Murder Is Easy - Agatha Christie [74]
“The whole thing was so easy. She was on an island crossing Whitehall. I was close behind her. She never saw me. A big car came along and I shoved with all my might. I’m very strong! She went right down in front of it. I told the woman next to me I’d seen the number of the car and gave her the number of Gordon’s Rolls. I hoped she’d repeat it to the police.
“It was lucky the car didn’t stop. Some chauffeur joyriding without his master’s knowledge, I suspect. Yes, I was lucky there. I’m always lucky. That scene the other day with Rivers, and Luke Fitzwilliam as witness. I’ve had such fun leading him along! Odd how difficult it was to make him suspect Gordon. But after Rivers’s death he would be sure to do so. He must!
“And now—well, this will just finish the whole thing nicely.”
She got up and came towards Bridget. She said softly:
“Gordon jilted me! He was going to marry you. All my life I’ve been disappointed. I’ve had nothing—nothing at all….”
“O lean grey woman whom nobody loves…”
She was bending over her, smiling, with mad light eyes…The knife gleamed….
With all her youth and strength, Bridget sprang. Like a tiger cat, she flung herself full force on the other woman, knocking her back, seizing her right wrist.
Taken by surprise, Honoria Waynflete fell back before the onslaught. But then, after a moment’s inertia, she began to fight. In strength there was no comparison between them. Bridget was young and healthy with muscles toughened by games. Honoria Waynflete was a slender-built, frail creature.
But there was one factor on which Bridget had not reckoned. Honoria Waynflete was mad. Her strength was the strength of the insane. She fought like a devil and her insane strength was stronger than the sane muscled strength of Bridget. They swayed to and fro, and still Bridget strove to wrest the knife away from her, and still Honoria Waynflete hung on to it.
And then, little by little, the mad woman’s strength began to prevail. Bridget cried out now:
“Luke…Help…Help…”
But she had no hope of help coming. She and Honoria Waynflete were alone. Alone in a dead world. With a supreme effort she wrenched the other’s wrist back, and at last she heard the knife fall.
The next minute Honoria Waynflete’s two hands had fastened round her neck in a maniac grasp, squeezing the life out of her. She gave one last choked cry….
Twenty-two
MRS. HUMBLEBY SPEAKS
Luke was favourably impressed by the appearance of Superintendent Battle. He was a solid, comfortable-looking man with a broad red face and a large handsome moustache. He did not exactly express brilliance at a first glance, but a second glance was apt to make an observant person thoughtful, for Superintendent Battle’s eye was unusually shrewd.
Luke did not make the mistake of underestimating him. He had met men of Battle’s type before. He knew that they could be trusted, and that they invariably got results. He could not have wished for a better man to be put in charge of the case.
When they were alone together Luke said:
“You’re rather a big noise to be sent down on a case like this?”
Superintendent Battle smiled.
“It may turn out to be a serious business, Mr. Fitzwilliam. When a man like Lord Whitfield is concerned, we don’t want to have any mistakes.”
“I appreciate that. Are you alone?”
“Oh, no. Got a detective-sergeant with me. He’s at the other pub, the Seven Stars, and his job is to keep an eye on his lordship.”
“I see.”
Battle asked:
“In your opinion, Mr. Fitzwilliam, there’s no doubt whatever? You’re pretty sure of your man?”
“On the facts I don’t see that any alternative theory is possible. Do you want me to give you the facts?”
“I’ve had them, thank