EASY TO KILL

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23418, 7 August 1939, Page 17

EASY TO KILL

By AGATHA CHRISTIE

SYNOPSIS Luke Fitzwilliam, home for good from the East, was travelling by (rain to London in the same carriage as an old lady, who told him her name was Miss Finkerton. She was on her way, she said, to Scotland Yard to report a number of murders that had been happening in her village, Wychwood-under-A .sue.

Liiko was roused from these meditations by tlio thin, gentlo voice continuing. "You know, I remember reading once —1 think it was the Abercrombie case —-of course he'd poisoned quite a lot of people before any suspicion was aroused—what was 1 saying? Oil yes, somebody said that there was a look—a special look that ho gave anyone—and then very shortly afterwards that person would be taken ill. I didn't really believe that when I read about it—but it's true!" "What's two?" "The look on a person's faco . . Luke stared at her. She was trembling a little and her nice pink cheeks had lost some of their colour. "I saw it first with Amy Gibbs—and she died. And then it was Carter. And Tommy Pierce. But now —vesterdav—it was Dr. Humbleby—and he's sucli a good man—a really good man. Carter, of course, drank, and Tommy Pierce was. a dreadfully cheeky, impertinent little boy, and bullied the tiny boys, twisting their arms and pinching them. I didn't feel quite so badly about them,- hut Dr. Humbleby's different. He milst be saved. And the terrible thing is that if I went to hi in and told him about it he wouldn't believe me! He'd only laugh! And John Heed wouldn't believe nic either. But at Scotland Yard it will bo different. Because, naturally, they're used to crime there!" She glanced out of the window. "Oh, dear, we shall be in in a minute." She fussed a little, opening and shutting her bag, collecting her umbrella. "Thank you —thank you so much" —this to Luke, as he picked the umbrella up for a second time. "It's been such a relief talking to you—most kind of you, I'm sure —so glad you think I'm doing the right thing." Luke said kindly: * "I'm sure they'll give you good advice at Scotland Yard." "I really am most grateful." She fumbled in her bag. "My - card—oh, dear, 1 only have ono—l must keep that for Scotland Yard —" "Of course, of course." "But my name is Pinkerton." "Very suitable name, too, Miss Pinkerton," said Luke smiling. As the train drew into the platform. Luke Fitzwilliam said: "Can I "get you a taxi?" "Oh no, thank vou." Miss Pinkerton seemed quite shocked at the idea. "I shall take the tube. That will take me to Trafalgar Square, and I shall walk down Whitehall." "Well, good luck," said Luke. M iss Pinkerton shook him warmly by the hand. "So kind," she murmured again. "You know, just at first, I thought you didn't believe me." Luke had the grace to blush. "Well," lie said. "So many murders! Rather hard to_ do a lot of murders and get away with it, eh?" Miss Pinkerton shook her head. She said earnestly: "No, no, my dear boy, that's where you're wrong. It's very easy to kill — so long as no one suspects you. And you see. the person in question is just the last person anyone would suspect!" "Well, anyway, good luck," said Luke. Miss Pinkerton was swallowed up in the crowd. He himself went off in search of his luggage, thinking as he did so: "Just a little bit batty? No, I don't think so. A vivid imagination, that's all. Hope they let her down lightly. Rather an old dear." Jimmy Lorrimer was one of Luke's oldest friends. As a matter of course Luke stayed with Jimmy as soon as ho got to London. It was with Jimmy that ho sallied forth on the evening of his arrival in search of amusement. It was Jimmy's coffee that he drank with an aching head the morning after, and it was Jimmy's voice that went unanswered while he read twice over a small insignificant paragraph in the morning paper. '.'Sorry, Jimmy," lie said, coming to himself with a start. "What were you absorbed in—the political situation?" Luke grinned. "No fear. No, it's rather queer—old pussy I travelled up with in the train yesterday got run over." "Probably trusted to a Belisha beacon." said Jimmy. "How do you know it's her?" "Of course, it mayn't be. But it's the same name —Pinkerton —she was knocked down and killed by a car as she was crossing Whitehall. The car didn't stop." "Nasty business," said Jimmy. "Yes, poor old bean, I'm sorry. She reminded me of my Aunt Mildred." "Whoever was driving that car will be for it. Bring it in manslaughter 'likely as not. I tell you I'm scared stiff of driving a car nowadays." "What have you got at present in the way of a car?" "Ford V.B. I tell you, my boy . . The conversation became severely mechanical. Jimmy broke it off to ask: "What the devil are you humming?" Luke was humming to himself "Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dec, the fly has married the humble bee." He apologised. "Nursery rhyme remembered from my childhood. Can't think what put it into my head." It was over a week later that Luke, carelessly reading a newspaper, gave a sudden startled exclamation. "Well, I'm damned!" Jimmy Lorrimer looked up. "What's the matter?" Luko did not answer. Ho was staring at a name in the printed column. Jimmy repeated his question. Luko raised his head and looked at his friend. His expression was so peculiar that Jimmy was quite taken aback. "What's up, Luke? You look as though you'd seen a ghost." For a minute or two the other did not reply. He dropped the paper, strode to the window and back again. Jimmy watched him with increasing surprise. Luke dropped into a chair and leaned forward. • "Jimmy, old son, do you remember my mentioning an old lad}' I travelled up to town with —the day I arrived in England?" "The ono you said reminded you of your Aunt Mildred? And then she got run over by a car?" "That's the one. Listen, Jimmy. The old girl came out with a long rigmarole of how she was going up to Scotland Yard to tell them about a lot of murders. There was a murderer loose in her village—that's what it amounted to—and he'd been doing some pretty rapid execution." "You didn't tell me she was batty," said Jimmy. "I didn't think she was." "Oh, come now, old boy, wholesalo murder " Luke said impatiently: "I didn't think she was off lier head. I thought she was just letting lier imagination run nwny with her as old ladies sometimes do." "Well, yes, I suppose that might liave been it. But she was probably a bit touched as well, I should think." "Never mind what you think, Jimmy. At the moment, I'm telling you, see?" ' . ~ "Oh, quite—quite —get on witn it.

(COPYRIGHT)

Author of "Murder at Christmas," et£. ( etc. The famous detective, Poirot, is absent on holiday, when a series of apparently accidental deaths must be investigated without delay.

"She was quite circumstantial, mentioned one or two victims by name and then explained that what had really rattled her was the fact that she knew who the next victim was going to be." "Yes?" said Jimmy, encouragingly. "Sometimes a name sticks in your head for some silly reason or other. This name stuck in mine, because 1 linked it up with a silly nursery rhyme they used to sing to mc when I was a kid. Fiddle de dee, fiddle do dec, the fly has married the humble bee." "Very intellectual, I'm sure, but what's the point?" "The point, my good nss, is that the man's name was Huinbleby—Dr. Humblchy. My old lady said Dr. Humblcby would be the next, and she was distressed because he was 'such a good man.' The name stuck in my head because of the aforementioned rhyme." "Well?" said Jimmy. "Well, look at this." Luke passed over the paper, his finger pressed against an entry in the column of deaths. H UMBLEBY. —On June 12, suddenly, at his residence, Sandgate

Wychwood-under-Ashe, John Edward Humbleby, M.D., beloved husband of Jessie Rose Humbleby. Funeral Friday. No flowers, by request. "You see, Jimmy? That's the name and the place and he's a What do you make of it?" Jimmy took a moment or two to answer. His voice was serious when he said at last rather uncertainly: "I suppose it's just a damned odd coincidence." "Is it, Jimmy? Is it? Is that all it is?" Luke began to walk up and down again. "What else could it be?" asked Jimmy. Luke wheeled round suddenly. "Suppose that every word that dear bleating old sheep said was true! Suppose that that fantastic story was just the plain literal truth!" "Oh, come now, old boy! That would be a bit thick! Things like that don't happen." "What about the Abererombie case? Wasn't be supposed to have done away with a goodish few?" "More than ever came out," said Jimmy. "A pal of mine had a cousin who was the. local coroner. I # beard a bit through him. They got Abererombie for feeding the local vet. with arsenic, then they dug up his wife and she was full of it, and it's pretty certain his brother-in-law went the same way—

and that wasn't all by a long chalk. This pal of mine told me that the unofficial view was that Abererombie had done away with at least fifteen people in his time. Fifteen!" "Exactly. So these things do happen!" "Yes, but they don't happen often. 5 ,' "How do you know? They may happen a good deal oftener than you suppose." "There speaks the police wallah! Can't you forget you're a policeman now that you're retired into private life?"

"Once a policeman, always a policeman, I suppose," said Luke. "Now look here, Jimmy, supposing that before Abercrombie had got so foolhardy as fairly to push his murders under the noses of the police, some dear loquacious old spinster had just simply guessed what he was up to and had trotted off to tell some 0110 in authority all about it. Do you suppose they'd have listened to her?'* .Jimmv grinned. "No fear J".

"Exactly. They'd have said she'd got bats in the belfry. Just as you said! Or they'd have said 'Too much imagination. Not enough to do.' As 1 said! And both of us, Jimmy, would have been wrong."

Lorrimcr took a moment or two to consider, then lie said: "What's the position exactly—as it appears to you?" Luke said slowly.

"The case stands like this. I was told a story —an improbable but not an impossible story. One piece of evidonee, the death of Dr. Ilumbleby, supports that story. And there's 0110 other significant fact. Miss Pinkerton was going to Scotland Yard with this improbable story of hers. But she didn't get there. She was run over and killed by a car that didn't stop." Jimmy objected. "You don't know that she didn't get there. She might have been killed after her visit, not before." "She might have been, yes —but ] don't think she was." "That's pure supposition. It boils down to this —you believe in this — this melodrama." Luke shook his head sharply. "No I don't say that. All I say is, there's a case for investigation." "J 11 other words, you are going to Scotland Yard?" "No, it hasn't come to that yet—not nearly. As 3*oll say, this man Humbleby's death may be merely a coincidence." "Then what may I ask, is the idea?" "The idea is to go down to this place and look into the matter." Jimmy stared at him, then he said: "Are you serious about this business, Luke?" "Absolutely." "Suppose the whole thing's a mare's nest?" "That would bo the best thing that could happen." Jimmy was silent for a minute or two. then he said: "Got any plan? I mean, you'll have to have some reason for suddenly arriving in this place." "Yes, I suppose I shall." "No 'suppose* about it. Do you realise what a small English country town is like? Any 0110 new sticks out a milo." "I shall hav6 tb adopt a disguise,"' said Luke with a sudden grin. "What do you suggest? Artist? Hardlj—] can't draw, let alone paint." "You could be a modern artist,'' suggested Jimmy. "Then that wouldn't matter." > But Luke was intent 011 the matter in hand.

"An author? T)o authors go to strange country inns to.write? They might. 1 suppose. A fisherman, perhaps —hut I'll have to find out if there's a handy river. An invalid ordered country air? I don't look the part, and anyway every 0110 goes to a nursinghome nowadays. I might be looking for a house in the neighbourhood. But that's not very good." Jimmy said: "Wait a see —givo mo that paper again." Taking it, lie gave it a cursory glance and announced triumphantly; "1 thought so! Luke, old boy—to put it in a nutshell —I'll fix you O.K. Everything's as easy as winking!" Luke wheeled round. "What?' Jimmy was continuing with modest pride, "I thought something struck a chord. Wychwood-under-Asho, of course! The very place!" "Have you by any chance, a pal who knows the coroner there?" "Not this timo. Better than that. m> boy. Nature, as you know, has endowed me plentifully with aunts and cousins—my father having been ono of a family of thirteen. Now listen to this: I have a cousin in Wychwood-under-Ashe." "Tell me about him." (To bo continued dally.)