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
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,