Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [45]
Luke looked at her and received the mild amber glance in reply. It did not waver.
“Well,” he said, “I expect you’re right. You’d probably know if it was the other way round.”
Miss Waynflete permitted herself a smile.
“We women are good observers, you think?”
“Absolutely first class. Would Miss Pinkerton have agreed with you, do you think?”
“I don’t think I ever heard Lavinia express an opinion.”
“What did she think about Amy Gibbs?”
Miss Waynflete frowned a little as though thinking.
“It’s difficult to say. Lavinia had a very curious idea.”
“What idea?”
“She thought that there was something odd going on here in Wychwood.”
“She thought, for instance, that somebody pushed Tommy Pierce out of that window?”
Miss Waynflete stared at him in astonishment.
“How did you know that, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“She told me so. Not in these words, but she gave me the general idea.”
Miss Waynflete leant forward, pink with excitement.
“When was this, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
Luke said quietly, “The day she was killed. We travelled together to London.”
“What did she tell you exactly?”
“She told me that there had been too many deaths in Wychwood. She mentioned Amy Gibbs, and Tommy Pierce and that man Carter. She also said that Dr. Humbleby would be the next to go.”
Miss Waynflete nodded slowly.
“Did she tell you who was responsible?”
“A man with a certain look in his eyes,” said Luke grimly. “A look you couldn’t mistake, according to her. She’d seen that look in his eye when he was talking to Humbleby. That’s why she said Humbleby would be the next to go.”
“And he was,” whispered Miss Waynflete. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
She leaned back. Her eyes had a stricken look in them.
“Who was the man?” said Luke. “Come now, Miss Waynflete, you know, you must know!”
“I don’t. She didn’t tell me.”
“But you can guess,” said Luke keenly. “You’ve a very shrewd idea of who was in her mind.”
Reluctantly Miss Waynflete bowed her head.
“Then tell me.”
But Miss Waynflete shook her head energetically.
“No, indeed. You’re asking me to do something that is highly improper! You’re asking me to guess at what may—only may, mind you—have been in the mind of a friend who is now dead. I couldn’t make an accusation of that kind!”
“It wouldn’t be an accusation—only an opinion.”
But Miss Waynflete was unexpectedly firm.
“I’ve nothing to go on—nothing whatever,” she said. “Lavinia never actually said anything to me. I may think she had a certain idea—but you see I might be entirely wrong. And then I should have misled you and perhaps serious consequences might ensue. It would be very wicked and unfair of me to mention a name. And I may be quite, quite wrong! In fact, I probably am wrong!”
And Miss Waynflete set her lips firmly and glared at Luke with a grim determination.
Luke knew how to accept defeat when he met it.
He realized that Miss Waynflete’s sense of rectitude and something else more nebulous that he could not quite place were both against him.
He accepted defeat with a good grace and rose to say good-bye. He had every intention of returning to the charge later, but he allowed no hint of that to escape into his manner.
“You must do as you think right, of course,” he said. “Thank you for the help you have given me.”
Miss Waynflete seemed to become a little less sure of herself as she accompanied him to the door.
“I hope you don’t think,” she began, then changed the form of the sentence. “If there is anything else I can do to help you, please, please let me know.”
“I will. You won’t repeat this conversation, will you?”
“Of course not. I shan’t say a word to anybody.”
Luke hoped that that was true.
“Give my love to Bridget,” said Miss Waynflete. “She’s such a handsome girl, isn’t she? And clever too. I—I hope she will be happy.”
And as Luke looked a question, she added:
“Married to Lord Whitfield, I mean. Such a great difference in age.”
“Yes, there is.”
Miss Waynflete sighed.
“You know that I was engaged to him once,” she said unexpectedly.
Luke stared in astonishment. She was nodding her head and smiling rather sadly.