AgathaChristie-EasyToKill

by Easy To Kill (lit)

Manor."

  "Yes, she has."

  Mrs. Humbleby sighed. "I am so glad--so

  very glad she has gone right away from

  Wychwood."

  "Oh, she's still here. As a matter of fact, she's staying with Miss Waynflete."

  Mrs. Humbleby moved back a step. Her

  face, Luke noted with surprise, looked extraordinarily

  distressed. "Staying with Honoria

  Waynflete? Oh, but why?"

  I "Miss Waynflete very kindly asked her to

  stay for a few days."

  t Mrs. Humbleby gave a little shiver. She

  came close to Luke and laid a hand on his

  arm.

  "Mr. Fitzwilliam, I know I have no right

  to say anything--anything at all. I have had

  a lot of sorrow and grief lately and, perhaps, it makes me fanciful. These feelings of mine

  may be only sick fancies."

  Luke said gently, "What feelings?"

  "This conviction I have of--of evil!" She

  looked timidly at Luke. Seeing that he merely

  bowed his head gravely and did not appear

  to question her statement, she went on, "So

  much wickedness--that is the thought that

  is always with me--wickedness here in

  Wychwood. And that woman is at the bottom

  of it all. I am sure of it."

  Luke was mystified. "What woman?"

  Mrs. Humbleby said, "Honoria Waynflete

  is, I am sure, a very wicked woman! Oh, I

  see you don't believe me! No one believed

  Lavinia Fullerton either. But we both felt it.

  She, I think, knew more than I did. Remember, Mr. Fitzwilliam, if a woman is not

  happy, she is capable of terrible things."

  Luke said gently, "That may be, yes."

  Mrs. Humbleby said quickly, "You don't

  believe me? Well, why should you? But I

  can't forget the day when John came home

  with his hand bound up from her house,

  though he pooh-poohed it and said it was

  only a scratch." She turned. "Good-by.

  Please forget what I have just said. I--I don't

  feel quite myself these days."

  Luke watched her go. He wondered wyhy

  Mrs. Humbleby called Honoria Waynflete a

  wicked woman. Had Doctor Humbleby and

  Honoria Waynflete been friends, and was

  the doctor's wife jealous? What had she said?

  "No one believed Lavinia Fullerton eithe:r."

  Then Lavinia Fullerton must have confided

  some of her suspicions to Mrs. Humblelby.

  With a rush, the memory of the railway

  carriage came back, and the worried face of a

  nice old lady. He heard again an earixest

  voice saying: "The look on a person's face."

  And the way her own face had changed, as

  though she were seeing something very

  clearly in her mind. Just for a moment, he

  thought, her face had been quite different;

  the lips drawn back from the teeth and a

  queer almost gloating look in her eyes.

  He suddenly thought: "But I've seen

  someone look just like that--that same expression.

  Quite lately. When? This momitig.

  Of course. Miss Waynflete when she was

  looking at Bridget in the drawing room at the Manor." And quite suddenly another

  memory assailed him. One of many yesrs

  ago. His Aunt Mildred saying: "She looked, you know, my dear, quite half-witted." And

  just for a minute her own sane, comfortable

  face had borne an imbecile, mindless expression.

  Lavinia Fullerton had been speaking of

  the look she had seen on a man's--no, a

  person's--face. Was it possible that, just for

  a second, her vivid imagination had reproduced

  the look that she saw--the look of a

  murderer looking at his next victim?

  Half unaware of what he was doing, Luke

  quickened his pace toward Miss Waynflete's

  house. A voice in his brain was saying over

  and over again: "Not a man--she never mentioned

  a man. You assumed it was a man

  because you were thinking of a man, but she

  never said so. Oh, God, am I quite mad? It

  isn't possible, what I'm thinking. Surely it

  isn't possible; it wouldn't make sense. But I

  must get to Bridget. I must know she's all

  right. Those eyes--those queer amber eyes.

  Oh, I'm mad. I must be mad. Easterfield's

  the criminal. He must be. He practically said

  so." And still, like a nightmare, he saw Miss

  Fullerton's face in its momentary impersonation

  of something horrible and not quite

  sane.

  The stunted little maid opened the door to

  him. A little startled by his vehemence, she

  said, The lady's gone out. Miss Waynflete

  told me so. I'll see if Miss Waynflete's in."

  He pushed past her, went into the drawing

  room. Emily ran upstairs. She came down

  breathless. "The mistress is out too."

  Luke took her by the shoulder. "Which

  way? Where did they go?"

  She gaped at him. "They must have gone

  out by the back. I'd have seen them if they'd

  gone out front ways, because the kitchen

  looks out there."

  She followed him as he raced out through

  the door into the tiny garden and out beyond.

  There was a man clipping a hedge.

  Luke went up to him and asked a question, striving to keep his voice normal.

  The man said slowly, "Two ladies? Yes.

  Some while since. I was having my dinner

  under the hedge. Reckon they didn't notice

  me."

  "Which way did they go?"

  He strove desperately to make his voice

  normal. Yet the other's eyes opened a little

  wider as he replied slowly: "Across them

  fields. Over that way. I don't know where

  after that."

  Luke thanked him and began to run. His

  strong feeling of urgency was deepened. He

  must catch up with them--he must! He

  might be quite mad. In all probability, they

  were just taking an amicable stroll, but something

  in him clamored for haste. More haste!

  He crossed the two fields, stood hesitating

  in a country lane. Which way now? And

  then he heard the call--faint, far away, but

  unmistakable: "Luke! Help!" And again, "Luke!" Unerringly he plunged into the

  wood and ran in the direction from which

  the cry had come. There were more sounds

  now--scuffling, panting, a low gurgling cry.

  He came through the trees in time to tear a

  mad woman's hands from her victim's throat, to hold her, struggling, foaming, cursing, till

  at last she gave a convulsive shudder and

  turned rigid in his grasp.

  Twenty-four

  "but I don't understand," said Lord

  Easterfield. "I don't understand." He strove

  to maintain his dignity but beneath the

  pompous exterior a rather pitiable bewilderment

  was evident. He could hardly credit

  the extraordinary things that were being told

  him.

  "It's like this. Lord Easterfield," said Battle

  patiently. "To begin with, there is a touch

  of insanity in the family. We've found that

  out now. Often the way with these old
families.

  I should say she had a predisposition

  that way. And then she was an ambitious

  lady, and she was thwarted. First her career

  and then her love affair." He coughed. "I

  understand it was you who jilted her."

  Lord Easterfield said stiffly, "I don't like

  the term 'jilt.' "

  Superintendent Battle amended the phrase,

  "It was you who terminated the engagement?"

  "Well, yes."

  "Tell us why, Gordon," said Bridget.

  Lord Easterfield got rather red. He said, "Oh, very well, if I must. Honoria had a

  canary. She was very fond of it. It used to

  take sugar from her lips. One day it pecked

  her violently instead. She was angry and

  picked it up and--wrung its neck! I--I

  couldn't feel the same after that. I told her I

  thought we'd both made a mistake."

  Battle nodded. He said, "That was the

  beginning of it. As she told Miss Conway, she turned her thoughts and her undoubted

  mental ability to one aim and purpose."

  Lord Easterfield said incredulously, "To

  get me convicted as a murderer? I can't believe

  it."

  Bridget said, "It's true, Gordon. You

  know, you were surprised yourself at the

  extraordinary way that everybody who annoyed

  you was instantly struck down."

  "There was a reason for that."

  "Honoria Waynflete was the reason," said

  Bridget. "Do get it into your head, Gordon, that it wasn't Providence that pushed Tommy

  Pierce out of the window, and all the rest of

  them. It was Honoria."

  Lord Easterfield shook his head. "It all

  seems to me quite incredible!" he said.

  Battle said, "You say you got a telephone

  message this morning?"

  "Yes, about twelve o'clock. I was asksd to

  go to the Shaw Wood at once, as you, Bridget, had something to say to me. 1 was

  not to come by car, but to walk."

  Battle nodded. "Exactly. That would have

  been the finish. Miss Conway would have

  been found with her throat cut, and bsside

  her your knife with your fingerprints on it!

  And you yourself would have been se^n in

  the vicinity at the time! You wouldn't have

  had a leg to stand upon. Any jury in the

  world would have convicted you."

  "Me?" said Lord Easterfield, startled and

  distressed. "Anyone would have belie^d a

  thing like that of me?"

  Bridget said gently, "I didn't, Gordon. I

  never believed it."

  Lord Easterfield looked at her coldly, then

  he said stiffly, "In view of my character and

  my standing in the country, I do not believe that anyone for one moment would hav^ believed

  such a monstrous charge." He went

  out with dignity and closed the door behind

  him.

  Luke said, "He'll never realize that h€ was

  really in danger." Then he said, "Go on, Bridget. Tell me how you came to suspect

  the Waynflete woman."

  Bridget explained, "It was when you were

  telling me that Gordon was the killer. I

  couldn't believe it! You see, I knew him so

  well. I'd been his secretary for two years. I

  knew him in and out. I knew that he was

  pompous and petty and completely selfabsorbed,

  but I knew, too, that he was a

  kindly person and almost absurdly tenderhearted.

  It worried him even to kill a wasp.

  That story about his killing Miss Waynflete's

  canary--it was all wrong. He just couldn't

  have done it. He'd told me once that he had

  jilted her. Now you insisted that it was the

  other way about. Well, that might be so! His

  pride might not have allowed him to admit

  that she had thrown him over. But not the

  canary story! That simply wasn't Gordon!

  He didn't even shoot, because seeing things

  killed made him feel sick.

  "So I simply knew that that part of the

  story was untrue. But if so. Miss Waynflete

  must have lied. And it was really, when you

  came to think of it, a very extraordinary lie.

  And I wondered suddenly if she'd told any

  more lies. She was a very proud woman--

  one could see that. To be thrown over must

  292

  have hurt her pride horribly. It would probably

  make her feel very angry and revengeful

  against Lord Easterfield--especially, I felt, if

  he turned up again later, all rich and prosperous

  and successful. I thought, 'Yes, she'd

  probably enjoy helping to fix a crime upon

  him.' And then a curious sort of whirling

  feeling came in my brain, and I thought:

  'But suppose everything she says is a lie,'

  and I suddenly saw how easily a woman like

  that could make a fool of a man. And I

  thought: 'It's fantastic, but suppose it was

  she who killed all these people and fed

  Gordon up with the idea that it was a kind

  of divine retribution.' It would be quite easy

  for her to make him believe that. As I told

  you once, Gordon would believe anything!

  And I thought: 'Could she have done all

  those murders?' And I saw that she could!

  She could give a shove to a drunken man, push a boy out of a window, and Amy Gibbs

  had died in her house. Mrs. Horton, too--

  she used to go and sit with her when she

  was ill. Doctor Humbleby was more difficult.

  I didn't know then that Wonky Pooh

  had a nasty septic ear. Miss Fullerton's death

  was even more difficult, because I couldn't

  imagine Miss Waynflete dressed up as a

  chauffeur, driving a Rolls.

  293

  "And then, suddenly, I saw that that was

  the easiest of the lot! It was the old shove

  from behind--easily done in a crowd. The

  car didn't stop, and she saw a fresh opportunity

  and told another woman she had seen

  the number of the car, and gave the number

  of Lord Easterfield's Rolls.

  "Of course, all this only came very confusedly

  through my head. But if Gordon

  definitely hadn't done the murders--and I

  knew, yes, knew that he hadn't--well, who

  did? And the answer seemed quite clear.

  Someone who hates Gordon! Who hates

  Gordon? Honoria Waynflete of course.

  "And then I remembered that Miss

  Fullerton had definitely spoken of a man as

  the killer. That knocked out all my beautiful

  theory, because, unless Miss Fullerton was

  right, she wouldn't have been killed. So I

  got you to repeat exactly Miss Fullerton's

  words, and I soon discovered that she hadn't

  actually said 'Man' once. Then I felt that I

  was definitely on the right track! I decided

  to accept Miss Waynflete's invitation to stay

  with her, and I resolved to try to ferret out

  the truth."

  "Without saying a word to me?" said Luke

  angrily.

  "But, my sweet, you were so sure--and I

  wasn't sure a bit! It was all vague and doubtful.

  But I never dreamed that I was in any


  danger. I tho-ught I'd have plenty of time."

  She shivered. "Oh, Luke, it was horrible!

  Her eyes--and that dreadful polite, inhuman

  laugh!"

  Luke said,, with a slight shiver, "I shan't

  forget how I only got there just in time." He

  turned to Battle. "What's she like now?"

  "Gone right over the edge," said Battle.

  "They do, you know. They can't face the

  shock of not having been so clever as they

  thought they were."

  Luke said ruefully, "Well, I'm not much

  of a policeman! I never suspected Honoria

  Waynflete once. You'd have done better, Battle."

  "Maybe, sir, maybe not. You'll remember

  my saying that nothing's impossible in crime.

  I mentioned a maiden lady, I believe."

  "You also mentioned an archbishop and a

  schoolgirl! Am I to understand that you consider

  all these people as potential criminals?"

  Battle's smile broadened to a grin. "Anyone

  may be a criminal, sir; that's what I

  meant."

  "Except Gordon," said Bridget. "Luke, let's go and find him."

  They found Lord Easterfield in his study,

  busily making notes. "Gordon," said Bridget

  in a small meek voice. "Please, now that you

  know everything, will you forgive us?"

  Lord Easterfield looked at her graciously.

  "Certainly, my dear, certainly. I realize the

  truth. I was a busy man. I neglected you.

  The truth of the matter is, as Kipling so

  wisely puts it, 'He travels the fastest who

  travels alone.5 My path in life is a lonely

  one." He squared his shoulders. "I carry a

  big responsibility. I must carry it alone. For

  me there can be no companionship, no easing

  of the burden. I must go through life

  alone, till I drop by the wayside."

  Bridget said, "Dear Gordon! You really

  are sweet!"

  Lord Easterfield frowned. "It is not a

  question of being sweet. Let us forget all this

  nonsense. I am a busy man."

  "I know you are."

  "I am arranging for a series of articles to

  start at once. Crimes committed by women

  through the ages."

  Bridget gazed at him with admiration.

  "Gordon, I think that's a wonderful idea."

  Lord Easterfield puffed out his chest. "So

  please leave me now. I must not be disturbed.

  I have a lot of work to get through."

  Luke and Bridget tiptoed from the room.

  "But he really is sweet," said Bridget.