"Not sufficient brains to write a book?
Don't spare my feelings. I'd rather know."
"You might write a book, but not that
kind of book--old superstitions, delving into
the past--not that sort of thing! You're not
the kind of man to whom the past means
much--perhaps not even the future--only
just the present."
"H'm. I see." He made a wry face. "Damn
it all, you've made me nervous ever since I
got here! You looked so confoundedly intelligent."
"I'm sorry," said Bridget dryly. "What
did you expect?"
"Well, I really hadn't thought about it."
But she went on calmly, "A fluffy little
person with just enough brains to realize her
opportunities and marry her boss?" Luke
made a confused noise. She turned a cool, amused glance on him. "I quite understand.
It's all right. I'm not annoyed."
Luke chose effrontery. "Well, perhaps, it
was something faintly approaching that. But
I didn't think much about it."
She said slowly, "No, you wouldn't. You
don't cross your fences till you get to them."
She paused a minute, then said: "Why are
you down here, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
They had returned full circle to the original
question. Luke had been aware that it
must be so. In the last few seconds he had
been trying to make up his mind! He looked
up now and met her eyes--shrewd, inquir-
ing eyes that met his with a calm steady
gaze. There was a gravity in them which he
had not quite expected to find there. "It would be better, I think," he said meditatively, "not to tell you any more lies."
"Much better."
"But the truth's awkward. Look here, have
you yourself formed any opinions? I mean
has anything occurred to you about my being
here?" She nodded slowly and thoughtfully.
"What was your idea? Will you tell
me? I fancy it may help somehow."
Bridget said quietly, "I had an idea that
you came down here in connection with the
death of that girl, Amy Gibbs."
"That's it, then! That's what I saw--what
I felt--whenever her name cropped up! I
knew there was something. So you thought I
came down about that?"
"Didn't you?"
"In a way, yes."
He was silent, frowning. The girl beside
him sat equally silent, not moving. She said
nothing to disturb his train of thought.
He made up his mind. "I've come down
here on a wild-goose chase--on a fantastical
and probably quite absurd and melodramatic
supposition. Amy Gibbs is part of that whole
business. I'm interested to find out exactly
how she died."
"Yes, I thought so."
"But dash it all, why did you think so?
What is there about her death that--well, aroused your interest?"
Bridget said, "I've thought all along that
there was something wrong about it. That's
why I took you to see Miss Waynflete."
"Why?"
"Because she thinks so too."
"Oh." Luke thought back rapidly. He understood
now the underlying suggestions of
that intelligent spinster's manner. "She thinks
as you do--that there's something odd about
it?" Bridget nodded. "Why, exactly?"
"Hat paint, to begin with."
"What do you mean--hat paint?"
"Well, about twenty years ago people did
paint hats--one season you had a pink straw, next season, a bottle of hat paint and it
became dark blue, then, perhaps, another
bottle and a black hat! But not nowadays.
Hats are cheap--tawdry stuff, to be thrown
away when out of fashion."
"Even girls of the class of Amy Gibbs?"
"I'd be more likely to paint a hat than she
would. Thrift's gone out. And there's another
thing. It was red hat Daint."
"Well?"
"And Amy Gibbs had red hair--carrots!"
"You mean it doesn't go together?"
Bridget nodded. "You wouldn't wear a
scarlet hat with carroty hair. It's the sort of
thing a man wouldn't realize, but--"
Luke interrupted her with heavy significance.
"No, a man wouldn't realize that. It
fits in--it all fits in."
Bridget said, "Jimmy has got some odd
friends at Scotland Yard. You're not--"
detective, and I'm not a well known private
investigator with rooms in Baker Street, and
so on. I'm exactly what Jimmy told you I
was--a retired policeman from the East. I'm
homing in on this business because of an
odd thing that happened in the train to
London." He gave a brief synopsis of his
conversation with Miss Fullerton and the
subsequent events that had brought about
his presence in Wychwood. "So, you see,"
he ended, "it's fantastic! I'm looking for a
certain man--a secret killer--a man here in Wychwood, probably well known and respected.
If Miss Fullerton's right and you're
right and Miss What's-Er-Name is right, that
man killed Amy Gibbs."
Bridget said, "I see."
"It could have been done from outside, I
suppose?"
"Yes, I think so," said Bridget slowly.
"Reed, the constable, climbed up to her window
by means of an outhouse. The window
was open. It was a bit of a scramble, but a
reasonably active man would find no real
difficulty."
"And having done that, he did what?"
"Substituted a bottle of hat paint for the
cough linctus."
"Hoping she'd do exactly what she did
do--wake up, drink it off, and that everyone
would say she'd made a mistake or committed
suicide?"
"Yes."
"There was no suspicion of what they call
in books 'foul play,5 at the inquest?"
"No."
"Men again, I suppose. The hat-paint
point wasn't raised?"
"No."
"But it occurred to you?"
"Yes."
"And to Miss Waynflete? Have you discussed
it together?"
Bridget smiled faintly. "Oh, no; not in the
sense you mean. I mean we haven't said
anything right out. I don't reallv know how
far the old pussy has gone in her own mind.
I'd say she'd been just worried to start with, and gradually getting more so. She's quite
intelligent, you know, went to Girton, or
wanted to, and was advanced when she was
young. She's not got quite the woolly mind
of most of the people down here."
"Miss Fullerton had rather a woolly mind, I should imagine," said Luke. "That's why I
never dreamed there was anything in her
story, to begin with."
"She was pretty shrewd, I always
thought," said Bridget. "Most of these rambling
old dears are as sharp as nails in some
ways. You said she mentioned other names?"
Luke nodded. "Yes. A small boy--that
was Tomm
y Pierce. I remembered the name
as soon as I heard it. And I'm pretty sure
that the man Carter came in too."
"Carter, Tommy Pierce, Amy Gibbs, Doctor
Humbleby," said Bridget thoughtfully.
"As you say, it's almost too fantastic to be
true. Who on earth would want to kill those
people? They were all so different!"
Luke asked, "Any idea as to why anyone
should want to do away with Amy Gibbs?"
Bridget shook her head. "I can't imagine."
"What about the man Carter? How did he
die, by the way?"
"Fell into the river and was drowned. He
was on his way home, it was a misty night
and he was quite drunk. There's a footbridge
with a rail on only one side. It was
taken for granted that he missed his footing."
"But someone could quite easily have given
him a shove?"
"Oh, yes."
"And somebody else could quite easily
have given nasty little Tommy a push when
he was window-cleaning?"
"Again, yes."
"So it boils down to the fact that it's really
quite easy to remove three human beings
without anyone suspecting."
"Miss Fullerton suspected," Bridget
pointed out.
Luke said: "I suppose it's no good my
asking you if you've a hunch of any kind?
There's no particular individual in Wychwood
who gives you a creepy feeling down
the spine, or who has strange pale eyes or a
queer, maniacal giggle?"
Bridget said, "You think this man is definitely
mad?"
"Oh, I should say so. A lunatic all right,
but a cunning one. My Miss Fullerton spoke
of the look in his eyes when he was measuring
up his next victim. From the way she
spoke, I got the impression--it's only an
impression, mark you--that the man she was
speaking of was at least her social equal. Of
course, I may be wrong!"
"You're probably quite right! Those nuances
of conversation can't be put down in
black and white, but they're the sort of things
one doesn't really make mistakes about."
"You know," said Luke, "it's a great relief
to have you knowing all about it."
"It will probably cramp your style less, I
agree. And I can probably help you."
"Your help will be invaluable. You really
mean to see it through?"
"Of course."
Luke said, with a sudden slight embarrassment, "What about Lord Easterfield? Do
you think--"
"Naturally, we won't tell Gordon anything
about it," said Bridget.
"You mean, he wouldn't believe it?"
"Oh, he'd believe it! Gordon could believe
anything! He'd probably be simply thrilled
and insist on having half a dozen of his
bright young men down to beat up the neighborhood!
He'd simply adore it!"
"That does rather rule it out," agreed
Luke.
"Yes, we can't allow him to have his simple
pleasures, I'm afraid."
Luke looked at her. He seemed about to
say something, then changed his mind. He
looked, instead, at his watch.
"Yes," said Bridget, "we ought to be getting
home." She got up. There was a sudden
constraint between them, as though Luke's
unspoken words hovered uncomfortably in
the air. They walked home in silence.
Seven
luke sat in his bedroom. At lunchtime he
had sustained an interrogation by Mrs.
Anstruther as to what flowers he'd had in
his garden in the Mayang Straits. He had
then been told what flowers would have done
well there. He had also listened to further
Talks to Young Men on the Subject of Myself
by Lord Easterfield. Now he was mercifully
alone.
He took a sheet of paper and wrote down
a series of names. It ran as follows:
Doctor Thomas
Mr. Abbot
Major Horton
Mr. Ellsworthy
Mr. Wake
Amy's young man
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick
maker, etc.
He then took another sheet of paper and
76
headed it VICTIMS. Under this heading he
wrote:
Amy Gibbs Poisoned
Tommy Pierce Pushed out of
window
Harry Carter Shoved off footbridge
(drunk?
drugged?)
Doctor Humbleby Blood poisoning
Miss Fullerton Run down by car
He added:
Mrs. Rose?
Old Ben?
And after a pause:
Mrs. Horton?
He considered his lists, smoked awhile, then took up his pencil once more. Doctor Thomas. Possible case against him:
Definite motive in the case of Doctor
Humbleby. Manner of latter's death suitable--namely,
scientific poisoning by germs.
Amy Gibbs visited him on afternoon of the
day she died. Anything between them? Blackmail?
Tommy Pierce? No connection known.
Did Tommy know of connection between
him and Amy Gibbs?
Harry Carter? No connection known.
Was Doctor Thomas absent from Wych-
77
(od on the day Miss Fullerton went to
mdon?
Luke sighed and started a fresh heading.
r. Abbot. Possible case against him:
Feel a lawyer is definitely a suspicious
;rson. Possibly prejudice. His personality,
:)rid, genial, etc., would be definitely suspious
in a book--always suspect bluff genial
en. Objection: This is not a book but real fe. [olive for Murder of Doctor Humbleby:
Definite antagonism existed between them.
[. defies Abbot. Sufficient motive for a demged
brain. Antagonism could have been asily noted by Miss Fullerton.
Tommy Pierce? Latter snooped among
ibbot's papers. Did he find out something
ie shouldn't have known?
Harry Carter? No definite connection.
Amy Gibbs? No connection known. Hat
)aint quite suitable to Abbot's mentality--an
)ld-fashioned mind.
Was Abbot away from the village the day
Miss Fullerton was killed? Major Horton. No connection known with Amy Gibbs,
Tommy Pierce or Carter.
What about Mrs. Horton? Death sounds
r»o i4^i,fri-» it miorht he arsenical poisoning. If
so, other murders might be result of that--
blackmail? N.B: Thomas was doctor in attendance.
Suspicious for Thomas again. Mr. Ellsworthy.
Nasty bit of goods--dabbles in black
magic. Might be temperament of a bloodlust
killer. Connection with Amy Gibbs.
Any connection with Tommy Pierce? Carter?
Nothing known. Humbleby? Might
have tumbled to Ellsworthy's mental condition.
Miss Fullerton? Was Ellsworthy away from
Wychwood when Miss Fullerton was killed? Mr. Wake.
Very unlikely. Possibly religious mania? A
mission to kill? Saintly old clergymen likely
starters in books, but (as b
efore) this is real
life.
NOTE: Carter, Tommy, Amy, all definitely
unpleasant characters. Better removed
by divine decree? Amy's young man.
Probably every reason to kill Amy, but
seems unlikely on general grounds. The etceteras?
Don't fancy them.
He read through what he had written.
Then he shook his head. He murmured
softly, "... which is absurd! How nicely
Euclid put things." He tore up the lists and
burnt them. He said to himself, "This job
isn't going to be exactly easy."
Eight
doctor thomas leaned back in his chair and
passed a long delicate hand over his thick fair hair. He was a young man whose appearance
was deceptive. Immature as he
might look, though, the diagnosis he had
just pronounced on Luke's rheumatic knee
agreed almost precisely with that delivered
by an eminent Harley Street specialist only a
week earlier.
"Thanks," said Luke. "Well, I'm relieved
you think that electrical treatment will do
the trick. I don't want to turn into a cripple
at my age."
Doctor Thomas smiled boyishly. "Oh, I
don't think there's any danger of that, Mr.
Fitzwilliam."
"Well, you've relieved my mind," said
Luke. "I was thinking of going to some
specialist chap, but I'm sure there's no need
now."
Doctor Thomas smiled again. "Go if it
makes your mind easier. After all, it's always
a good thing to have an expert's opinion."
Luke said quickly, "Men get the wind up
pretty badly in these ways. I expect you find
that? I often think a doctor must feel himself
a medicine man--a kind of magician to most
of his patients."
"The element of faith enters in very
largely."
"I know. 'The doctor says so" is a remark
always uttered with something like reverence."
Doctor Thomas raised his shoulders. "If
one's patients only knew," he murmured humorously.
Then he said, "You're writing a
book on magic, aren't you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
"Now, how did you know that?" exclaimed
Luke, perhaps with somewhat overdone surprise.
Doctor Thomas looked amused. "Oh my
dear sir, news gets about very rapidly in a
place like this. We have so little to talk
about."
"It probably gets exaggerated too. You'll