal maniac, I'm

  more or less forced to remain. If you could

  think of any convincing reason for me to

  leave here and take up my quarters at the

  Bells and Motley, for goodness5 sake trot it

  out."

  Bridget shook her head. "That's not feasible--you

  being a cousin and all that. Besides, the inn is full of Mr. Ellsworthy's

  friends. They only run to three guest rooms."

  "So I am forced to remain, painful as it

  must be for you."

  Bridget smiled sweetly at him. "Not at all.

  I can always do with a few scalps to dangle."

  "That," said Luke appreciatively, "was a

  particularly dirty crack. What I admire about

  you, Bridget, is that you have practically no

  instincts of kindliness. Well, well. The rejected

  lover will now go and change for

  dinner."

  The evening passed uneventfully. Luke

  won Lord Easterfield's approval even more

  deeply than before by the apparent absorbed

  interest with which he listened to the other's

  nightly discourse. When they came into the

  drawing room, Bridget said, "You men have

  been a long time."

  Luke replied, "Lord Easterfield was being

  so interesting that the time passed like a

  flash. He was telling me how he founded his

  first newspaper."

  Mrs. Anstruther said, "These new little

  fruiting trees in pots are perfectly marvelous,

  I believe. You ought to try them along the

  terrace, Gordon." The conversation then proceeded

  on normal lines.

  Luke retired early. He did not, however, go to bed. He had other plans. It was just

  striking twelve when he descended the stairs

  noiselessly in tennis shoes, passed through

  the library and let himself out by a window.

  The wind was still blowing in violent gusts

  interspersed with brief lulls. Clouds scudded

  across the sky, obliterating the moon, so that

  darkness alternated with bright moonlight.

  Luke made his way by a circuitous route to

  Mr. Ellsworthy's establishment. He saw his

  way clear to doing a little investigation. He was fairly certain that Mr. Ellsworthy and

  his friends would be out together on this

  particular date. Midsummer Eve, Luke

  thought, was sure to be marked by some

  ceremony or other. Whilst this was in

  progress, it would be a good opportunity to

  search Mr. Ellsworthy's house.

  He climbed a couple of walls, got round to

  the back of the house, took the assorted tools

  from his pocket and selected a likely implement.

  He found a scullery window amenable

  to his efforts. A few minutes later he had

  slipped back the catch, raised the sash and

  hoisted himself over. He had a torch in his

  pocket. He used it sparingly--a brief flash

  just to show him his way and to avoid running

  into things.

  In a quarter of an hour he had satisfied

  himself that the house was empty. The owner

  was out and abroad on his own affairs. Luke

  smiled with satisfaction and settled down to

  his task. He made a minute and thorough

  search of every available nook and corner. In

  a locked drawer, below two or three innocuous

  watercolor sketches, he came upon some

  artistic efforts which caused him to lift his

  eyebrows and whistle. Mr. Ellsworthy's correspondence

  was unilluminating, but some

  of his books--those tucked away at the back

  of a cupboard--repaid attention. Besides

  these, Luke accumulated three meager but

  suggestive scraps of information. The first

  was a pencil scrawl in a little notebook:

  "Settle with Tommy Pierce"--the date being

  I a couple of days before the boy's death. The

  second was a crayon sketch of Amy Gibbs

  with a furious red cross right across the face.

  The third was a bottle of cough mixture.

  None of these things was in any way conclusive, but taken together they might be considered

  as encouraging.

  Luke was just restoring some final order, replacing things in their place, when he slid-

  denly stiffened and switched off his torch.

  He had heard the key inserted in the lock of

  a side door. He stepped across to the door of

  the room he was in and applied an eye to a

  crack. He hoped Ellsworthy--if it was he--

  would go straight upstairs.

  The side door opened and Ellsworthy

  stepped in, switching on a hall light as he

  did so. As he passed along the hall, Luke

  saw his face and caught his breath. It was

  unrecognizable. The eyes were alight with a

  strange mad exultation, but what caused

  Luke to catch his breath was the sight of

  Ellsworthy's hands. They were stained a deep

  brownish red, the color of dried blood. He

  disappeared up the stairs. A moment later

  the light in the hall was extinguished.

  Luke waited a little longer, then very cautiously

  he crept out into the hall, made his

  way to the scullery and left by the window.

  He looked up at the house, but it was dark

  and silent. He drew a deep breath. "The

  fellow's mad all right!" he said. "I wonder

  what he's been up to? I'll swear that was

  blood on his hands!"

  He made a detour round the village and

  returned to Ashe Manor by a roundabout

  route. It was as he was turning into the side

  lane that a sudden rustle of leaves wrapped

  in a dark cloak came out from the shadow of

  a tree. It looked so eerie that Luke felt his

  heart miss a beat. Then he recognized the

  long pale face under the hood. "Bridget?

  How you s
tartled me!"

  She said sharply, "Where have you been?

  I saw you go out."

  "And you followed me?"

  "No. You'd gone too far. I've been waiting

  till you came back."

  "That was a silly thing to do," Luke

  grumbled." 7

  She repeated her question impatiently, "Where have you been?"

  Luke said gaily, "Raiding our Mr.

  EUsworthy."

  Bridget caught her breath. "Did you--

  find anything?"

  "I don't know. I know a bit more about

  the swine's tastes, and all that--and there

  are three things that might be suggestive."

  She listened attentively as he recounted the

  result of his search. "It's very slight evidence, though," he ended. "But, Bridget, just as I was leaving, EUsworthy came back.

  And I tell you this--the man's as mad as a

  hatter!"

  "You really think so?"

  "I saw his face! It was--unspeakable! God

  knows what he'd been up to! He was in a

  delirium of mad excitement. And his hands

  were stained, I'll swear, with blood."

  Bridget shivered. "Horrible," she murmured.

  Luke said irritably, "You shouldn't have

  come out by yourself, Bridget. It was absolute

  madness. Somebody might have knocked

  you on the head."

  She laughed shakily. "The same applies to

  you, my dear."

  "I can look after myself."

  "I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, too. Hardboiled, I should think you'd call

  me."

  A sharp gust of wind came. Luke said

  suddenly, "Take off that hood thing."

  "Why?"

  With an unexpected movement, he

  snatched at her cloak and whipped it away.

  The wind caught her hair and blew it out

  straight up from her head. She stared at

  him, her breath coming fast. Luke said, "You

  certainly are incomplete without a broomstick,

  Bridget. That's how I saw you first."

  He stared a minute longer, and said, "You're

  a cruel devil." With a sharp impatient sigh, he tossed the cloak back to her. "There; put

  it on. Let's go home."

  "Wait."

  "Why?"

  She came up to him. She spoke in a low,

  rather breathless voice. "Because I've got

  something to say to you. That's partly why I

  waited for you here, outside the Manor. I

  want to say it to you now, before we go

  inside into Gordon's property."

  "Well?"

  She gave a short, rather bitter laugh. "Oh,