by the shock of her husband's death? Or was there something more to it than that? Did she, perhaps, know something? Something that Dr. Humbleby had known before he died?
'I've got to go on with this,' said Luke to himself. 'I've got to go on.'
Resolutely, he averted his mind from the passage of arms that had taken place between him and Bridget.
Chapter 13
On the following morning, Luke came to a decision. He had, he felt, proceeded as far as he could with indirect inquiries. It was inevitable that sooner or later he would be forced into the open. He felt that the time had come to drop the book-writing camouflage and reveal that he had come to Wychwood with a definite aim in view. In pursuance of this plan of campaign, he decided to call upon Honoria Waynflete. He believed that she had told him what she knew. He wanted to induce her to tell him what she might have guessed. He had a shrewd idea that Miss Waynflete's guesses might be fairly near the truth.
Miss Waynflete received him in a matter-of-fact manner, showing no surprise at his call. As she sat down near him, her prim hands folded and her intelligent eyes — so like an amiable goat's — fixed on his face, he found little difficulty in coming to the object of his visit. He said, 'I dare say you have guessed. Miss Waynflete, that the reason of my coming here is not merely to write a book on local customs?' Miss Waynflete inclined her head and continued to listen.
'I am down here to inquire into the circumstances of the death of that poor girl, Amy Gibbs.'
Miss Waynflete said, 'You mean you have been sent down by the police?'
'Oh, no, I'm not a plain-clothes dick.' He added, with a slightly humorous inflection, 'I'm afraid I'm that well- known character in fiction, the private investigator.'
'I see. Then it was Bridget Conway who brought you down here?' Luke hesitated a moment. Then he decided to let it go at that. Without going into the whole Fullerton story, it was difficult to account for his presence.
Miss Waynflete was continuing, a note of gentle admiration in her voice: 'Bridget is so practical, so efficient! I'm afraid if it had been left to me, I should have distrusted my own judgment. I mean that if you are not absolutely sure of a thing, it is so difficult to commit yourself to a definite course of action.'
'But you are sure, aren't you?'
Miss Waynflete said gravely, 'No, indeed, Mr. Fitzwilliam. It is not a thing one can be sure about. I mean, it might all be imagination. Living alone, with no one to consult or to talk to, one might easily become melodramatic, and imagine things which had no foundation in fact.'
Luke assented readily to this statement, recognizing its inherent truth, but he added gently, 'But you are sure in your own mind?'
Even here Miss Waynflete showed a little reluctance. 'We are not talking at cross purposes, I hope?' she demurred.
Luke smiled. 'You would like me to put it in plain words? Very well. You do think that Amy Gibbs was murdered?'
Honoria Waynflete flinched a little at the crudity of the language. She said, 'I don't feel at all happy about her death. Not at all happy. The whole thing is profoundly unsatisfactory, in my opinion.'
Luke said patiently, 'But you don't think her death was a natural one?'
'No.'
'You don't believe it was an accident?'
'It seems to me most improbable. There are so many –'
Luke cut her short. 'You don't think it was suicide?'
'Emphatically not.'
'Then,' said Luke gently, 'you do think that it was murder?'
Miss Waynflete hesitated, gulped, and bravely took the plunge. 'Yes,' she said, 'I do!'
'Good. Now we can get on with things.'
'But I have really no evidence on which to base that belief,' Miss Waynflete explained anxiously. 'It is entirely an idea.'
'Quite so. This is a private conversation. We are merely speaking about what we think and suspect. We suspect Amy Gibbs was murdered. Who do we think murdered her?'
Miss Waynflete shook her head. She was looking very troubled. Luke said, watching her, 'Who had reason to murder her?'
Miss Waynflete said slowly, 'She had had a quarrel, I believe, with her young man at the garage, Jim Harvey — a most steady, superior young man. I know one reads in the papers of young men attacking their sweethearts, and dreadful things like that, but I really can't believe that Jim would do such a thing.' Luke nodded. Miss Waynflete went on. 'Besides, I can't believe that he would do it that way. Climb up to her window and substitute a bottle of poison for the other one with the cough mixture. I mean, that doesn't seem –'
Luke came to the rescue as she hesitated. 'It's not the act of an angry lover? I agree! In my opinion, we can wash Jim Harvey right out. Amy was killed — we're agreeing she was killed — by someone who wanted to get her out of the way and who planned the crime carefully, so that it should appear to be an accident. Now, have you any idea — any hunch — shall we put it like that? — who that person could be?'
Miss Waynflete said, 'No — really — no, I haven't the least idea!'
'Sure?'
'N-no; no indeed.' Luke looked at her thoughtfully. The denial, he felt, had not rung quite true. He went on, 'You know of no motive?'
'No motive whatever.' That was more emphatic.
'Had she been in many places in Wychwood?'
'She was with the Hortons for a year before going to Lord Easterfield.'
Luke summed up rapidly, 'It's like this, then: Somebody wanted that girl out of the way. From the given facts, we assume that, first, it was a man, and a man of moderately old-fashioned outlook — as shown by the hat paint touch — and secondly, that it must have been a reasonably athletic man, since it is clear he must have climbed up over the outhouse to the girl's window. You agree on those points?'
'Absolutely,' said Miss Waynflete.
'Do you mind if I go round and have a try myself?'
'Not at all. I think that is a very good idea.'
She led him out by a side door and round to the back yard. Luke managed to reach the outhouse roof without much trouble. From there he could easily raise the sash of the girl's window and with a slight effort hoist himself into the room. A few minutes later he rejoined Miss Waynflete on the path below, wiping his hands on his handkerchief.
'Actually it's easier than it looks,' he said. 'You want a certain amount of muscle, that's all. There were no signs on the sill or outside?'
Miss Waynflete shook her head. 'I don't think so. Of course, the constable climbed up this way.'
'So that if there were any traces, they would be taken to be his. How the police force assists the criminal! Well, that's that!'
Miss Waynflete led the way back to the house.
'Was Amy Gibbs a heavy sleeper?' he asked.
Miss Waynflete replied acidly, 'It was extremely difficult to get her up in the morning. Sometimes I would knock again and again, and call out to her before she answered. But then, you know, Mr. Fitzwilliam, there's a saying there are 'none so deaf as those who will not hear.''
'That's true,' acknowledged Luke. 'Well, now, Miss Waynflete, we come to the question of motive. Starting with the most obvious one, do you think there was anything between that fellow Ellsworthy and the girl?' He added hastily, 'This is just your opinion I'm asking. Only that.'
'If it's a matter of opinion, I would say yes.'
