Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [33]
“Nor even fade away,” said Luke.
He went on:
“So this is the Witches’ Meadow?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at her.
“You only need a broomstick,” he said kindly.
“Thank you. Mr. Ellsworthy said much the same.”
“I met him just now,” said Luke.
“Did you talk to him at all?”
“Yes. I think he tried to annoy me.”
“Did he succeed?”
“His methods were rather childish.” He paused and then went on abruptly. “He’s an odd sort of fellow. One minute you think he’s just a mess—and then suddenly one wonders if there isn’t a bit more to it than that.”
Bridget looked up at him.
“You’ve felt that too?”
“You agree then?”
“Yes.”
Luke waited.
Bridget said:
“There’s something—odd about him. I’ve been wondering you know…I lay awake last night racking my brains. About the whole business. It seemed to me that if there was a—a killer about, I ought to know who it was! I mean, living down here and all that. I thought and I thought and it came to this—if there is a killer, he must definitely be mad.”
Thinking of what Dr. Thomas had said, Luke asked:
“You don’t think that a murderer can be as sane as you or I?”
“Not this kind of a murderer. As I see it, this murderer must be crazy. And that, you see, brought me straight to Ellsworthy. Of all the people down here, he’s the only one who is definitely queer. He is queer, you can’t get away from it!”
Luke said doubtfully:
“There are a good many of his sort, dilettanti, poseurs—usually quite harmless.”
“Yes. But I think there might be a little more than that. He’s got such nasty hands.”
“You noticed that? Funny, I did too!”
“They’re not just white—they’re green.”
“They do give one that effect. All the same, you can’t convict a man of being a murderer because of the colour of his flesh tints.”
“Oh, quite. What we want is evidence.”
“Evidence!” growled Luke. “Just the one thing that’s absolutely lacking. The man’s been too careful. A careful murderer! A careful lunatic!”
“I’ve been trying to help,” said Bridget.
“With Ellsworthy, you mean?”
“Yes. I thought I could probably tackle him better than you could. I’ve made a beginning.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, it seems that he has a kind of little coterie—a band of nasty friends. They come down here from time to time and celebrate.”
“Do you mean what are called nameless orgies?”
“I don’t know about nameless but certainly orgies. Actually it all sounds very silly and childish.”
“I suppose they worship the devil and do obscene dances.”
“Something of the kind. Apparently they get a kick out of it.”
“I can contribute something to this,” said Luke. “Tommy Pierce took part in one of their ceremonies. He was an acolyte. He had a red cassock.”
“So he knew about it?”
“Yes. And that might explain his death.”
“You mean he talked about it?”
“Yes—or he may have tried a spot of quiet blackmail.”
Bridget said thoughtfully:
“I know it’s all fantastic—but it doesn’t seem quite so fantastic when applied to Ellsworthy as it does to anyone else.”
“No, I agree—the thing becomes just conceivable instead of being ludicrously unreal.”
“We’ve got a connection with two of the victims,” said Bridget. “Tommy Pierce and Amy Gibbs.”
“Where do the publican and Humbleby come in?”
“At the moment they don’t.”
“Not the publican. But I can imagine a motive for Humbleby’s removal. He was a doctor and he may have tumbled to Ellsworthy’s abnormal state.”
“Yes, that’s possible.”
Then Bridget laughed.
“I did my stuff pretty well this morning. My psychic possibilities are grand, it seems, and when I told how one of my great-great-grandmothers had a near escape of being burnt for witchcraft my stock went soaring up. I rather think that I shall be invited to take part in the orgies at the next meeting of the Satanic Games whenever that may be.”
Luke said:
“Bridget, for God’s sake, be careful.”
She looked at him, surprised. He got up.
“I met Humbleby’s daughter just now. We were talking about Miss Pinkerton. And the Humbleby girl said that Miss Pinkerton had been worried