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 a 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield 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 Whitfield will be under observation.”
“In fact, everything is OK, 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.”
What Bridget would have liked was a strong cocktail, mainly composed of gin, but she rightly judged that that form of refreshment was not likely to be forthcoming. She 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 please, biss—did you bean the frilled billowcases?”
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 windowsill 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 vigour.
“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.”