"He might have made a few enemies. He was fairly abusive when he was drunk, wasn't he?"
"His language was a treat to hear. Didn't mince his words. Harry didn't. But no one would go for to push a man what's drunk."
Luke did not combat this statement. It was evidently regarded as wildly unsporting for advantage to be taken of a man's state of intoxication. The rustic had sounded quite shocked at the idea.
"Well," he said vaguely, "it was a sad business."
"None so sad for his missus," said the old man. "Reckon her and Lucy haven't no call to be sad about it."
"There may be other people who are glad to have him out of the way."
The old man was vague about that.
"Maybe," he said. "But he didn't mean no harm. Harry didn't." On this epitaph for the late Mr. Carter, they parted.
Luke bent his steps toward the old Hall. The library transacted its business in the two front rooms. Luke passed on to the back through a door which was labeled MUSEUM. There he moved from case to case, studying the not-very-inspiring exhibits. Some Roman pottery and coins. Some South Sea curiosities, a Malay headdress. Various Indian gods "presented by Major Horton," together with a large and malevolent-looking Buddha and a case of doubtful-looking Egyptian beads.
Luke wandered out again into the hall. There was no one about. He went quietly up the stairs. There was a room with magazines and papers there, and a room filled with non-fiction books. Luke went a story higher.
Here were rooms filled with what he designated himself as junk. Stuffed birds, removed from the museum owing to the moths having attacked them, stacks of torn magazines and a room whose shelves were covered with out-of-date works of fiction and children's books. Luke approached the window. Here it must have been that Tommy Pierce had sat, possibly whistling and occasionally rubbing a pane of glass vigorously when he heard anyone coming. Somebody had come in. Tommy had shown his zeal, sitting half out of the window and polishing with zest. And then that somebody had come up to him and, while talking, had given a sudden sharp push.
Luke turned away. He walked down the stairs and stood a minute or two in the hall.
Nobody had noticed him come in. Nobody had seen him go upstairs. "Anyone might have done it," said Luke. "Easiest thing in the world." He heard footsteps coming from the direction of the library proper. Since he was an innocent man, with no objection to being seen, he could remain where he was. If he had not wanted to be seen, how easy just to step back inside the door of the museum room.
Miss Waynflete came out from the library, a little pile of books under her arm. She was pulling on her gloves. She looked happy and busy. When she saw him, her face lit up and she exclaimed: "Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, have you been looking at the museum? I'm afraid there isn't very much there, really. Lord Easterfield is talking of getting us some really interesting exhibits."
"Really?"
"Yes, something modern, you know, and up-to-date. Like they have at the Science Museum in London. He suggests a model aeroplane and a locomotive and some chemical things too."
"That would, perhaps, brighten things up."
"Yes, I don't think a museum should deal solely with the past, do you?"
"Perhaps not."
"Then some food exhibits, too - calories and vitamins - all that sort of thing. Lord Easterfield is so keen on the Greater Fitness Campaign."
"So he was saying the other night."
"It's the thing at present, isn't it? Lord Easterfield was telling me how he'd been to the Wellerman Laboratories and seen such a lot of germs and cultures and bacteria; it quite made me shiver. And he told me all about mosquitoes and sleeping sickness, and something about a liver fluke that, I'm afraid, was a little too difficult for me."
"It was probably too difficult for Lord Easterfield," said Luke cheerfully. "I'll bet he got it all wrong. You've got a much clearer brain than he has, Miss Waynflete."
Miss Waynflete said sedately, "That's very nice of you, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I'm afraid women are never quite such deep thinkers as men."
Luke repressed a desire to criticize adversely Lord Easterfield's processes of thought. Instead he said, "I did look into the museum, but afterwards I went up to have a look at the top windows."
"You mean where Tommy -" Miss Waynflete shivered. "It's really very horrible."
"Yes, it's not a nice thought. I've spent about an hour with Mrs. Church - Amy's aunt - not a nice woman."
"Not at all."
"I had to take rather a strong line with her," said Luke. "I fancy she thinks I'm a kind of super policeman."
He stopped as he noted a sudden change of expression on Miss Waynflete's face. "Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, do you think that was wise?"
Luke said, "I don't really know. I think it was inevitable. The book story was wearing thin. I can't get much farther on that. I had to ask the kind of questions that were directly to the point."
Miss Waynflete shook her head, the troubled expression still on her face. "In a place like this, you see, everything gets round so fast."
"You mean that everybody will say 'There goes the detective' as I walk down the street? I don't think that really matters now. In fact, I may get more that way."
"I wasn't thinking of that." Miss Waynflete sounded a little breathless. "What I meant was that he'll know. He'll realize that you're on his track."
Luke said slowly, "I suppose he will."
Miss Waynflete said, "But don't you see that's horribly dangerous? Horribly!"
"You mean -" Luke grasped her point at last - "you mean that the killer will have a crack at me?"
"Yes."
"Funny," said Luke. "I never thought of that! I believe you're right, though. Well, that might be the best thing that could happen."
Miss Waynflete said earnestly, "I don't think you realize that he's - he's a very clever man. He's cautious too. And remember, he's got a great deal of experience - perhaps more than we know."
"Yes," said Luke thoughtfully, "that's probably true."
Miss Waynflete exclaimed, "Oh, I don't like it! Really, I feel quite alarmed!"
Luke said gently, "You needn't worry. I shall be very much on my guard, I can assure you. You see, I've narrowed the possibilities down pretty closely. I've an idea, at any rate, who the killer might be." She looked up sharply. Luke came a step nearer. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Miss Waynflete, if I were to ask you which of two men you considered the most likely - Doctor Thomas or Mr. Abbot - what would you say?"
"Oh!" said Miss Waynflete. Her hand flew to her breast. She stepped back. Her eyes met Luke's in an expression that puzzled him. They showed impatience and something closely allied to it that he could not quite place. She said, "I can't say anything."
She turned away abruptly, with a curious sound - half a sigh, half a sob. Luke resigned himself.
"Are you going home?" he asked.
"No. I was going to take these books to Mrs. Humbleby. That lies on your way back to the Manor. We might go part of the way together."
"That will be very nice," said Luke.
They went down the steps, turned to the left, skirting the village green. Luke looked back at the Stately lines of the house they had left. "It must have been a lovely house in your father's day," he said.
Miss Waynflete sighed. "Yes, we were all very happy there. I am so thankful it hasn't been pulled down. So many of the old houses are going."
"I know. It's sad."
"And really the new ones aren't nearly so well built."
"I doubt if they will stand the test of time as well."
"But of course," said Miss Waynflete, "the new ones are convenient - so labor-saving, and not such big drafty passages to scrub."
Luke assented. When they arrived at the gate of Doctor Humbleby's house, Miss Waynflete hesitated and said: "Such a beautiful evening. I think, if you don't mind, I will come a little farther. I am enjoying the air."
Somewhat surprised, Luke expressed pleasure politely. It was hardly what he would have described as a beautiful evening. There was a strong wind blowing, turning back the leaves viciously on the trees. A storm, he thought, might come at any minute. Miss Waynflete, however, clutching her hat with one hand, walked by his side with every appearance of enjoyment, talking, as she went, in little gasps.
It was a somewhat lonely lane they were taking, since from Doctor Humbleby's house the shortest way to Ashe Manor was not by the main road but by a side lane which led to one of the back gates of the manor house. This gate was not of the same ornate ironwork, but had two handsome gate pillars surmounted by two vast pink pineapples. Why pineapples, Luke had been unable to discover. But he gathered that to Lord Easterfield pineapples spelt distinction and good taste. As they approached the gate, the sound of voices raised in anger came to them. A moment later they came in sight of Lord Easterfield confronting a young man in chauffeur's uniform.
"You're fired!" Lord Easterfield was shouting. "D'you hear? You're fired!"
"If you'd overlook it, m'lord, just this once."
"No, I won't overlook it! Taking my car out! My car! And what's more, you've been drinking!... Yes, you have; don't deny it! I've made it clear there are three things I won't have on my estate - one's drunkenness, another's immorality and the last's impertinence!"
Though the man was not actually drunk, he had had enough to loosen his tongue. His manner changed. "You won't have this and you won't have that, you old buzzard! Your estate! Think we don't all know your father kept a boot shop down here? Makes us laugh ourselves sick, it does, seeing you strutting about as cock of the walk! Who are you, I'd like to know? You're no better than I am, that's what you are!"
Lord Easterfield turned purple. "How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you?"
The young man took a threatening step forward. "If you wasn't such a miserable pot-bellied little swine, I'd give you a sock on the jaw - yes, I would."
Lord Easterfield hastily retreated a step, tripped over a root and went down in a sitting position. Luke had come up. "Get out of here," he said roughly to the chauffeur.
The latter regained sanity. He looked frightened. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what came over me, I'm sure."
"A couple of glasses too much, I should say," said Luke. He assisted Lord Easterfield to his feet.
"I'm sorry, m'lord," stammered the man.
"You'll be sorry for this, Rivers," said 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 ridiculous, but...
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 nice-looking 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."
