Page 20 of Murder Is Easy

Battle nodded. He said:

  “That was the beginning of it! As she told Miss Conway, she turned her thoughts and her undoubted mental ability to one aim and purpose.”

  Lord Whitfield said incredulously:

  “To get me convicted as a murderer? I can’t believe it.”

  Bridget said, “It’s true, Gordon. You know, you were surprised yourself at the extraordinary way that everybody who annoyed you was instantly struck down.”

  “There was a reason for that.”

  “Honoria Waynflete was the reason,” said Bridget. “Do get it into your head, Gordon, that it wasn’t Providence that pushed Tommy Pierce out of the window, and all the rest of them. It was Honoria.”

  Lord Whitfield shook his head.

  “It all seems to me quite incredible!” he said.

  Battle said:

  “You say you got a telephone message this morning?”

  “Yes—about twelve o’clock. I was asked to go to the Shaw Wood at once as you, Bridget, had something to say to me. I was not to come by car but to walk.”

  Battle nodded.

  “Exactly. That would have been the finish. Miss Conway would have been found with her throat cut; and beside her your knife with your fingerprints on it! And you yourself would have been seen in the vicinity at the time! You wouldn’t have had a leg to stand upon. Any jury in the world would have convicted you.”

  “Me?” said Lord Whitfield, startled and distressed. “Anyone would have believed a thing like that of Me?”

  Bridget said gently:

  “I didn’t, Gordon. I never believed it.”

  Lord Whitfield looked at her coldly, then he said stiffly:

  “In view of my character and my standing in the county, I do not believe that anyone for one moment would have believed in such a monstrous charge!”

  He went out with dignity and closed the door behind him.

  Luke said:

  “He’ll never realize that he was really in danger!”

  Then he said:

  “Go on, Bridget, tell me how you came to suspect the Waynflete woman.”

  Bridget explained:

  “It was when you were telling me that Gordon was the killer. I couldn’t believe it! You see, I knew him so well. I’d been his secretary for two years! I knew him in and out! I knew that he was pompous and petty and completely self-absorbed, but I knew, too, that he was a kindly person and almost absurdly tenderhearted. It worried him even to kill a wasp. That story about his killing Miss Waynflete’s canary—it was all wrong. He just couldn’t have done it. He’d told me once that he had jilted her. Now you insisted that it was the other way about. Well, that might be so! His pride might not have allowed him to admit that she had thrown him over. But not the canary story! That simply wasn’t Gordon! He didn’t even shoot because seeing things killed made him feel sick.

  “So I simply knew that that part of the story was untrue. But if so, Miss Waynflete must have lied. And it was really, when you came to think of it, a very extraordinary lie! And I wondered suddenly if she’d told anymore lies. She was a very proud woman—one could see that. To be thrown over must have hurt her pride horribly. It would probably make her feel very angry and revengeful against Lord Whitfield—especially, I felt, if he turned up again later all rich and prosperous and successful. I thought, ‘Yes, she’d probably enjoy helping to fix a crime upon him.’ And then a curious sort of whirling feeling came in my brain and I thought—but suppose everything she says is a lie—and I suddenly saw how easily a woman like that could make a fool of a man! And I thought, ‘It’s fantastic, but suppose it was she who killed all these people and fed Gordon up with the idea that it was a kind of divine retribution!’ It would be quite easy for her to make him believe that. As I told you once, Gordon would believe anything! And I thought, ‘Could she have done all those murders?’ And I saw that she could! She could give a shove to a drunken man—and push a boy out of a window, and Amy Gibbs had died in her house. Mrs. Horton, too—Honoria Waynflete used to go and sit with her when she was ill. Dr. Humbleby was more difficult. I didn’t know then that Wonky Pooh had a nasty septic ear and that she infected the dressing she put on his hand. Miss Pinkerton’s death was even more difficult, because I couldn’t imagine Miss Waynflete dressed up as a chauffeur driving a Rolls.

  “And then, suddenly, I saw that that was the easiest of the lot! It was the old shove from behind—easily done in a crowd. The car didn’t stop and she saw a fresh opportunity and told another woman she had seen the number of the car, and gave the number of Lord Whitfield’s Rolls.

  “Of course, all this only came very confusedly through my head. But if Gordon definitely hadn’t done the murders—and I knew—yes, knew that he hadn’t—well, who had? And the answer seemed quite clear. ‘Someone who hates Gordon!’ Who hates Gordon? Honoria Waynflete, of course.

  “And then I remembered that Miss Pinkerton had definitely spoken of a man as the killer. That knocked out all my beautiful theory, because, unless Miss Pinkerton was right, she wouldn’t have been killed…So I got you to repeat exactly Miss Pinkerton’s words and I soon discovered that she hadn’t actually said ‘man’ once. Then I felt that I was definitely on the right track! I decided to accept Miss Waynflete’s invitation to stay with her and I resolved to try to ferret out the truth.”

  “Without saying a word to me?” said Luke angrily.

  “But, my sweet, you were so sure—and I wasn’t sure a bit! It was all vague and doubtful. But I never dreamed that I was in any danger. I thought I’d have plenty of time….”

  She shivered.

  “Oh, Luke, it was horrible…Her eyes…And that dreadful, polite, inhuman laugh….”

  Luke said with a slight shiver:

  “I shan’t forget how I only got there just in time.”

  He turned to Battle. “What’s she like now?”

  “Gone right over the edge,” said Battle. “They do, you know. They can’t face the shock of not having been as clever as they thought they were.”

  Luke said ruefully:

  “Well, I’m not much of a policeman! I never suspected Honoria Waynflete once. You’d have done better, Battle.”

  “Maybe, sir, maybe not. You’ll remember my saying that nothing’s impossible in crime. I mentioned a maiden lady, I believe.”

  “You also mentioned an archbishop and a schoolgirl! Am I to understand that you consider all these people as potential criminals?”

  Battle’s smile broadened to a grin.

  “Anyone may be a criminal, sir, that’s what I meant.”

  “Except Gordon,” said Bridget. “Luke, let’s go and find him.”

  They found Lord Whitfield in his study busily making notes.

  “Gordon,” said Bridget in a small meek voice. “Please, now that you know everything, will you forgive us?”

  Lord Whitfield looked at her graciously.

  “Certainly, my dear, certainly. I realize the truth. I was a busy man. I neglected you. The truth of the matter is as Kipling so wisely puts it: ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone. My path in life is a lonely one.’” He squared his shoulders. “I carry a big responsibility. I must carry it alone. For me there can be no companionship, no easing of the burden—I must go through life alone—till I drop by the wayside.”

  Bridget said:

  “Dear Gordon! You really are sweet!”

  Lord Whitfield frowned.

  “It is not a question of being sweet. Let us forget all this nonsense. I am a busy man.”

  “I know you are.”

  “I am arranging for a series of articles to start at once. Crimes committed by Women through the Ages.”

  Bridget gazed at him with admiration.

  “Gordon, I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

  Lord Whitfield puffed out his chest.

  “So please leave me now. I must not be disturbed. I have a lot of work to get through.”

  Luke and Bridget tiptoed from the room.

&n
bsp; “But he really is sweet!” said Bridget.

  “Bridget, I believe you were really fond of that man!”

  “Do you know, Luke, I believe I was.”

  Luke looked out of the window.

  “I’ll be glad to get away from Wychwood. I don’t like this place. There’s a lot of wickedness here, as Mrs. Humbleby would say. I don’t like the way Ashe Ridge broods over the village.”

  “Talking of Ashe Ridge, what about Ellsworthy?”

  Luke laughed a little shamefacedly.

  “That blood on his hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’d sacrificed a white cock apparently!”

  “How perfectly disgusting!”

  “I think something unpleasant is going to happen to our Mr. Ellsworthy. Battle is planning a little surprise.”

  Bridget said:

  “And poor Major Horton never even attempted to kill his wife, and Mr. Abbot, I suppose, just had a compromising letter from a lady, and Dr. Thomas is just a nice unassuming young doctor.”

  “He’s a superior ass!”

  “You say that because you’re jealous of his marrying Rose Humbleby.”

  “She’s much too good for him.”

  “I always have felt you liked that girl better than me!”

  “Darling, aren’t you being rather absurd?”

  “No, not really.”

  She was silent a minute and then said:

  “Luke, do you like me now?”

  He made a movement towards her but she warded him off.

  “I said like, Luke—not love.”

  “Oh! I see…Yes, I do…I like you, Bridget, as well as loving you.”

  Bridget said:

  “I like you, Luke….”

  They smiled at each other—a little timidly—like children who have made friends at a party.

  Bridget said:

  “Liking is more important than loving. It lasts. I want what is between us to last, Luke. I don’t want us just to love each other and marry and get tired of each other and then want to marry someone else.”

  “Oh! my dear Love, I know. You want reality. So do I. What’s between us will last forever because it’s founded on reality.”

  “Is that true, Luke?”

  “It’s true, my sweet. That’s why, I think, I was afraid of loving you.”

  “I was afraid of loving you, too.”

  “Are you afraid now?”

  “No.”

  He said:

  “We’ve been close to Death for a long time. Now—that’s over! Now—we’ll begin to Live….”

  * * *

  The Agatha Christie Collection

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  Match your wits with the famous Belgian detective.

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles

  The Murder on the Links

  Poirot Investigates

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  Peril at End House

  Lord Edgware Dies

  Murder on the Orient Express

  Three Act Tragedy

  Death in the Clouds

  The A.B.C. Murders

  Murder in Mesopotamia

  Cards on the Table

  Murder in the Mews

  Dumb Witness

  Death on the Nile

  Appointment with Death

  Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

  Sad Cypress

  One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

  Evil Under the Sun

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  The Hollow

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  Taken at the Flood

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  Join the legendary spinster sleuth from St. Mary Mead in solving murders far and wide.

  The Murder at the Vicarage

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  The Moving Finger

  A Murder Is Announced

  They Do It with Mirrors

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  Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

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  Jump on board with the entertaining crime-solving couple from Young Adventurers Ltd.

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  Murder Is Easy

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  Sparkling Cyanide

  The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

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  Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

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  Destination Unknown

  Ordeal by Innocence

  Double Sin and Other Stories

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  * * *

  About the Author

  Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She is the author of eighty crime novels and short-story collections, nineteen plays, two memoirs, and six novels written under the name Mary Westmacott.

  She first tried her hand at detective fiction while working in a hospital dispensary during World War I, creating the now legendary Hercule Poirot with her debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. With The Murder in the Vicarage, published in 1930, she introduced another beloved sleuth, Miss Jane Marple. Additional series characters include the husband-and-wife crime-fighting team of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, private investigator Parker Pyne, and Scotland Yard detectives Superintendent Battle and Inspector Japp.

  Many of Christie’s novels and short stories were adapted into plays, films, and television series. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all,opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history. Among herbest-known film adaptations are Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1978), with Albert Finney and Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot, respectively. On the small screen Poirot has been mostmemorably portrayed by David Suchet, and Miss Marple by Joan Hicksonand subsequently Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie.

  Christie was first married to Archibald Christie and then to archaeologist Sir Max Mallowan, whom s
he accompanied on expeditions tocountries that would also serve as the settings for many of her novels. In 1971 she achieved one of Britain’s highest honors when she was made a Dame of the British Empire. She died in 1976 at the age of eighty-five. Her one hundred and twentieth anniversary was celebrated around the world in 2010.

  www.AgathaChristie.com

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  THE AGATHA CHRISTIE COLLECTION

  The Man in the Brown Suit

  The Secret of Chimneys

  The Seven Dials Mystery

  The Mysterious Mr. Quin

  The Sittaford Mystery

  Parker Pyne Investigates

  Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

  Murder Is Easy

  The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

  And Then There Were None

  Towards Zero

  Death Comes as the End

  Sparkling Cyanide

  The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

  Crooked House

  Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

  They Came to Baghdad

  Destination Unknown

  Ordeal by Innocence

  Double Sin and Other Stories

  The Pale Horse

  Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

  Endless Night

  Passenger to Frankfurt

  The Golden Ball and Other Stories

  The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  The Harlequin Tea Set

  The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles

  The Murder on the Links

  Poirot Investigates

  The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

  The Big Four

  The Mystery of the Blue Train

  Peril at End House

  Lord Edgware Dies

  Murder on the Orient Express

  Three Act Tragedy

  Death in the Clouds

  The A.B.C. Murders

  Murder in Mesopotamia

  Cards on the Table

  Murder in the Mews

  Dumb Witness

  Death on the Nile

  Appointment with Death

  Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

  Sad Cypress

  One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

  Evil Under the Sun