pleasant spirit. Miss Carter duly giggled and said, 'Go on with you! I'm sure you don't think nothing of the kind!… That's telling!' — and other such rejoinders. But the performance was clearly mechanical. Luke, seeing no advantage to be gained by remaining, finished his beer and departed.
He walked along the path to where the river was spanned by a footbridge. He was standing looking at this when a quavering voice behind him said: 'That's it, mister; that's where old Harry went over.' Luke turned to see one of his late fellow drinkers — one who had been particularly unresponsive to the topic of crops, weather and coupons. He was now clearly about to enjoy himself as a guide to the macabre. 'Went over into the mud, he did,' said the ancient laborer. 'Right into the mud, and stuck in it head downward.'
'Perhaps someone pushed him over,' said Luke, making the suggestion in a casual fashion.
'They might of,' the rustic agreed. 'But I don't know who'd go for to do that,' he added.
'He might have made a few enemies. He was fairly abusive when he was drunk, wasn't he?'
'His language was a treat to hear. Didn't mince his words. Harry didn't. But no one would go for to push a man what's drunk.'
Luke did not combat this statement. It was evidently regarded as wildly unsporting for advantage to be taken of a man's state of intoxication. The rustic had sounded quite shocked at the idea.
'Well,' he said vaguely, 'it was a sad business.'
'None so sad for his missus,' said the old man. 'Reckon her and Lucy haven't no call to be sad about it.'
'There may be other people who are glad to have him out of the way.'
The old man was vague about that.
'Maybe,' he said. 'But he didn't mean no harm. Harry didn't.' On this epitaph for the late Mr. Carter, they parted.
Luke bent his steps toward the old Hall. The library transacted its business in the two front rooms. Luke passed on to the back through a door which was labeled MUSEUM. There he moved from case to case, studying the not-very-inspiring exhibits. Some Roman pottery and coins. Some South Sea curiosities, a Malay headdress. Various Indian gods 'presented by Major Horton,' together with a large and malevolent-looking Buddha and a case of doubtful-looking Egyptian beads.
Luke wandered out again into the hall. There was no one about. He went quietly up the stairs. There was a room with magazines and papers there, and a room filled with non-fiction books. Luke went a story higher.
Here were rooms filled with what he designated himself as junk. Stuffed birds, removed from the museum owing to the moths having attacked them, stacks of torn magazines and a room whose shelves were covered with out-of-date works of fiction and children's books. Luke approached the window. Here it must have been that Tommy Pierce had sat, possibly whistling and occasionally rubbing a pane of glass vigorously when he heard anyone coming. Somebody had come in. Tommy had shown his zeal, sitting half out of the window and polishing with zest. And then that somebody had come up to him and, while talking, had given a sudden sharp push.
Luke turned away. He walked down the stairs and stood a minute or two in the hall.
Nobody had noticed him come in. Nobody had seen him go upstairs. 'Anyone might have done it,' said Luke. 'Easiest thing in the world.' He heard footsteps coming from the direction of the library proper. Since he was an innocent man, with no objection to being seen, he could remain where he was. If he had not wanted to be seen, how easy just to step back inside the door of the museum room.
Miss Waynflete came out from the library, a little pile of books under her arm. She was pulling on her gloves. She looked happy and busy. When she saw him, her face lit up and she exclaimed: 'Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, have you been looking at the museum? I'm afraid there isn't very much there, really. Lord Easterfield is talking of getting us some really interesting exhibits.'
'Really?'
'Yes, something modern, you know, and up-to-date. Like they have at the Science Museum in London . He suggests a model aeroplane and a locomotive and some chemical things too.'
'That would, perhaps, brighten things up.'
'Yes, I don't think a museum should deal solely with the past, do you?'
'Perhaps not.'
'Then some food exhibits, too — calories and vitamins — all that sort of thing. Lord Easterfield is so keen on the Greater Fitness Campaign.'
'So he was saying the other night.'
'It's the thing at present, isn't it? Lord Easterfield was telling me how he'd been to the Wellerman Laboratories and seen such a lot of germs and cultures and bacteria; it quite made me shiver. And he told me all about mosquitoes and sleeping sickness, and something about a liver fluke that, I'm afraid, was a little too difficult for me.'
'It was probably too difficult for Lord Easterfield,' said Luke cheerfully. 'I'll bet he got it all wrong. You've got a much clearer brain than he has, Miss Waynflete.'
Miss Waynflete said sedately, 'That's very nice of you, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I'm afraid women are never quite such deep thinkers as men.'
Luke repressed a desire to criticize adversely Lord Easterfield's processes of thought. Instead he said, 'I did look into the museum, but afterwards I went up to have a look at the top windows.'
'You mean where Tommy –' Miss Waynflete shivered. 'It's really very horrible.'
'Yes, it's not a nice thought. I've spent about an hour with Mrs. Church — Amy's aunt — not a nice woman.'
'Not at all.'
'I had to take rather a strong line with her,' said Luke. 'I fancy she thinks I'm a kind of super policeman.'
He stopped as he noted a sudden change of expression on Miss Waynflete's face. 'Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, do you think that was wise?'
Luke said, 'I don't really know. I think it was inevitable. The book story was wearing thin. I can't get much farther on that. I had to ask the kind of questions that were directly to the point.'
Miss Waynflete shook her head, the troubled expression still on her face. 'In a place like this, you see, everything gets round so fast.'
'You mean that everybody will say 'There goes the detective' as I walk down the street? I don't think that really matters now. In fact, I may get more that way.'
'I wasn't thinking of that.' Miss Waynflete sounded a little breathless. 'What I meant was that he'll know. He'll realize that you're on his track.'
Luke said slowly, 'I suppose he will.'
Miss Waynflete said, 'But don't you see that's horribly dangerous? Horribly!'
'You mean –' Luke grasped her point at last — 'you mean that the killer will have a crack at me?'
'Yes.'
'Funny,' said Luke. 'I never thought of that! I believe you're right, though. Well, that might be the best thing that could happen.'
Miss Waynflete said earnestly, 'I don't think you realize that he's — he's a very clever man. He's cautious too. And remember, he's got a great deal of experience — perhaps more than we know.'
'Yes,' said Luke thoughtfully, 'that's probably true.'
Miss Waynflete exclaimed, 'Oh, I don't like it! Really, I feel quite alarmed!'
Luke said gently, 'You needn't worry. I shall be very much on my guard, I can assure you. You see, I've narrowed the possibilities down pretty closely. I've an idea, at any rate, who the killer might be.' She looked up sharply. Luke came a step nearer. He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Miss Waynflete, if I were to ask you which of two men you considered the most likely — Doctor Thomas or Mr. Abbot — what would you say?'
'Oh!' said Miss Waynflete. Her hand flew to her breast. She stepped back. Her eyes met Luke's in an expression that puzzled him. They showed impatience and something closely allied to it that he could not quite place. She said, 'I can't say anything.'
She turned away abruptly, with a curious sound — half a sigh, half a sob. Luke resigned himself.
'Are you going home?' he asked.
'No. I was going to take these books to Mrs. Humbleby. That lies on your way back to the Manor. We might go part of the way together.'
'That will be very nice,' said Luke.
