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."
"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.
"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.