Murder Is Easy (Superintendent Battle 4)

He returned ten minutes later to find Bridget ready for departure.

“Shall we go now?”

“I’m ready.”

As they descended the staircase they met the butler ascending.

“Miss Waynflete has called to see you, miss.”

“Miss Waynflete? Where is she?”

“In the drawing room with his lordship.”

Bridget went straight to the drawing room, Luke close behind her.

Lord Whitfield was standing by the window talking to Miss Waynflete. He had a knife in his hand—a long slender blade.

“Perfect workmanship,” he was saying. “One of my young men brought it back to me from Morocco where he’d been special correspondent. It’s Moorish, of course, a Riff knife.” He drew a finger lovingly along the blade. “What an edge!”

Miss Waynflete said sharply:

“Put it away, Gordon, for goodness’ sake!”

He smiled and laid it down among a collection of other weapons on a table.

“I like the feel of it,” he said softly.

Miss Waynflete had lost some of her usual poise. She looked white and nervous.

“Ah, there you are, Bridget, my dear,” she said.

Lord Whitfield chuckled.

“Yes, there’s Bridget. Make the most of her, Honoria. She won’t be with us long.”

Miss Waynflete said, sharply:

“What d’you mean?”

“Mean? I mean she’s going to London. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s all I meant.”

He looked round at them all.

“I’ve got a bit of news for you, Honoria,” he said. “Bridget isn’t going to marry me after all. She prefers Fitzwilliam here. A queer thing, life. Well, I’ll leave you to have your talk.”

He went out of the room, his hands jingling the coins in his pockets.

“Oh, dear—” said Miss Waynflete. “Oh, dear—”

The deep distress in her voice was so noticeable that Bridget looked slightly surprised. She said uncomfortably:

“I’m sorry. I really am frightfully sorry.”

Miss Waynflete said:

“He’s angry—he’s frightfully angry—oh, dear, this is terrible. What are we going to do?”

Bridget stared.

“Do? What do you mean?”

Miss Waynflete said, including them both in her reproachful glance:

“You should never have told him!”

Bridget said:

“Nonsense. What else could we do?”

“You shouldn’t have told him now. You should have waited till you’d got right away.”

Bridget said shortly:

“That’s a matter of opinion. I think myself it’s better to get unpleasant things over as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, my dear, if it were only a question of that—”

She stopped. Then her eyes asked a question of Luke.

Luke shook his head. His lips formed the words, “Not yet.”

Miss Waynflete murmured, “I see.”

Bridget said with some slight exasperation:

“Did you want to see me about something in particular, Miss Waynflete?”

“Well—yes. As a matter of fact I came to suggest that you should come and pay me a little visit. I thought—er—you might find it uncomfortable to remain on here and that you might want a few days to—er—well, mature your plans.”

“Thank you, Miss Waynflete, that was very kind of you.”

“You see, you’d be quite safe with me and—”

Bridget interrupted:

“Safe?”

Miss Waynflete, a little flustered, said hurriedly:

“Comfortable—that’s what I meant—quite comfortable with me. I mean, not nearly so luxurious as here, naturally—but the hot water is hot and my little maid Emily really cooks quite nicely.”

“Oh, I’m sure everything would be lovely, Miss Waynflete,” said Bridget mechanically.

“But, of course, if you are going up to town, that is much better….”

Bridget said slowly:

“It’s a little awkward. My aunt went off early to a flower show today. I haven’t had a chance yet to tell her what has happened. I shall leave a note for her telling her I’ve gone up to the flat.”

“You’re going to your aunt’s flat in London?”

“Yes. There’s no one there. But I can go out for meals.”

“You’ll be alone in that flat? Oh, dear, I shouldn’t do that. Not stay there alone.”

“Nobody will eat me,” said Bridget impatiently. “Besides, my aunt will come up tomorrow.”

Miss Waynflete shook her head in a worried manner.

Luke said:

“Better go to a hotel.”

Bridget wheeled round on him.

“Why? What’s the matter with you all? Why are you treating me as though I was an imbecile child?”

“No, no, dear,” protested Miss Waynflete. “We just want you to be careful—that’s all!”

“But why? Why? What’s it all about?”

“Look here, Bridget,” said Luke. “I want to have a talk with you. But I can’t talk here. Come with me now in the car and we’ll go somewhere quiet.”

He looked at Miss Waynflete.

“May we come to your house in about an hour’s time? There are several things I want to say to you.”

“Please do. I will wait for you there.”

Luke put his hand on Bridget’s arm. He gave a nod of thanks to Miss Waynflete.

He said: “We’ll pick up the luggage later. Come on.”

He led her out of the room and along the hall to the front door. He opened the door of the car. Bridget got in. Luke started the engine and drove rapidly down the drive. He gave a sigh of relief as they emerged from the iron gates.

“Thank God I’ve got you out of there safely,” he said.

“Have you gone quite mad, Luke? Why all this ‘hush hush—I can’t tell you what I mean now’—business?”

Luke said grimly:

“Well, there are difficulties, you know, in explaining that a man’s a murderer when you’re actually under his roof!”

Twenty

WE’RE IN IT—TOGETHER

Bridget sat for a minute motionless beside him. She said:

“Gordon?”

Luke nodded.

“Gordon? Gordon—a murderer? Gordon the murderer? I never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life!”

“That’s how it strikes you?”

“Yes, indeed. Why, Gordon wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Luke said grimly:

“That may be true. I don’t know. But he certainly killed a canary bird, and I’m pretty certain he’s killed a large number of human beings as well.”

“My dear Luke, I simply can’t believe it!”

“I know,” said Luke. “It does sound quite incredible. Why, he never even entered my head as a possible suspect until the night before last.”

Bridget protested:

“But I know all about Gordon! I know what he’s like! He’s really a sweet little man—pompous, yes, but rather pathetic really.”

Luke shook his head. “You’ve got to readjust your ideas about him, Bridget.”

“It’s no good, Luke, I simply can’t believe it! What put such an absurd idea into your head? Why, two days ago you were quite positive it was Ellsworthy.”

Luke winced slightly.

“I know. I know. You probably think that tomorrow I shall suspect Thomas, and the day after I shall be convinced that it’s Horton I’m after! I’m not really so unbalanced as that. I admit the idea’s completely startling when it first comes to you, but if you look into it a bit closer, you’ll see that it all fits in remarkably well. No wonder Miss Pinkerton didn’t dare to go to the local authorities. She knew they’d laugh at her! Scotland Yard was her only hope.”

“But what possible motive could Gordon have for all this killing business? Oh, it’s all so sil

ly!”