last person anyone would suspect.' " He was
silent.
Bridget said, with a shiver, "Easy to kill?
Horribly easy--that's true enough! No wonder
those words stuck in your mind, Luke.
They'll stick in mine--all my life! A man
like Gordon Easterfield--Oh, of course it's
easy!"
"It's not so easy to bring it home to him,"
said Luke.
"Don't you think so? I've an idea I can
help there."
"Bridget, I forbid you--"
"You can't. One can't just sit back and
play safe. I'm in this, Luke. It may be clangerous--yes,
I'll admit that--but I've got to
play my part."
"Bridget--"
"I'm in this, Luke! I shall accept Miss
Waynflete's invitation and stay down here."
"My darling, I implore you--"
"It's dangerous for both of us. I know
that. But we're in it, Luke--we're in it together!"
Twenty-two
the calm interior of Miss Waynflete's house
was almost an anticlimax after that tense moment
in the car. Miss Waynflete received
Bridget's acceptance of her invitation a little
doubtfully; hastening, however, to reiterate
her offer of hospitality by way of showing
that her doubts were due to quite another
cause than unwillingness to receive the girl.
Luke said, "I really think it will be the best
thing, since you are so kind. Miss Waynflete.
I am staying at the Bells and Motley. Fd
rather have Bridget under my eye than up in
town. After all, remember what happened
there before."
Miss Waynflete said, "You mean Lavinia
Fullerton?"
"Yes. You would have said, wouldn't you, that anyone would be quite safe in the middle
of a crowded city."
"You mean," said Miss Waynflete, "that
anyone's safety depends principally on the
fact that nobody wishes to kill them?"
"Exactly. We have come to depend upon
what has been called the good will of civilization."
Miss Waynflete nodded her head thoughtfully.
Bridget said, "How long have you known
that--that Gordon was the killer, Miss
Waynflete?"
Miss Waynflete sighed. "That is a difficult
question to answer, my dear. I suppose
that I have been quite sure in my inmost
heart, for some time. But I did my best not
to recognize that belief. You see, I didn't
want to believe it and so I pretended to
myself that it was a wicked and monstrous
idea on my part."
Luke said bluntly, "Have you never been
afraid for yourself?"
Miss Waynflete considered. "You mean
that if Gordon had suspected that I knew, he
would have found some means of getting rid
of me?"
"Yes."
Miss Waynflete said gently, "I have, of
course, been alive to that possibility. I tried
to be careful of myself. But I do not think
that Gordon would have considered me a
real menace."
"Why?"
Miss Waynflete flushed a little. "I don't
think that Gordon would ever believe that I
would do anything to--to bring him into
danger."
Luke said abruptly, "You went as far, didn't you, as to warn him?"
"Yes. That is, I did hint to him that it
was odd that anyone who displeased him
should shortly meet with an accident."
Bridget demanded, "And what did he
say?"
A worried expression passed over Miss
Waynflete's face. "He didn't react at all in
the way I meant. He seemed--really it's most
extraordinary!--he seemed pleased. He said,
'So, you've noticed that?' He quite--quite
preened himself, if I may use that expression."
"He's mad, of course," said Luke.
Miss Waynflete agreed eagerly, "Yes, indeed, there isn't any other explanation possible.
He's not responsible for his acts." She
laid a hand on Luke's arm. "They--they
"No, no. Send him to Broadmoor, I
expect."
Miss Waynflete sighed and leaned back.
"I'm so glad." Her eyes rested on Bridget, who was frowning down at the carpet.
Luke said, "But we're a long way from all
that, still. I've notified the powers that be, and I can say this much: They're prepared
to take the matter seriously. But you must
realize that we've got remarkably little evidence
to go upon."
"We'll get evidence," said Bridget.
Miss Waynflete looked up at her. There
was some quality in her expression that reminded
Luke of someone or something that
he had seen not long ago. He tried to pin
down the elusive memory, but failed. Miss
Waynflete said doubtfully, "You are confident, my dear. Well, perhaps you are right."
Luke said, "I'll go along with the car, Bridget, and fetch your things from the
4«
manor."
Bridget said immediately, "I'll come too."
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Yes, but I'd rather come."
Luke said irritably, "Don't do the motherand-child
act with me, Bridget! I refuse to
be protected by you."
Miss Waynflete murmured, "I really
think, Bridget, that it will be quite all right--
in the car, and in daylight."
Bridget gave a slightly shamefaced laugh.
"I'm being rather an idiot. This business
gets on one's nerves."
Luke said, "Miss Waynflete protected me
home the other night. . . . Come now. Miss
Waynflete, admit it! You did, didn't you?"
She admitted it, smiling. "You see, Mr.
Fitzwilliam, you were so completely unsuspicious.
And if Gordon Easterfield had really
grasped the fact that you were down here to
look into this business, and for no other
reason--well, it wasn't very safe. And that's
a very lonely lane. Anything might have
happened!"
"Well, I'm alive to the danger now all
right," said Luke grimly. "I shan't be caught
napping, I can assure you."
Miss Waynflete said anxiously, "Remember, he is very cunning. And much cleverer
than you would ever imagine. Really a
most ingenious mind."
"I'm forewarned."
"Men have courage--one knows that,"
said Miss Waynflete--"but they are more
easily deceived than women."
"That's true," said Bridget.
Luke said, "Seriously, Miss Waynflete, do
you really think that I am in any danger? Do
you think, in film parlance, that Lord
Easterfield is really out to get me?"
Miss Waynflete hesitated. "I think," she
said, "that the principal danger is to Bridget.
It is her rejection of him that is the supreme
insult. I think that after he has dealt with
Bridget, he will turn his attention to you.
But I think that undoubtedly he will try for
her first."
Luke groaned, "I
wish to goodness you'd
go abroad—now—at once, Bridget."
Bridget's lips set themselves together. "I'm
not going."
Miss Waynflete sighed. "You are a brave
creature, Bridget. I admire you."
"You'd do the same in my place."
"Well, perhaps."
Bridget said, her voice dropping to a full
rich note, "Luke and I are in this together."
She went out with him to the door. Luke
said, "I'll give you a ring from the Bells and
Motley when I'm safely out of the lion's
den."
"Yes, do."
"My sweet, don't let's get all het up! Even
the most accomplished murderers have to
have a little time to mature their plans. I
should say we're quite all right for a day or
two. Superintendent Battle is coming down
from London today. From then on, Easterfield
will be under observation."
"In fact, everything is O.K. and we can
cut out the melodrama."
Luke said gravely, laying a hand on her
shoulder, "Bridget, my sweet, you will oblige
me by not doing anything rash."
"Same to you, darling Luke."
He squeezed her shoulder, jumped into
the car and drove off. Bridget returned to
the sitting room. Miss Waynflete was fussing
a little in a gentle spinsterish manner. "My
dear, your room's not quite ready yet. Emily
is seeing to it. Do you know what I'm going
to do? I'm going to get you a nice cup of tea.
It's just what you need after all these upsetting
incidents."
"It's frightfully kind of you. Miss
Waynflete, but I really don't want any."
Bridget disliked tea intensely. It usually
gave her indigestion. Miss Waynflete, however, had decided that tea was what her young
guest needed. She bustled out of the room
and reappeared about five minutes later, her
face beaming, carrying a tray on which stood
two dainty Dresden cups full of a fragrant
steaming beverage.
"Real Lapsang souchong," said Miss
Waynflete proudly. Bridget, who disliked
China tea even more than Indian, gave a wan
smile.
At that moment, Emily, a small clumsylooking
girl with pronounced adenoids, appeared
in the doorway and said, "If you
blease, biss, did you bean the frilled billow
cases?"
Miss Waynflete hurriedly left the room, and Bridget took advantage of the respite to
pour her tea out of the window, narrowly
escaping scalding Wonky Pooh, who was on
the flower bed below.
Wonky Pooh accepted her apologies, sprang up on the window sill and proceeded
to wind himself in and out over Bridget's
shoulders, purring in an affected manner.
"Handsome!" said Bridget, drawing a hand
down his back. Wonky Pooh arched his tail
and purred with redoubled vigor. "Nice
pussy," said Bridget, tickling his ears.
Miss Waynflete returned at that minute.
"Dear me," she exclaimed. "Wonky Pooh
has quite taken to you, hasn't he? He's so
standoffish as a rule! Mind his ear, my dear.
He's had a bad ear lately and it's still very
painful." The injunction came too late.
Bridget's hand had tweaked the painful ear.
Wonky Pooh spat at her and retired, a mass
of orange offended dignity. "Oh, dear, has
he scratched you?" cried Miss Waynflete.
"Nothing much," said Bridget, sucking a
diagonal scratch on the back of her hand.
"Shall I put some iodine on?"
"Oh, no, it's quite all right. Don't let's
fuss."
Miss Waynflete seemed a little disappointed.
Feeling that she had been ungracious, Bridget said hastily, "I wonder how
long Luke will be?"
"Now don't worry, my dear. I'm sure Mr.
Fitzwilliam is well able to take care of
himself."
"Oh, Luke's tough all right!"
At that moment the telephone rang.
Bridget hurried to it. Luke's voice spoke, "Hullo? That you, Bridget? I'm at the Bells
and Motley. Can you wait for your traps till
after lunch? Because Battle has arrived here--
you know who I mean."
"The superintendent man from Scotland
Yard?"
"Yes. And he wants to have a talk with
me right away."
"That's all right by me. Bring my things
round after lunch and tell me what he says
about it all."
"Right. So long, my sweet."
Bridget replaced the receiver and retailed
the conversation to Miss Waynflete. Then
she yawned. A feeling of fatigue had succeeded
her excitement. Miss Waynflete noticed
it. "You're tired, my dear! You'd better
lie down. No, perhaps that would be a bad
thing just before lunch. I was just going to
take some old clothes to a woman in a cottage
not very far away--quite a pretty walk
over the fields. Perhaps you'd care to come
with me? We'll just have time before lunch."
Bridget agreed willingly. They went out
the back way. Miss Waynflete wore a straw
hat and, to Bridget's amusement, had put on
gloves. "We might be going to Bond Street,'" she thought to herself
Miss Waynflete chatted pleasantly of various
small village matters as they walked.
They went across two fields, crossed a rough
lane and then took a path leading through a
ragged copse. The day was hot and Bridget
found the shade of the trees pleasant. Miss
Waynflete suggested that they should sit
down and rest a minute. "It's really rather
oppressively warm today, don't you think? I
fancy there must be thunder about."
Bridget acquiesced somewhat sleepily. She
lay back against the bank, her eyes half
closed, some lines of poetry wandering
through her brain:
0 why do you walk through the fields in
gloves,
0 fat white woman whom nobody loves?
But that wasn't quite right! Miss Waynflete
wasn't fat. She amended the words to fit the
case:
0 why do you walk through the fields in
gloves,
0 lean gray woman whom nobody loves?
Miss Waynflete broke in upon her
thoughts. "You're very sleepy, dear, aren't
you?"
The words were said in a gentle everyday
tone, but something in them jerked Bridget's
eyes suddenly open.
Miss Waynflete was leaning forward toward
her. Her eyes were eager, her tongue
passed gently over her lips. She repeated her
question: "You're very sleepy, aren't you?"
This time there was no mistaking the definite
significance of the tone. A flash passed
through Bridget's brain--a lightning flash of
comprehension, succeeded by one of con
tempt at her own density. She had suspected the truth, but it had been no more than a
dim suspicion. She had meant, working quietly
and secretly, to make sure. But
not for
one moment had she realized that anything
was to be attempted against herself. She had, she thought, concealed her suspicions entirely.
Nor would she have dreamed that
anything would be contemplated so soon.
Fool--seven times fool! And she thought
suddenly: "The tea--there was something in
the tea. She doesn't know I never drank it.
Now's my chance. I must pretend. What
stuff was it, I wonder? Poison? Or just sleeping
stuff? She expects me to be sleepy--
that's evident."
She let her eyelids droop again. In what
she hoped was a natural drowsy voice, she
said: "I do--frightfully. How funny! I don't
know when I've felt so sleepy."
Miss Waynflete nodded softly. Bridget
watched the older woman narrowly through
her almost-closed eyes. She thought: "I'm a
match for her anyway. My muscles are pretty
tough; she's a skinny frail old pussy. But
I've got to make her talk--that's it, make
her talk."
Miss Waynflete was smiling. It was not a
nice smile. It was sly and not very human.
Bridget thought: "She's like a goat. How
like a goat she is! A goat's always been an
evil symbol. I see why now. I was right--I
was right in that fantastic idea of mine. Hell
has no fury like a woman scorned. That was
the start of it; it's all there."
She murmured, and this time her voice
held a definite note of apprehension: "I don't
know what's the matter with me, I feel so
queer--so very queer."
Miss Waynflete gave a swift glance round
her. The spot was entirely desolate. It was
too far from the village for a shout to be
heard. There were no houses or cottages near.
She began to fumble with the parcel she
carried--the parcel that was supposed to contain
old clothes. Apparently, it did. The paper
came apart, revealing a soft woolly
garment. And still those gloved hands fumbled
and fumbled.
0 why do you walk through the fields in
gloves?
Yes, why? Why gloves? Of course! Of
course! The whole thing so beautifully
planned!
The wrapping fell aside. Carefully, Miss
Waynflete extracted the knife, holding it very
carefully, so as not to obliterate the fingerprints
which were already on it--where the