Free Murder is Easy by Agatha Christie

true - very true.” He went on, “A bit of a coincidence, that. Hard words with Doctor Humbleby, and Doctor Humbleby died; harsh treatment of your Tommy, and the boy dies. I should think that a double experience like that would tend to make Mr. Abbot careful of his tongue in future.”
    “Harry Carter, too, down at the Seven Stars,” said Mrs. Pierce. “Very sharp words passed between them only a week before Carter went and drowned himself, but one can't blame Mr. Abbot for that. The abuse was all on Carter's side. Went up to Mr. Abbot's house, he did, being in liquor at the time, and shouting out the foulest language at the top of his voice. Poor Mrs. Carter, she had a deal to put up with, and, it must be owned. Carter's death was a merciful release as far as she was concerned.”
    “He left a daughter, too, didn't he?”
    “Ah,” said Mrs. Pierce, “I'm never one to gossip.” This was unexpected, but promising. Luke pricked up his ears and waited. “I don't say there was anything in it but talk. Lucy Carter's a fine-looking young woman in her way, and if it hadn't been for the difference in station, I dare say no notice would have been taken. But talk there has been, and you can't deny it; especially after Carter went right up to his house, shouting and swearing.”
    Luke gathered the implications of this somewhat confused speech. “Mr. Abbot looks as though he'd appreciate a good-looking girl,” he said.
    “It's often the way with gentlemen,” said Mrs. Pierce. “They don't mean anything by it - just a word or two in passing - but the gentry's the gentry and it gets noticed in consequence. It's only to be expected in a quiet place like this.”
    “It's a very charming place,” said Luke. “So unspoilt.”
    “That's what artists always say, but I think we're a bit behind the times, myself. Why, there's been no building here to speak of. Over at Ashevale, for instance, they've got a lovely lot of new houses, some of them with green roofs and stained glass in the windows.”
    Luke shuddered slightly. “You've got a grand new Institute here,” he said.
    “They say it's a very fine building,” said Mrs. Pierce, without great enthusiasm. “Of course, his lordship's done a lot for the place. He means well; we all know that.”
    “But you don't think his efforts are quite successful?” said Luke, amused.
    “Well, of course, sir, he isn't really gentry - not like Miss Waynflete, for instance, and Miss Conway. Why, Lord Easterfield's father kept a boot shop only a few doors from here. My mother remembers Gordon Ragg serving in the shop - remembers it as well as anything. Of course, he's his lordship now and he's a rich man, but it's never the same, is it, sir?”
    “Evidently not,” said Luke.
    “You'll excuse me mentioning it, sir,” said Mrs. Pierce. “And of course I know you're staying at the Manor and writing a book. But you're a cousin of Miss Bridget's, I know, and that's quite a different thing. Very pleased we shall be to have her back as mistress of Ashe Manor.”
    “Rather,” said Luke. “I'm sure you will.”
    He paid for his cigarettes and paper with sudden abruptness. He thought to himself: “The personal element. One must keep that out of it. Hell, I'm here to track down a criminal. What does it matter who that black-haired witch marries or doesn't marry? She doesn't come into this.”
    He walked slowly along the street. With an effort, he thrust Bridget into the back of his mind. “Now then,” he said to himself. “Abbot. The case against Abbot. I've linked him up with three of the victims. He had a row with Humbleby, a row with Carter and a row with Tommy Pierce, and all three died. What about the girl, Amy Gibbs? What was the private letter that infernal boy saw? Did he know who it was from? Or didn't he? He mayn't have said so to his mother. But suppose he did. Suppose Abbot thought it necessary to shut his mouth. It could be. That's all one can say about it. It could be. Not