Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [43]
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 Whitfield.”
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 it is a very good idea.”
She led him out by a side door and round to the backyard. 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