Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [60]
“Will anybody believe you?”
“Probably not, but when I get hold of old Billy Bones tomorrow, the wheels will start turning. They’ll check up on our long-haired friend, Ellsworthy, and in the end they’re bound to get somewhere.”
Bridget said thoughtfully:
“We’re coming out into the open very much, aren’t we?”
“We’ve got to. We can’t—we simply can’t afford anymore murders.”
Bridget shivered.
“For God’s sake be careful, Luke.”
“I’m being careful all right. Don’t walk near gates with pineapples on them, avoid the lonely wood at nightfall, watch out for your food and drink. I know all the ropes.”
“It’s horrible feeling you’re a marked man.”
“So long as you’re not a marked woman, my sweet.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“I don’t think so. But I don’t intend to take risks! I’m watching over you like an old-fashioned guardian angel.”
“Is it any good saying anything to the police here?”
Luke considered.
“No, I don’t think it is—better go straight to Scotland Yard.”
Bridget murmured:
“That’s what Miss Pinkerton thought.”
“Yes, but I shall be watching out for trouble.”
Bridget said:
“I know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I shall march Gordon down to that brute’s shop and make him buy things.”
“Thereby ensuring that our Mr. Ellsworthy is not lying in ambush for me on the steps of Whitehall?”
“That’s the idea.”
Luke said with some slight embarrassment: “About Whitfield—”
Bridget said quickly:
“Let’s leave it till you come back tomorrow. Then we’ll have it out.”
“Will he be very cut up, do you think?”
“Well—” Bridget considered the question. “He’ll be annoyed.”
“Annoyed? Ye gods! Isn’t that putting it a bit mildly?”
“No. Because you see Gordon doesn’t like being annoyed! It upsets him!”
Luke said soberly, “I feel rather uncomfortable about it all.”
That feeling was uppermost in his mind when he prepared that evening to listen for the twentieth time to Lord Whitfield on the subject of Lord Whitfield. It was, he admitted, a cad’s trick to stay in a man’s house and steal his fiancée. He still felt, however, that a potbellied, pompous, strutting little nincompoop like Lord Whitfield ought never to have aspired to Bridget at all!
But his conscience so far chastened him that he listened with an extra dose of fervent attention and in consequence made a thoroughly favourable impression on his host.
Lord Whitfield was in high good humour this evening. The death of his erstwhile chauffeur seemed to have exhilarated rather than depressed him.
“Told you that fellow would come to a bad end,” he crowed, holding up a glass of port to the light and squinting through it. “Didn’t I tell you so yesterday evening?”
“You did, indeed, sir.”
“And you see I was right! It’s amazing how often I’m right!”
“That must be splendid for you,” said Luke.
“I’ve had a wonderful life—yes, a wonderful life! My path’s been smoothed clear before me. I’ve always had great faith and trust in Providence. That’s the secret, Fitzwilliam, that’s the secret.”
“Yes?”
“I’m a religious man. I believe in good and evil and eternal justice. There is such a thing as divine justice, Fitzwilliam, not a doubt of it!”
“I believe in justice, too,” said Luke.
Lord Whitfield, as usual, was not interested in the beliefs of other people.
“Do right by your Creator and your Creator will do right by you! I’ve always been an upright man. I’ve subscribed to charity, and I’ve made my money honestly. I’m not beholden to any man! I stand alone. You remember in the Bible how the patriarchs became prosperous, herds and flocks were added to them, and their enemies were smitten down!”
Luke stifled a yawn and said:
“Quite—quite.”
“It’s remarkable—absolutely remarkable,” said Lord Whitfield. “The way that a righteous man’s enemies are struck down! Look at yesterday. That fellow abuses me—even goes so far as to try to raise his hand against me. And what happens? Where is he today?”
He paused rhetorically