"Yes."
"Was her death at all unexpected?"
Miss Waynflete said slowly, "It was to
m<e. You see, she had been getting much
better--seemed well on the road to recovery--and
then she had a sudden relapse and
died."
"Was Doctor Thomas surprised?"
"I don't know. I believe he was."
"And the nurses--what did they say?"
"In my experience," said Miss Waynflete, "hospital nurses are never surprised at any
case taking a turn for the worse. It is recovery
that surprises them."
"But her death surprised you?" Luke persisted.
"Yes. I had been with her only the day
before, and she had seemed very much better, talked and seemed quite cheerful."
"What did she think about her own
illness?"
"She complained that the nurses were poisoning
her. She had had one nurse sent away, but she said these two were just as bad."
"I suppose you didn't pay much attention
to that?"
"Well, no, I thought it was all part of the
illness. And she was a very suspicious woman
and--it may be unkind to say so, but she
liked to make herself important. No doctor
ever understood her case, and it was never
anything simple; it must either be some very
obscure disease or else somebody was "trying
to get her out of the way.' "
Luke tried to make his voice casual. "She
didn't suspect her husband of trying to do
her in?"
"Oh, no, that idea never occurred to her!"
Miss Waynflete paused a minute, then she
asked quietly, "Is that what you think?"
Luke said slowly, "Husbands have done
that before and got away with it. Mrs.
Horton, from all accounts, was a woman any
man might have longed to be rid of. And I
understand that he came into a good deal of
money on her death."
"Yes, he did."
"What do you think. Miss Waynflete?"
"You want my opinion?"
"Yes, just your opinion."
Miss Waynflete said, quietly and deliberately, "In my opinion. Major Horton was
quite devoted to his wife and would never
have dreamed of doing such a thing."
Luke looked at her and received the mild
amber glance in reply. It did not waver.
"Well," he said, "I expect you're right.
You'd probably know if it was the other way
round."
Miss Waynflete permitted herself a smile. "We women are good observers, you think?"
"Absolutely first class. Would Miss
Fullerton have agreed with you, do you
think?"
"I don't think I ever heard Lavinia express
an opinion.
"What did she think about Amy Gibbs?"
Miss Waynflete frowned a little, as though
thinking. "It's difficult to say. Lavinia had a
very curious idea."
"What idea?"
"She thought that there was something
odd going on here in Wychwood."
"She thought, for instance, that somebody
oushed Tommy Pierce out of that window?"
Miss Waynflete stared at him in astonishment.
"How did you know that, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
"She told me so. Not in those words, but
she gave me the general idea."
Miss Waynflete leaned forward, pink with
excitement. "When was this, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
Luke said quietly, "The day she was killed.
We traveled together to London."
"What did she tell you exactly?"
"She told me that there had been too many
deaths in Wychwood. She mentioned Amy
Gibbs, and Tommy Pierce, and that man, Carter. She also said that Doctor Humbleby
would be the next to go."
Miss Waynflete nodded slowly. "Did she
tell you who was responsible?"
"A man with a certain look in his eyes,"
said Luke grimly. "A look you couldn't mistake,
according to her. She'd seen that look
in his eye when he was talking to Humbleby. That's why she said Humbleby would be the
next to go."
"And he was," whispered Miss Waynflete.
eyes had a stricken look in them.
"Who was the man?" said Luke. "Come
now. Miss Waynflete; you know--you must
know!"
"I don't. She didn't tell me."
"But you can guess," said Luke keenly.
"You've a very shrewd idea of who was in
her mind." Reluctantly, Miss Waynflete
bowed her head. "Then tell me."
But Miss Waynflete shook her head energetically.
"No, indeed! You're asking me to
do something that is highly improper! You're
asking me to guess at what may--only may, mind you--have been in the mind of a friend
who is now dead. I couldn't make an accusation
of that kind!"
"It wouldn't be an accusation, only an
opinion."
But Miss Waynflete was unexpectedly
firm. "I've nothing to go on--nothing whatever,"
she said. "Lavinia never actually said
anything to me. I may think she had a certain
idea, but, you see, I might be entirely
wrong. And then I should have misled you, and perhaps serious consequences might ensue.
It would be very wicked and unfair of
me to mention a name. And I may be quite, quite wrong! In fact, I probably am wrong!"
And Miss Waynflete set her lips firmly and
glared at Luke with a grim determination.
Luke knew how to accept defeat when he
met it. He realized that Miss Waynflete's
sense of rectitude and something else more
nebulous that he could not quite place were
both against him. He accepted defeat with a
good grace and rose to say good-by. He had
every intention of returning to the charge
later, but he allowed no hint of that to escape
into his manner. "You must do as you
think right, of course," he said. "Thank you
for the help you have given me."
Miss Waynflete seemed to become a little
less sure of herself as she accompanied him
to the door. "I hope you don't think--" she
began; then changed the form of the sentence.
"If there is anything else I can do to
help you, please, please, let me know."
"I will. You won't repeat this conversation, will you?"
"Of course not. I shan't say a word to
anybody." Luke hoped that that was true.
"Give my love to Bridget," said Miss
Waynflete. "She's such a handsome girl, isn't
she? And clever too. I--I hope she will be
happy." And, as Luke looked a question, she added, "Married to Lord Easterfield, I
mean. Such a great difference in age."
"Yes, there is."
Miss Waynflete Sighed. "You know that I
was engaged to him once," she said unexpectedly.
Luke stared in astonishment. She was nodding
her head and smiling rather sadly. "A
long time ago. He was such a promising boy.
I had helped him, you know, to educate
himself. And I was so proud of his--his
spirit and the way he was determi
ned to
succeed." She sighed again. "My people, of
course, were scandalized. Class distinctions
in those days were very strong." She added, after a minute or two, "I've always followed
his career with great interest. My people, I
think, were wrong." Then, with a smile, she
nodded a farewell and went back into the
house.
Luke tried to collect his thoughts. He had
placed Miss Waynflete as definitely "old."
He realized now that she was probably still
under sixty. Lord Easterfield must be well
over fifty. She might, perhaps, be a year or
two older than he, no more. And he was
going to marry Bridget. Bridget, who was
twenty-eight. Bridget, who was young and
alive! "Oh, damn," said Luke. "Don't let
me go on thinking of it. The job. Get on
with the job."
Fourteen
Miss church, Amy Gibbs' aunt, was definitely
an unpleasant woman. Her sharp nose, shifty eyes and her voluble tongue all alike
filled Luke with nausea. He adopted a curt
manner with her and found it unexpectedly
successful. "What you've got to do," he told
her, "is to answer my questions to the best
of your ability. If you hold back anything or
tamper with the truth, the consequences may
be extremely serious to you."
"Yes, sir. I see. I'm sure I'm only too
willing to tell you anything I can. I've never
been mixed up with the police--"
"And you don't want to be," finished
Luke. "Well, if you do as I've told you, there won't be any question of that. I want
to know all about your late niece--who her
friends were, what money she had, anything
she said that might be out of the way. We'll
start with her friends. Who were they?"
Mrs. Church leered at him slyly out of the
corner of an unpleasant eye. "You'll be
meaning gentlemen, sir?"
"Had she any girlfriends?"
"Well, hardly—not to speak of, sir. Of
course, there was girls she'd been in service
with, but Amy didn't keep up with them
much. You see—"
"She preferred the sterner sex. Go on.
Tell me about that."
"It was Jim Harvey down at the garage
she was actually going with, sir. And a nice
steady young fellow he was. 'You couldn't
do better,' I've said to her many a time."
Luke cut in, "And the others?"
Again he got the sly look. "I expect you're
thinking of the gentleman who keeps the
curiosity shop? I didn't like it myself, and I
tell you that straight, sir! I've always been
respectable and I don't hold with carryings
on! But with what girls are nowadays, it's no
use speaking to them. They go their own
way. And often they live to regret it."
"Did Amy live to regret it?" asked Luke
bluntly.
"No, sir, that I do not think."
"She went to consult Doctor Thomas on
the day of her death. That wasn't the
reason?"
"No, sir, I'm nearly sure it wasn't. Oh, I'd take my oath on it! Amy had been feeling
ill and out of sorts, but it was just a bad
cough and cold she had. It wasn't anything
of the kind you suggest; I'm sure it wasn't,
sir."
"I'll take your word for that. How far had
matters gone between her and Ellsworthy?"
Mrs. Church leered. "I couldn't exactly
say, sir. Amy wasn't one for confiding in
me."
Luke said curtly, "But they'd gone pretty
far?"
Mrs. Church said smoothly, "The gentleman
hasn't got at all a good reputation here, sir. All sorts of goings on. And friends down
from town and many queer happenings. Up
in the Witches' Meadow in the middle of the
night."
"Did Amy go?"
"She did go once, sir, I believe. Stayed
out all night, and his lordship found out
about it--she was at the Manor then--and
spoke to her pretty sharp, and she sauced
him back and her gave her notice for it, which was only to be expected."
"Did she ever talk to you much about
what went on in the places she was in?"
Mrs. Church shook her head. "Not very
much, sir. More interested in her own doings, she was."
"She was with Major and Mrs. Horton for
a while, wasn't she?"
"Nearly a year, sir."
"Why did she leave?"
"Just to better herself. There was a place
going at the Manor and, of course, the wages
was better there."
Luke nodded. "She was with the Hortons
at the time of Mrs. Horton's death?" he
asked.
"Yes, sir. She grumbled a lot about that--
with two hospital nurses in the house, and
all that extra work nurses make and the trays
and one thing and another."
"She wasn't with Mr. Abbot, the lawyer, at all?"
"No, sir. Mr. Abbot has a man and wife
do for him. Amy did go to see him once at
his office, but I don't know why."
Luke stored away that small fact as possibly
relevant. Since Mrs. Church, however, clearly knew nothing more about it, he did
not pursue the subject. "Any other gentlemen
in the town who were friends of hers?"
"Nothing that I'd care to repeat."
"Come now, Mrs. Church. I want the
truth, remember."
"It wasn't a gentleman, sir; very far from
it. Demeaning herself, that's what it was,
and so I told her."
"Do you mind speaking more plainly, Mrs.
Church?"
"You'll have heard of the Seven Stars, sir?
Not a good-class house, and the landlord,
Harry Carter, a low-class fellow and half seas
over most of the time."
"Amy was a friend of his?"
"She went for a walk with him once or
twice. I don't believe there was more in it
than that. I don't indeed, sir."
Luke nodded thoughtfully and changed
the subject. "Did you know a small boy,
Tommy Pierce?"
"What? Mrs. Pierce's son? Of course I
did. Always up to mischief."
"He ever see much of Amy?"
"Oh, no, sir. Amy would soon send him
off with a flea in his ear if he tried any of his
tricks on her."
"Was she happy in her place with Miss
Waynflete?"
"She found it a bit dull, sir, and the pay
wasn't high. But of course, after she'd been
dismissed the way she was from Ashe Manor,
it wasn't so easy to get another good place."
"She could have gone away, I suppose?"
"To London, you mean?"
"Or some other part of the country?"
Mrs. Church shook her head. She saidd
slowly, "Amy didn't want to leave Wych-iwood;
not as things were."
"How do you mean, "as things were5?"
"What with Jim and the gentleman at thee
curio shop." Luke nodded thoughtfully. Mrs.;. Church went on, "Miss Waynflete is a ver^y
nice lady, but very particular
about brasss
and silver and everything being dusted ancd
the mattresses turned. Amy wouldn't havee
put up with the fussing if she hadn't beern
enjoying herself in other ways."
"I can imagine that," said Luke dryly. Hce
turned things over in his mind. He could seee
no further questions to ask. He was fairly certain that he had extracted all that Mrs;.
Church knew. He decided on one last tentaitive
attack: "I dare say you can guess th<e reason for all these questions. The circumr stances of Amy's death were rather mysteriious.
We're not entirely satisfied as to its being an accident. If not, you realize what it
must have been."
Mrs. Church said, with a certain ghoulish relief, "Foul play!"
"Quite so. Now, supposing your niece di4
meet with foul play, who do you think is
likely to be responsible for her death?"
Mrs. Church wiped her hands on her
apron. "There'd be a reward, as likely as
not, for setting the police on the right track?"
she inquired meaningly.
"There might be," said Luke.
"I wouldn't like to say anything definite"--Mrs.
Church passed a hungry tongue
over her thin lips--"but the gentleman at
the curio shop is a queer one. You'll remember
the Castor case, sir, and that poor girl.
And there've been five or six other poor girls
served the same way later. Maybe this Mr.
Ellsworthy is one of that kind?"
"That's your suggestion, is it?"
"Well, it might be that way, sir, mightn't
it?"
Luke admitted that it might. Then he said,
"Was Ellsworthy away from here on the afternoon
of Derby Day? That's a very important
point."
Mrs. Church stared. "Derby Day?"
"Yes, a fortnight ago last Wednesday."
She shook her head. "Really, I couldn't
say as to that. He usually was away on
Wednesdays; went up to town as often as
not. It's early closing Wednesday, you see."
"Oh," said Luke, "early closing."
He took his leave of Mrs. Church, disregarding
her insinuations that her time had
been valuable and that she was therefore entitled
to monetary compensation. He found
himself disliking Mrs. Church intensely. Nevertheless, the conversation he had had with
her, though not strikingly illuminative in any
way, had provided several suggestive small
points.