Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [62]
Sir William sighed. “I can soon get hold of that for you. Twenty minutes ought to do it.”
He was as good as his word. In less than that time Luke was talking to the police officer in charge of the matter.
“Yes, sir, I remember the details. I’ve got most of them written down here.” He indicated the sheet that Luke was studying. “An inquest was held—Mr. Satcherverell was the Coroner. Censure of the driver of the car.”
“Did you ever get him?”
“No, sir.”
“What make of car was it?”
“It seems pretty certain it was a Rolls—big car driven by a chauffeur. All witnesses unanimous on that point. Most people know a Rolls by sight.”
“You didn’t get the number?”
“No, unfortunately, nobody thought to look at it. There was a note of a number FZX 4498—but it was the wrong number, a woman spotted it and mentioned it to another woman who gave it to me. I don’t know whether the second woman got it wrong but anyway it was no good.”
Luke asked sharply: “How did you know it was no good?”
The young officer smiled.
“FZX 4498 is the number of Lord Whitfield’s car. That car was standing outside Boomington House at the time in question and the chauffeur was having tea. He had a perfect alibi—no question of his being concerned and the car never left the building till 6:30 when his lordship came out.”
“I see,” said Luke.
“It’s always the way, sir,” the man sighed, “half the witnesses have disappeared before a constable can get there and take down particulars.”
Sir William nodded.
“We assumed it was probably a number not unlike that FZX 4498—a number beginning probably with two fours. We did our best, but could not trace any car. We investigated several likely numbers but they could all give satisfactory accounts of themselves.”
Sir William looked at Luke questioningly.
Luke shook his head. Sir William said:
“Thanks, Bonner, that will do.”
When the man had gone out, Billy Bones looked inquiringly at his friend.
“What’s it all about, Fitz?”
Luke sighed. “It all tallies. Lavinia Pinkerton was coming up to blow the gaff—to tell the clever people at Scotland Yard all about the wicked murderer. I don’t know whether you’d have listened to her—probably not—”
“We might,” said Sir William. “Things do come through to us that way. Just hearsay and gossip—we don’t neglect that sort of thing, I assure you.”
“That’s what the murderer thought. He wasn’t going to risk it. He eliminated Lavinia Pinkerton and although one woman was sharp enough to spot his number no one believed her.”
Billy Bones sprang upright in his chair.
“You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do. I’ll bet you anything you like it was Whitfield who ran her down. I don’t know how he managed it. The chauffeur was away at tea. Somehow or other, I suppose, he sneaked away putting on a chauffeur’s coat and cap. But he did it, Billy!”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all. Lord Whitfield has committed at least seven murders to my certain knowledge and probably a lot more.”
“Impossible,” said Sir William again.
“My dear fellow, he practically boasted to me of it last night!”
“He’s mad, then?”
“He’s mad, all right, but he’s a cunning devil. You’ll have to go warily. Don’t let him know we suspect him.”
Billy Bones murmured: “Incredible….”
Luke said: “But true!”
He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Look here, Billy, old son, we must get right down to this. Here are the facts.”
The two men talked long and earnestly.
On the following day Luke returned to Wychwood. He drove down early in the morning. He could have returned the night before but he felt a marked distaste for sleeping under Lord Whitfield’s roof or accepting his hospitality under the circumstances.
On his way through Wychwood, he drew up his car at Miss Waynflete’s house. The maid who opened the door stared at him in astonishment but showed him into the little dining room where Miss Waynflete was sitting at breakfast.
She rose to receive him in some surprise.
He did not waste time. “I must apologize for breaking