"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 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 dangerous - 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!"
Chapter 22
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. I'd 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 won't hang him, will they, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"
"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 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 mother-and-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 clumsy-looking 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:
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
O 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:
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
O 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 contempt 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.
