Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [56]
“I won’t have this irreligious mumbo jumbo going on down here! I’ll expose it in Scandals.” He paused, then said, “Remind me to make a note about that and get Siddely on to it. I must go up to town tomorrow.”
“Lord Whitfield’s campaign against witchcraft,” said Bridget flippantly. “Medieval superstitions still rife in quiet country village.”
Lord Whitfield stared at her with a puzzled frown, then he turned and went into the house.
Luke said pleasantly:
“You must do your stuff better than that, Bridget!”
“What do you mean?”
“It would be a pity if you lost your job! That hundred thousand isn’t yours yet. Nor are the diamonds and pearls. I should wait until after the marriage ceremony to exercise your sarcastic gifts if I were you.”
Her glance met his coolly.
“You are so thoughtful, dear Luke. It’s kind of you to take my future so much to heart!”
“Kindness and consideration have always been my strong points.”
“I hadn’t noticed it.”
“No? You surprise me.”
Bridget twitched the leaf off a creeper. She said:
“What have you been doing today?”
“The usual spot of sleuthing.”
“Any results?”
“Yes and no, as the politicians say. By the way, have you got any tools in the house?”
“I expect so. What kind of tools?”
“Oh, any handy little gadgets. Perhaps I could inspect some.”
Ten minutes later Luke had made a selection from a cupboard shelf.
“That little lot will do nicely,” he said, slapping the pocket in which he had stowed them away.
“Are you thinking of doing a spot of forcing and entering?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re very uncommunicative on the subject.”
“Well, after all, the situation bristles with difficulties. I’m in the hell of a position. After our little knock up on Saturday I suppose I ought to clear out of here.”
“To behave as a perfect gentleman, you should.”
“But since I’m convinced that I am pretty hot on the trail of a homicidal maniac, I’m more or less forced to remain. If you could think of any convincing reason for me to leave here and take up my quarters at the Bells and Motley, for goodness’ sake trot it out.”
Bridget shook her head.
“That’s not feasible—you being a cousin and all that. Besides, the inn is full of Mr. Ellsworthy’s friends. They only run to three guest rooms.”
“So I am forced to remain, painful as it must be for you.”
Bridget smiled sweetly at him.
“Not at all. I can always do with a few scalps to dangle.”
“That,” said Luke appreciatively, “was a particularly dirty crack. What I admire about you, Bridget, is that you have practically no instincts of kindness. Well, well. The rejected lover will now go and change for dinner.”
The evening passed uneventfully. Luke won Lord Whitfield’s approval even more deeply than before by the apparent absorbed interest with which he listened to the other’s nightly discourse.
When they came into the drawing room Bridget said:
“You men have been a long time.”
Luke replied:
“Lord Whitfield was being so interesting that the time passed like a flash. He was telling me how he founded his first newspaper.”
Mrs. Anstruther said:
“These new little fruiting trees in pots are perfectly marvellous, I believe. You ought to try them along the terrace, Gordon.”
The conversation then proceeded on normal lines.
Luke retired early.
He did not, however, go to bed. He had other plans.
It was just striking twelve when he descended the stairs noiselessly in tennis shoes, passed through the library and let himself out by a window.
The wind was still blowing in violent gusts interspersed with brief lulls. Clouds scudded across the sky, obliterating the moon so that darkness alternated with bright moonlight.
Luke made his way by a circuitous route to Mr. Ellsworthy’s establishment. He saw his way clear to doing a little investigation. He was fairly certain that Ellsworthy and his friends would be out together on this particular date. Midsummer Eve, Luke thought, was sure to be marked by some ceremony or other. Whilst this was in progress, it would be a good opportunity to search Mr. Ellsworthy’s house.