Murder Is Easy (Superintendent Battle 4)

“That’s better than being a hot-blooded little fool!”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I know.”

Luke sneered. “What do you know?”

“I know what it is to care about a man! Did you ever meet Johnnie Cornish? I was engaged to him for three years. He was adorable—I cared like hell about him—cared so much that it hurt! Well, he threw me over and married a nice plump widow with a North-Country accent and three chins and an income of thirty thousand a year! That sort of thing rather cures one of romance, don’t you think?”

Luke turned away with a sudden groan. He said:

“It might.”

“It did….”

There was a pause. The silence lay heavy between them. Bridget broke it at last. She said, but with a slight uncertainty in her tone:

“I hope you realize that you had no earthly right to speak to me as you did. You’re staying in Gordon’s house and it’s damned bad taste!”

Luke recovered his composure.

“Isn’t that rather a cliché too?” he inquired politely.

Bridget flushed. “It’s true, anyway!”

“It isn’t. I had every right.”

“Nonsense!”

Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffering physical pain. He said:

“I have a right. I’ve the right of caring for you—what did you say just now?—of caring so much that it hurts!”

She drew back a step. She said: “You—”

“Yes, funny, isn’t it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round the corner of that house and—how can I say it—put a spell on me! That’s what it feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just now. I’m caught up in a fairy story! You’ve bewitched me. I’ve a feeling that if you pointed your finger at me and said: ‘Turn into a frog,’ I’d go hopping away with my eyes popping out of my head.”

He took a step nearer to her.

“I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can’t expect me to enjoy seeing you get married to a potbellied pompous little peer who loses his temper when he doesn’t win at tennis.”

“What do you suggest I should do?”

“I suggest that you should marry me instead! But doubtless that suggestion will give rise to a lot of merry laughter.”

“The laughter is positively uproarious.”

“Exactly. Well, now we know where we are. Shall we return to the tennis court? Perhaps this time you will find me a partner who can play to win!”

“Really,” said Bridget sweetly, “I believe you mind losing just as much as Gordon does!”

Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.

“You’ve got a devilish tongue, haven’t you, Bridget?”

“I’m afraid you don’t like me very much, Luke, however great your passion for me!”

“I don’t think I like you at all.”

Bridget said, watching him:

“You meant to get married and settle down when you came home, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But not to someone like me?”

“I never thought of anyone in the least like you.”

“No—you wouldn’t—I know your type. I know it exactly.”

“You are so clever, dear Bridget.”

“A really nice girl—thoroughly English—fond of the country and good with dogs…You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt stirring a log fire with the tip of her shoe.”

“The picture sounds most attractive.”

“I’m sure it does. Shall we return to the tennis court? You can play with Rose Humbleby. She’s so good that you’re practically certain to win.”

“Being old-fashioned I must allow you to have the last word.”

Again there was a pause. Then Luke took his hands slowly from her shoulders. They both stood uncertain as though something still unsaid lingered between them.

Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the way back. The next set was just ending. Rose protested against playing again.

“I’ve played two sets running.”

Bridget, however, insisted.

“I’m feeling tired. I don’t want to play. You and Mr. Fitzwilliam take on Miss Jones and Major Horton.”

But Rose continued to protest and in the end a men’s four was arranged. Afterwards came tea.

Lord Whitfield conversed with Dr. Thomas, describing at length and with great self-importance a visit he had recently paid to the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories.

“I wanted to understand the trend of the latest scientific discoveries for myself,” he explained earnestly. “I’m responsible for what my papers print. I feel that very keenly. This is a scientific age. Science must be made easily assimilable by the masses.”

“A little science might possibly be a dangerous thing,” said Dr. Thomas with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Science in the home, that’s what we have to aim at,” said Lord Whitfield. “Science minded—”

“Test tube conscious,” said Bridget gravely.

“I was impressed,” said Lord Whitfield. “Wellerman took me round himself, of cours

e. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted.”

“Naturally,” said Luke.

Lord Whitfield looked gratified.

“And he explained everything most clearly—the culture—the serum—the whole principle of the thing. He agreed to contribute the first article in the series himself.”

Mrs. Anstruther murmured:

“They use guinea-pigs, I believe—so cruel—though of course not so bad as dogs—or even cats.”

“Fellows who use dogs ought to be shot,” said Major Horton, hoarsely.

“I really believe, Horton,” said Mr. Abbot, “that you value canine life above human life.”

“Every time!” said the major. “Dogs can’t turn round on you like human beings can. Never get a nasty word from a dog.”

“Only a nasty tooth stuck into your leg,” said Mr. Abbot. “Eh, Horton?”

“Dogs are a good judge of character,” said Major Horton.

“One of your brutes nearly pinned me by the leg last week. What do you say to that, Horton?”

“Same as I said just now!”

Bridget interposed tactfully:

“What about some more tennis?”

A couple more sets were played. Then, as Rose Humbleby said good-bye, Luke appeared beside her.

“I’ll see you home,” he said. “And carry the tennis bat. You haven’t got a car, have you?”

“No, but it’s no distance.”

“I’d like a walk.”

He said no more, merely taking her racquet and shoes from her. They walked down the drive without speaking. Then Rose mentioned one or two trivial matters. Luke answered rather shortly but the girl did not seem to notice.

As they turned into the gate of her house, Luke’s face cleared.

“I’m feeling better now,” he said.

“Were you feeling badly before?”

“Nice of you to pretend you didn’t notice it. You’ve exorcised the brute’s sulky temper, though. Funny, I feel as though I’d come out of a dark cloud into the sun.”

“So you have. There was a cloud over the sun when we left the Manor and now it’s passed over.”