Bridget in her room, superintending the
packing of her clothes by a housemaid.
"Ready soon?"
"In ten minutes."
Her eyes asked a question which the presence
of the maid prevented her from putting
into words. Luke gave a short nod. He went
to his own room and flung his things hurriedly
into his suitcases. He returned ten
minutes later to find Bridget ready for departure.
"Shall we go now?"
"I'm ready."
As they descended the staircase, they met
the butler ascending. "Miss Waynflete has
called to see you, miss."
"Miss Waynflete? Where is she?"
"In the drawing room with his lordship."
Bridget went straight to the drawing room, Luke close behind her. Lord Easterfield was
standing by the window talking to Miss
Waynflete. He had a knife in his hand--a
long slender blade. "Perfect workmanship,"
he was saying. "One of my young men
brought it back to me from Morocco, where
he'd been special correspondent. It's
Moorish, of course, a Riff knife." He drew a
finger lovingly along the blade. "What an
edge!"
Miss Waynflete said sharply, "Put it away, Gordon, for goodness' sake!"
He smiled and laid it down among a collection
of other weapons on the table. "I like
the feel of it," he said softly.
Miss Waynflete had lost some of her usual
poise. She looked white and nervous. "Ah, there you are, Bridget, my dear," she said.
Lord Easterfield chuckled. "Yes, there's
Bridget. Make the most of her, Honoria. She
won't be with us long."
Miss Waynflete said sharply, "What d'you
mean?"
"Mean? I mean she's going to London.
That's right, isn't it? That's all I meant."
He looked round at them all. "I've got a
bit of news for you, Honoria," he said.
"Bridget isn't going to marry me, after all.
She prefers Fitzwilliam here! A queer thing, life. Well, I'll leave you to have your talk."
He went out of the room, his hands jingling
the coins in his pockets.
"Oh, dear!" said Miss Waynflete. "Oh,
dear!"
The deep distress in her voice was so noticeable
that Bridget looked slightly surprised.
She said uncomfortably, "I'm sorry. I really
am frightfully sorry."
Miss Waynflete said, "He's angry--he's
frightfully angry. Oh, dear, this is terrible!
What are we going to do?"
242
Bridget stared. "Do? What do you mean?"
Miss Waynflete said, including them both
in her reproachful glance, "You should never
have told him!"
Bridget said, "Nonsense. What else could
we do?"
"You shouldn't have told him now. You
should have waited till you'd got right away."
Bridget said shortly, "That's a matter of
opinion. I think myself it's better to get unpleasant
things over as quickly as possible."
"Oh, my dear, if it were only a question
of that--" She stopped. Then her eyes asked
a question of Luke.
Luke shook his head. His lips formed the
words, "Not yet."
Miss Waynflete murmured, "I see."
Bridget said, with some slight exasperation, "Did you want to see me about something
in particular. Miss Waynflete?"
"Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I came to
suggest that you should come and pay me a
little visit. I thought--er--you might find it
uncomfortable to remain on here, and that
you might want a few days to--er--well, mature your plans."
"Thank you. Miss Waynflete; that was
very kind of you."
"You see, you'd be quite safe with me
and--"
Bridget interrupted, "Safe?"
Miss Waynflete, a little flustered, said hurriedly,
"Comfortable--that's what I mean--
quite comfortable with me. I mean, not
nearly so luxurious as here, naturally, but
the hot water is hot and my little maid,
Emily, really cooks quite nicely."
"Oh, I'm sure everything would be lovely, Miss Waynflete," said Bridget mechanically.
"But, of course, if you are going up to
Bridget said slowly, "It's a little awkward.
My aunt went off early to a flower show
today. I haven't had a chance yet to tell her
what has happened. I shall leave a note for
her, telling her I've gone up to the flat."
"You're going to your aunt's flat in
London?"
"Yes. There's no one there. But I can go
out for meals."
"You'll be alone in the flat? Oh, dear, I
shouldn't do that. Not stay there alone."
"Nobody will eat me," said Bridget impatiently.
"Besides, my aunt will come up tomorrow."
Miss Waynflete shook her head in a worried
manner.
Luke said, "Better go to a hotel."
Bridget wheeled round on him. "Why?
What's the matter with you all? Why are you
treating me as though I was an imbecile
child?"
"No, no, dear," protested Miss Waynflete.
"We just want you to be careful, that's all!"
"But why? Why? What's it all about?"
"Look here, Bridget," said Luke. "I want
to have a talk with you. But I can't talk
here. Come with me now in the car and we'll
go somewhere quiet." He looked at Miss
Waynflete. "May we come to your house in
about an hour's time? There are several things
I want to say to you."
"Please do. I will wait for you there."
Luke put his hand on Bridget's arm. He
gave a nod of thanks to Miss Waynflete. He
said, "We'll pick up the luggage later. Come
on." He led her out of the room and along
the hall to the front door. He opened the
door of the car. Bridget got in. Luke started
the engine and drove rapidly down the drive.
He gave a sigh of relief as they emerged
from the iron gates. "Thank God I've got
you out of there safely," he said.
"Have you gone quite mad, Luke? Why
all this 'hush-hush, I can't tell you what I
mean now' business?"
Luke said grimly, "Well, there are difficulties, you know, in explaining that a man's
a murderer, when you're actually under his
roof."
Twenty-one
bridget sat for a minute motionless beside
him. She said, "Gordon?" Luke nodded.
"Gordon? Gordon a murderer? Gordon the
murderer? I never heard anything so ridiculous
in all my life!"
"That's how it strikes you?"
"Yes, indeed. Why, Gordon wouldn't hurt
a fly."
Luke said grimly, "That may be true. I
don't know. But he certainly killed a canary
bird, and I'm pretty certain he's killed a
large number of human beings as well."
"My dear Luke, I simply can't believe it!"
"I know," said Luke. "It does sound quite
incredible. Why, he never
even entered my
head as a possible suspect until the night
before last."
Bridget protested, "But I know all about
Gordoni I know what he's like! He's really a
sweet little man--pompous, yes, but rather
pathetic, really." I
Luke shook his head. "You've got to readjust
your ideas about him, Bridget."
"It's no good, Luke; I simply can't believe
it! What put such an absurd idea into your
head? Why, two days ago you were quite
positive it was Ellsworthy."
Luke winced slightly. "I know. I know.
You probably think that tomorrow I shall
suspect Thomas, and the day after I shall be
convinced that it's Horton I'm after. I'm not
really so unbalanced as that. I admit the
idea's completely startling when it first comes
to you, but if you look into it a bit closer, you'll see that it all fits in remarkably well.
No wonder Miss Fullerton didn't dare to go
to the local authorities. She knew they'd
laugh at her! Scotland Yard was her only
hope."
"But what possible motive could Gordon
have for all this killing business? Oh, it's all
so silly!"
"I know. But don't you realize that Gordon
Easterfield has a very exalted opinion of
himself?"
Bridget said, "He pretends to be very wonderful
and very important. That's just inferi- j
ority complex, poor lamb!" I
"Possibly that's at the root of the trouble.
I don't know. But think, Bridget--just think
a minute. Remember all the phrases you've
used laughingly yourself about him-- lese-majeste, and so on. Don't you realize that
the man's ego is swollen out of all proportion?
And it's allied with religion. My dear
girl, the man's as mad as a hatter!"
Bridget thought for a minute. She said at
last, "I still can't believe it. What evidence
have you got, Luke?"
"Well, there are his own words. He told
me, quite plainly and distinctly, the night
before last, that anyone who opposed him in
any way always died."
"Go on."
"I can't quite explain to you what I mean, but it was the way he said it. Quite calm and
complacent and--how shall I put it?--quite
used to the idea! He just sat there smiling to
himself. It was uncanny and rather horrible, Bridget!"
"Go on."
"Well, then he went on to give me a list of
people who'd passed out because they'd incurred
his sovereign displeasure! And, listen
to this, Bridget: the people he mentioned
were Mrs. Horton, Amy Gibbs, Tommy
Pierce, Harry Carter, Humbleby and that
chauffeur fellow. Rivers."
Bridget was shaken at last. She went very
pale. "He mentioned those actual people?"
"Those actual people! Now, do you
believe?"
"Oh, I suppose I must. What were his
reasons?"
"Horribly trivial. That's what made it so
frightening. Mrs. Horton had snubbed him, Tommy Pierce had done imitations of him
and made the gardeners laugh. Harry Carter
had abused him, Amy Gibbs had been grossly
impertinent, Humbleby had dared to oppose
him publicly. Rivers threatened him before
me and Miss Waynflete."
Bridget put her hands to her eyes. "Horrible.
Quite horrible," she murmured.
"I know. Then there's some other outside
evidence. The car that ran down Miss
Fullerton in London was a Rolls and its
number was the number of Lord Easterfield's
car."
"That definitely clinches it," said Bridget
slowly.
"Yes. The police thought the woman who
gave them that number must have made a
mistake. Mistake indeed!"
"I can understand that," said Bridget.
"When it comes to a rich powerful man like
Lord Easterfield, naturally, his story is the
one to be believed/'
"Yes. One appreciates Miss Fullerton's
difficulty."
Bridget said thoughtfully, "Once or twice
she said rather queer things to me. As though
she were warning me against something. I
didn't understand in the least at the time. I
see now!"
"It all fits in," said Luke. "That's the way
of it. At first one says--as you said--'Impossible!5
and then, once one accepts the
idea, everything fits in. The grapes he sent
to Mrs. Horton--and she thought the nurses
were poisoning her! And that visit of his to
the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories--Somehow
or ether, he must have got
hold of some culture of germs and infected
Humbleby."
"I don't see how he managed that."
"I don't either, but the connection is there.
One can't get away from that."
"No. As you say, it fits. And of course he
could do things that other people couldn't. I
mean he would be so completely above suspicion."
"I think Miss Waynflete suspected. She
mentioned that visit to the laboratories.
Brought it into conversation quite casually,
but I believe she hoped I'd act upon it."
"She knew, then, all along?"
"She had a very strong suspicion. I think
she was handicapped by having once been in
love with him."
Bridget nodded. "Yes, that accounts for
several things. Gordon told me they had once
been engaged."
"She wanted, you see, not to believe it
was him. But she became more and more
sure that it was. She tried to give me hints,
but she couldn't bear to do anything outright
against him. Women are odd creatures. I
think, in a way she still cares about him."
"Even after he jilted her?"
"She jilted him. It was rather an ugly
story. I'll tell you." He recounted the short,
violent episode.
Bridget stared at him. "Gordon did that?"
"Yes. Even in those days, you see, he
can't have been normal."
Bridget shivered and murmured, "All
those years ago—all those years—"
Luke said, "He may have got rid of a lot
more people than we shall ever know about.
It's just the rapid succession of deaths lately
that drew attention to him. As though he'd
got reckless with success."
Bridget nodded. She was silent for a
minute or two, thinking, then she said
abruptly, "What exactly did Miss Fullerton
say to you in the train that day? How did
she begin?"
Luke cast his mind back. "Told me she
was going to Scotland Yard, mentioned the
village constable; said he was a nice fellow,
but not up to dealing with murder."
"That was the first mention of the word?"
"Yes."
"Go on."
"Then she said, 'You're surprised, I can
see. I was myself at first. I really couldn't
believe it. I thought I must be imagining
t
hings.' "
"And then?"
"I asked her if she was sure she
wasn't—imagining things, I mean—and she
said, quite placidly, 'Oh, no. It might
have been the first time, but not the second,
or the third, or the fourth. After that, one
knows.' "
"Marvelous," commented Bridget. "Go
on."
"So of course I humored her; said I was
sure she was doing the right thing. I was an
unbelieving Thomas if there ever was one."
"I know. So easy to be wise after the
event. I'd have felt just the same--nice and
superior to the poor old dame. How did the
conversation go on?"
"Let me see. Oh, she mentioned the
Abercrombie case--you know, the Welsh
poisoner. Said she hadn't really believed that
there had been a look--a special look--that
he gave his victims. But that she believed it
now, because she had seen it herself."
"What words did she use exactly?"
Luke thought, creasing his brow. "She
said, still in that nice ladylike voice: 'Of
course, I didn't really believe that when I
read about it, but it's true.' And I said,
'What's true?' And she said, 'The look on a
person's face.' And, by Jove, Bridget, the
way she said that, absolutely got me! Her
quiet voice and the look on her face--like
someone who had really seen something almost
too horrible to speak about!"
"Go on, Luke. Tell me everything."
"And then she enumerated the victims--
Amy Gibbs and Carter and Tommy Pierce, and said that Tommy was a horrid boy and
Carter drank. And then she said, 'But now--
yesterday--it was Doctor Humbleby--and
he's such a good man--a really good man.'
And she said if she went to Humbleby and
told him, he wouldn't believe her; he'd only
laugh!"
Bridget gave a deep sigh. "I see," she
said. "I see."
Luke looked at her. "What is it, Bridget?
What are you thinking of?"
"Something Mrs. Humbleby once said. I
wondered--No, never mind, go on. What
was it she said to you right at the end?"
Luke repeated the words soberly. They
had made an impression on him and he was
not likely to forget them. "I'd said it was
difficult to get away with a lot of murders,
and she answered, 'No, no, my dear boy, that's where you're wrong. It's very easy to
kill, so long as no one suspects you. And, you see, the person in question is just the