Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [10]
“Well,” said Luke, a little at a loss for words, “it’s a great thing to know what you want.”
“And I usually get it too,” said the other, chuckling.
“You nearly didn’t get your way about the water scheme,” Bridget reminded him.
“Oh, that!” said Lord Whitfield. “Humbleby was a fool. These elderly men are inclined to be pigheaded. They won’t listen to reason.”
“Dr. Humbleby was rather an outspoken man, wasn’t he?” Luke ventured. “He made a good many enemies that way, I should imagine.”
“N-no, I don’t know that I should say that,” demurred Lord Whitfield, rubbing his nose. “Eh, Bridget?”
“He was very popular with everyone, I always thought,” said Bridget. “I only saw him when he came about my ankle that time, but I thought he was a dear.”
“Yes, he was popular enough on the whole,” admitted Lord Whitfield. “Though I know one or two people who had it in for him. Pigheadedness again.”
“One or two of the people living here?”
Lord Whitfield nodded.
“Lots of little feuds and cliques in a place like this,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Luke. He hesitated, uncertain of his next step.
“What sort of people live here mostly?” he queried.
It was rather a weak question, but he got an instant response.
“Relicts, mostly,” said Bridget. “Clergymen’s daughters and sisters and wives. Doctors’ dittoes. About six women to every man.”
“But there are some men?” hazarded Luke.
“Oh, yes, there’s Mr. Abbot, the solicitor, and young Dr. Thomas, Dr. Humbleby’s partner, and Mr. Wake, the rector, and—who else is there, Gordon? Oh! Mr. Ellsworthy, who keeps the antique shop and who is too, too terribly sweet! And Major Horton and his bulldogs.”
“There’s somebody else I believe my friends mentioned as living down here,” said Luke. “They said she was a nice old pussy but talked a lot.”
Bridget laughed. “That applies to half the village!”
“What was the name now? I’ve got it. Pinkerton.”
Lord Whitfield said with a hoarse chuckle:
“Really, you’ve no luck! She’s dead too. Got run over the other day in London. Killed outright.”
“You seem to have a lot of deaths here,” said Luke lightly.
Lord Whitfield bridled immediately.
“Not at all. One of the healthiest places in England. Can’t count accidents. They may happen to anyone.”
But Bridget Conway said thoughtfully:
“As a matter of fact, Gordon, there have been a lot of deaths in the last year. They’re always having funerals.”
“Nonsense, my dear.”
Luke said:
“Was Dr. Humbleby’s death an accident too?”
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Humbleby died of acute septicæmia. Just like a doctor. Scratched his finger with a rusty nail or something—paid no attention to it, and it turned septic. He was dead in three days.”
“Doctors are rather like that,” said Bridget. “And of course, they’re very liable to infection, I suppose, if they don’t take care. It was sad, though. His wife was brokenhearted.”
“No good rebelling against the will of providence,” said Lord Whitfield easily.
II
“But was it the will of providence?” Luke asked himself later as he changed into his dinner jacket. Septicæmia? Perhaps. A very sudden death, though.
And there echoed through his head Bridget Conway’s lightly spoken words:
“There have been a lot of deaths in the last year.”
Four
LUKE MAKES A BEGINNING
Luke had thought out his plan of campaign with some care, and prepared to put it into action without more ado when he came down to breakfast the following morning.
The gardening aunt was not in evidence, but Lord Whitfield was eating kidneys and drinking coffee, and Bridget Conway had finished her meal and was standing at the window, looking out.
After good mornings had been exchanged and Luke had sat down with a plentifully heaped plate of eggs and bacon, he began:
“I must get to work,” he said. “Difficult thing is to induce people to talk. You know what I mean—not people like you and—er—Bridget.” (He remembered just in time not to say Miss Conway.) “You’d tell me anything you knew—but the trouble is you wouldn’t know the things I want to