Speedy Death by Gladys Mitchell Page A

for you.’
    ‘Let us go back to the house,’ said Mrs Bradley abruptly.
    They turned and retraced their steps in silence until they came within sight of the tall chimneys of Chayning Place.
    Carstairs pointed to the beautiful old house.‘And you have been able to live under that roof, knowing what you have known all this time, and have spoken naturally and unaffectedly with everybody, and have sat at the same table with the murderer——’
    He paused, and then shook his head. ‘I couldn’t have done it. I don’t know what I shall do or say, as it is, when we encounter them all again in there.’
    ‘You won’t have to bear the burden of our knowledge for long,’ Mrs Bradley said calmly. ‘I think that what we know will soon be perfectly obvious to every member of that household. Poor, poor girl,’ she added, with genuine sorrow and pity in her tones.
    ‘Do you really mean that?’ asked Carstairs, interested. ‘I don’t think I could ever sincerely pity a murderer.’
    ‘We are all murderers, my friend,’ said Mrs Bradley lugubriously. ‘Some in deed and some in thought. That’s the only difference, though.’
    ‘Rather a considerable difference,’ said Carstairs, putting into his tone a lightness which he was very far from feeling.
    ‘Morally, there is no difference at all,’ said Mrs Bradley more briskly. ‘Some have the courage of their convictions. Others have not. That’s all. This one saw her opportunity and took it. A person occupying that bath normally has his back to the window, his face to the door. The murderer entered by the window, talked softly but quite naturally to Mountjoy, descended on to the floor by meansof the bathroom stool, upon which she left some mark from the green paint she had kicked over on the balcony, and which was later cleaned off, went on talking, perhaps in a chiding tone, perhaps not, and then, having lulled the unfortunate Mountjoy into false security, strolled to the end of the bath, turned on the taps full, jerked out the plug, and, before Mountjoy could so much as protest, caught her by the throat or the feet and so pulled her head under the rapidly rising water. Have you ever noticed how slippery the bottom of that bath is?’ Mrs Bradley added, with surprising suddenness, turning to Carstairs.
    ‘Yes,’ he replied.
    ‘I know it too,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I used it once—before this affair—and I slid along the bottom of it in a most terrifying manner when I went to immerse myself. Anybody taken by surprise from above——’
    She left the sentence significantly unfinished, and Carstairs nodded.
    ‘Yes, I demonstrated the same thing to Bing,’ he said.
    As they turned in at the big gates, Mrs Bradley observed:
    ‘Say nothing to Bertie Philipson this evening when he tells you that name—if he does tell it to you. Perhaps he will not.’
    ‘He will probably forget,’ said Carstairs.
    ‘Yes, I think I lulled his suspicions,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘A charming boy. Do you want to look at that piece of paper I gave you?’
    ‘There is no need,’ said Carstairs moodily. ‘I suppose the name of the—her name is on it. I don’t want to see it.’
    ‘No, I suppose not,’ returned Mrs Bradley, with a little sigh. ‘Hallo! Here’s Eleanor come to find us. I expect we are late for tea.’
    ‘For once I can sympathize with the ladies who love their cup of tea,’ Carstairs confessed, with a rueful smile. ‘Why did the murderer pull the plug out?’ he added inconsequently. ‘Oh, of course! To drown the noise if Mountjoy cried out or struggled,’ he went on, answering his own question.
    ‘I’m so sorry I’ve kept him out late, Eleanor,’ said Mrs Bradley, ignoring Carstairs’ last remark. ‘It was entirely my fault.’
    ‘Tea is served on the balcony, but you can have it inside if you like,’ was Eleanor’s prim rejoinder.
    ‘Verandah,’ said Carstairs under his breath, as he followed her up the wooden steps, but nobody heard