Murder Is Easy (Superintendent Battle 4)

“In a place like this, you see—everything gets round so fast.”

“You mean that everybody will say ‘there goes the tec’ 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—Dr. 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 as 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 labour-saving, and not such big draughty passages to scrub.”

Luke assented.

When they arrived at the gate of Dr. 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 Dr. 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield confronting a young man in chauffeur’s uniform.

“You’re fired,” Lord Whitfield 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 other’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 bastard! 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 Whitfield 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 potbellied little swine I’d give you a sock on the jaw—yes, I would.”

Lord Whitfield 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 Whitfield to his feet.

“I—I beg your pardon, m’lord,” stammered the man.

“You’ll be sorry for this, Rivers,” said Lord Whitfield.

His voice trembled with intense feeling.

The man hesitated a minute, then shambled away slowly.

Lord Whitfield 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 you should have witnessed such a disgraceful scene. That man’s language—”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t quite himself, Lord Whitfield,” 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield, but I must go to Mrs. Humbleby with these books. Good night, Mr. Fitzwilliam. You’ll be quite all right now.”

&nb

sp; 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 ludicrous, but—

Lord Whitfield’s voice interrupted his meditations.

“Very capable woman, Honoria Waynflete.”

“Very, I should think.”

Lord Whitfield began to walk towards 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 Whitfield 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.”