AgathaChristie-EasyToKill
Page 16
it's quite simple. You win, Luke. That's
all."
He said sharply, "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I've given up the idea of
being Lady Easterfield."
He took a step nearer. "Is that true?" he
I demanded.
I "Yes, Luke."
"You'll marry me?"
"Yes."
"Why, I wonder."
"I don't know. You say such beastly things
to me, and I seem to like it."
He took her in his arms and kissed her.
He said, "It's a mad world."
"Are you happy, Luke?"
"Not particularly."
"Do you think you'll ever be happy with
me?"
"I don't know. I'll risk it."
"Yes, that's what I feel."
He slipped his arm through hers. "We're
rather queer about all this, my sweet. Come
along. Perhaps we shall be more normal in
the morning."
"Yes. It's rather frightening the way things
happen to one." She looked down and tugged
him to a standstill. "Luke—Luke, what's
that?"
The moon had come out from the clouds.
Luke looked down to where Bridget's shoe
trembled by a huddled mass. With a startled
exclamation, he dragged his arm free and
knelt down. He looked from the shapeless
heap to the gatepost above. The pineapple
was gone. He stood up at last. Bridget was
standing, her hands pressed together on her
mouth. He said, "It's the chauffeur—Rivers.
He's dead."
"That beastly stone thing—it's been loose
for some time. I suppose it blew down on
him."
Luke shook his head. "The wind wouldn't
do a thing like that. Oh, that's what it's
meant to look like, that is what it's meant to
be—another accident! But it's a fake. It's the
killer again."
"No; no, Luke!"
"I tell you it is. Do you know what I felt
on the back of his head, in with the stickiness
and mess--grains of sand. There's no
sand about here. I tell you, Bridget, somebody
stood here and slugged him as he came
through the gate back to his cottage. Then
they laid him down and rolled that pineapple
thing down on top of him."
Bridget said faintly, "Luke, there's
blood--on your hands!"
Luke said grimly, "There was blood on
someone else's hands. Do you know what I
was thinking this afternoon? That if there
were to be one more crime, we'd surely know.
And we do know! Ellsworthy! He was out
tonight, and he came in with blood on his
hands, capering and prancing and mad--
drunk with the homicidal maniac's exultation."
Looking down, Bridget shivered and said
in a low voice, "Poor Rivers."
Luke said pityingly, "Yes, poor fellow.
It's damnable bad luck. But this will be the
last, Bridget! Now we know, we'll get him!"
He saw her sway, and in two steps he had
caught her in his arms. She said, in a small, childlike voice, "Luke, I'm frightened."
He said, "It's all over darling. It's all over."
She murmured, "Be kind to me, please.
I've been hurt so much."
He said, "We've hurt each other. We won't
cdo that any more."
Eighteen
doctor thomas stared across his consultingroom
desk at Luke. "Remarkable," he said.
"Remarkable! You are really serious, Mr.
Fitzwilliam?"
"Absolutely. I am convinced that Ellsworthy
is a dangerous maniac."
"I have not paid special attention to the
man. I should say, though, that he is possibly
an abnormal type."
"I'd go a good deal farther than that,"
said Luke grimly.
"You seriously believe that this man. Rivers, was murdered?"
"I do. You noticed the grains of sand in
the wound?"
Doctor Thomas nodded. "I looked out for
them after your statement. I am bound to
say that you were correct."
"That makes it clear, does it not, that the
accident was faked and that the man was
killed by a blow from a sandbag, or at any
rate was stunned by one?"
"Not necessarily."
"What do you mean?"
Doctor Thomas leaned back and joined
his finger tips together. "Supposing that this
man Rivers had been lying out in a sand pit
during the day--there are several about in
this part of the world. That might account
for grains of sand in the hair."
"Man, I tell you he was murdered!"
"You may tell me so," said Doctor Thomas
dryly; "but that doesn't make it a fact."
Luke controlled his exasperation. "I suppose
you don't believe a word of what I'm
telling you."
Doctor Thomas smiled, a kindly superior
smile. "You must admit, Mr. Fitzwilliam, that it's rather a wild story. You assert that
this man Ellsworthy has killed a servant girl, a small boy, a drunken publican, my own
partner, and finally this man Rivers."
"You don't believe it?"
Doctor Thomas shrugged his shoulders.
"I have some knowledge ofHumbleby's case.
It seems to me quite out of the question that
Ellsworthy could have caused his death, and
I really cannot see that you have any evidence
at all that he did so."
"I don't know how he managed it," confessed
Luke, "but it all hangs together with
Miss Fullerton's story."
"There again you assert that Ellsworthy
followed her up to London and ran her down
in a car. Again you haven't a shadow of
proof that happened! It's all--well, romancing!"
Luke said sharply, "Now that I know
where I am, it will be my business to get
proofs. I'm going up to London tomorrow to
see an old pal of mine. I saw in the paper
two days ago that he's been made assistant
commissioner. He knows me and he'll listen
to what I have to say. One thing I'm sure of.
He'll order a thorough investigation of the
whole business."
Doctor Thomas stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Well, no doubt that should be very
satisfactory. If it turns out that you're mistaken--"
Luke interrupted him, "You definitely
don't believe a word of all this?"
"In wholesale murder?" Doctor Thomas
raised his eyebrows. "Quite frankly, Mr.
Fitzwilliam, I don't. The thing is too fantastic."
"Fantastic, perhaps, but it hangs together.
You've got to admit it hangs together. Once
you accept Miss Fullerton's story as true."
Doctor Thomas was shaking his head. A
slight smile came to his lips.
"If you knew some of these old maids as
well as I do--" he murmured.
Luke rose, trying to control his annoyance.
"At any rate, you're well named," he
said. "A doubting Thomas if there ever was
one!"
Thomas replied good-humoredly. "Give
> me a few proofs, my dear fellow. That's all I
ask. Not just a long melodramatic rigmarole
based on what an old lady fancied she saw."
"What old ladies fancy they see is very
often right. My Aunt Mildred was positively
uncanny! Have you got any aunts yourself, Thomas?"
"Well--er--no."
"A mistake!" said Luke. "Every man
should have aunts. They illustrate the triumph
of guesswork over logic. It is reserved
for aunts to know that Mr. A is a rogue
because he looks like a dishonest butler they
once had. Other people say, reasonably
enough, that a respectable man like Mr. A
couldn't be a crook. The old ladies are right
every time." Doctor Thomas smiled his superior
smile again. Luke said, his exaspera-
tion mounting once more, "Don't you realize
that I'm a policeman myself? I'm not the
complete amateur."
Doctor Thomas smiled and murmured, "In the Mayang Straits."
"Crime is crime even in the Mayang
Straits."
"Of course--of course."
Luke left Doctor Thomas' surgery in a
state of suppressed irritation. He joined
Bridget, who said, "Well, how did you get
on?"
"He didn't believe me," said Luke.
"Which, when you come to think of it, is
hardly surprising. It's a wild story with no
proofs. Doctor Thomas is emphatically not
the sort of man who believes six impossible
things before breakfast."
"Will anybody believe you?"
"Probably not, but when I get hold of old
Billy Bones tomorrow, the wheels will start
turning. They'll check up on our longhaired
friend, Ellsworthy, and in the end they're
bound to get somewhere."
Bridget said thoughtfully, "We're coming
out into the open very much, aren't we?"
"We've got to. We can't--we simply can't
afford any more murders."
Bridget shivered. "Do be careful, Luke."
"I'm being careful, all right. Don't walk
near gates with pineapples on them, avoid
the lonely woods at nightfall, watch out for
your food and drink. I know all the ropes."
"It's horrible feeling you're a marked
man."
"So long as you're not a marked woman, my sweet."
"Perhaps I am."
"I don't think so. But I don't intend to
take risks. I'm watching over you like an
old-fashioned guardian angel."
"Is it any good saying anything to the
police here?" Luke considered. "No, I don't
think it is. Better go straight to Scotland
Yard."
Bridget murmured, "That's what Miss
Fullerton thought."
"Yes, but I shall be watching out for trouble."
Bridget said, "I know what I'm going to
do tomorrow. I shall march Gordon down to
that brute's shop and make him buy things."
"Thereby insuring that our Mr. Ellsworthy
is not lying in ambush for me on the steps of
Whitehall?"
"That's the idea."
Luke said, with some slight embarrassment,
"About Easterfield."
Bridget said quickly, "Let's leave it till
you come back tomorrow. Then we'll have it /..,<- »
out."
"Will he be very cut up, do you think?"
"Well"--Bridget considered the question--"he'll
be annoyed."
"Annoyed? Ye gods! Isn't that putting it a
bit mildly?"
"No. Because, you see, Gordon doesn't
like being annoyed. It upsets him."
Luke said soberly, "I feel rather uncomfortable
about it all."
That feeling was uppermost in his mind
when he prepared that evening to listen for
the twentieth time to Lord Easterfield on the
subject of Lord Easterfield. It was, he admitted, a cad's trick to stay in a man's house
and steal his fiancee. He still felt, however, that a pot-bellied, pompous, strutting little nincompoop like Lord Easterfield ought
never to have aspired to Bridget at all. But
his conscience so far chastened him that he
listened with an extra dose of fervent attention
and, in consequence, made a thoroughly
favorable impression on his host. Lord
Easterfield was in high good humor this evening.
The death of his erstwhile chauffeur
seemed to have exhilarated rather than depressed
him. "Told you that fellow would
t» 1
come to a bad end," he crowed, holding up
a glass of port to the light and squinting
through it. "Didn't I tell you so yesterday
evening!"
"You did, indeed, sir."
"And, you see, I was right! It's amazing
how often I'm right!"
"That must be splendid for you," said
Luke.
"I've had a wonderful life--yes, a wonderful
life! My path's been smoothed clear before
me. I've always had great faith and trust
in Providence. That's the secret, Fitzwilliam--that's
the secret."
"Yes?"
"I'm a religious man. I believe in good
and evil and eternal justice. There is such a
thing as divine justice, Fitzwilliam; not a
doubt of it!"
"I believe in justice too," said Luke.
Lord Easterfield, as usual, was not interested
in the beliefs of other people. "Do
right by your Creator, and your Creator will
do right by you! I've always been an upright
man. I've subscribed to charity, and I've
made my money honestly. I'm not beholden
to any man! I stand alone. You remember in
the Bible how the patriarchs became pros
perous, herds and flocks were added to them, and their enemies were smitten down." Luke stifled a yawn and said, "Quite, quite."
"It's remarkable--absolutely remarkable,"
said Lord Easterfield. "The way a righteous
man's enemies are struck down! Look at
yesterday. That fellow abuses me; even goes
so far as to try to raise his hand against me.
And what happens? Where is he today?" He
paused rhetorically, and then answered himself
in an impressive voice, "Dead! Struck
down by divine wrath!"
Opening his eyes a little, Luke said, "Rather an excessive punishment, perhaps, for a few hasty words uttered after a glass
too much."
Lord Easterfield shook his head. "It's always
like that! Retribution comes swiftly and
terribly. And there's a good authentic authority
for it. Remember the children that
mocked Elisha--how the bears came out and
devoured them. That's the way things happen, Fitzwilliam."
"I always thought that was rather unnecessarily
vindictive."
"No, no. You're looking at it the wrong
way. Elisha was a great and holy man. No
one could be suffered to mock at him and
live. I understand that because of my own
case." Luke looked puzzled. Lord Easterfield
lowered his voice. "I could hardly believe it
at first. But it happened every time! My
enemies and det
ractors were cast down and
exterminated."
"Exterminated?"
Lord Easterfield nodded gently and sipped
his port.
"Time after time. One case quite like
Elisha--a little boy. I came upon him in the
gardens here--he was employed by me then.
Do you know what he was doing? He was
giving an imitation of me--of me! Mocking
me! Strutting up and down, with an audience
to watch him. Making fun of me on my
own ground! D'you know what happened to
him? Not ten days later he fell out of an
upper window and was killed!
"Then there was that ruffian Carter--a
drunkard and a man of evil tongue. He came
here and abused me. What happened to him?
A week later he was dead--drowned in the
mud. There had been a servant girl too. She
lifted her voice and called me names. Her
punishment soon came. She drank poison by
mistake. I could tell you heaps more.
Humbleby dared to oppose me over the water
scheme. He died of blood poisoning. Oh,
it's been going on for years. Mrs. Horton, for instance, was abominably rude to me, and it wasn't long before she passed away."
He paused and, leaning forward, passed the
port decanter round to Luke. "Yes," he said, "they all died. Amazing, isn't it?"
Luke stared at him. A monstrous, an incredible
suspicion leaped into his mind. With
new eyes he stared at the small fat man who
sat at the head of the table, who was gently
nodding his head and whose light protuberant
eyes met Luke's with a smiling insouciance.
A rush of disconnected memories flashed
rapidly through Luke's brain. Major Horton
saying, "Lord Easterfield was very kind. Sent
down grapes and peaches from his hothouse."
It was Lord Easterfield who had so graciously
allowed Tommy Pierce to be employed
on window cleaning at the library.
Lord Easterfield holding forth on his visit to
the Wellerman Kreitz Laboratories, with its
serums and germ cultures, just a short time
before Doctor Humbleby's death. Everything
pointing plainly in one direction, and he, fool that he had been, never even suspecting.
Lord Easterfield was still smiling. A quiet
happy smile. He nodded his head gently at
Luke. "They all die," said Lord Easterfield.
Nineteen
sir william ossington, known to the cronies