Free Murder is Easy by Agatha Christie Page A

good enough.”
    Luke quickened his pace, looking about him with sudden exasperation. “This damned village - it's getting on my nerves. So smiling and peaceful, so innocent, and all the time this crazy streak of murder running through it. Or am I the crazy one? Was Lavinia Fullerton crazy? After all, the whole thing could be coincidence - yes, Humbleby's death and all.” He glanced back down the length of the High Street, and he was assailed by a strong feeling of unreality. He said to himself, “These things don't happen.”
    Then he lifted his eyes to the long frowning line of Ashe Ridge, and at once the unreality passed. Ashe Ridge was real; it knew strange things - witchcraft and cruelty and forgotten blood lusts and evil rites.
    He startled. Two figures were walking along the side of the ridge. He recognized them easily - Bridget and Ellsworthy. The young man was gesticulating with those curious unpleasant hands of his. His head was bent to Bridget's. They looked like two figures out of a dream. One felt that their feet made no sound as they sprang cat-like from tuft to tuft. He saw her black hair stream out behind her, blown by the wind. Again that queer magic of hers held him. “Bewitched, that's what I am - betwitched,” he said to himself.
    He stood quite still; a queer numbed feeling spreading over him. He thought to himself ruefully, “Who's to break the spell? There's no one.”

Murder is Easy

Chapter 10
    A soft sound behind him made him turn sharply. A girl was standing there, a remarkably pretty girl, with brown hair curling round her ears and rather timid-looking dark blue eyes. She flushed a little with embarrassment before she spoke. “Mr. Fitzwilliam, isn't it?” she said.
    “Yes. I -”
    “I'm Rose Humbleby. Bridget told me that - that you knew some people who knew my father.”
    Luke had the grace to flush slightly under his tan. “It was a long time ago,” he said rather lamely. “They - er - knew him as a young man - before he was married.”
    “Oh, I see.” Rose Humbleby looked a little crestfallen. But she went on, “You're writing a book, aren't you?”
    “Yes. I'm making notes for one, that is. About local superstitions. All that sort of thing.”
    “I see. It sounds frightfully interesting.”
    Luke smiled at her. He thought, “Our Doctor Thomas is in luck.”
    “There are people,” he said, “who can make the most exciting subject unbearably boring. I'm afraid I'm one of them.”
    Rose Humbleby smiled back. Then she said, “Do you believe in - in superstitions and all that?”
    “That's a difficult question. It doesn't follow, you know. One can be interested in things one doesn't believe in.”
    “Yes, I suppose so.” The girl sounded doubtful.
    “Are you superstitious?”
    “N-no, I don't think so. But I do think things come in - in waves.”
    “Waves?”
    “Waves of bad luck and good luck. I mean, I feel as though lately all Wychwood was under a spell of - of misfortune. Father dying, and Miss Fullerton being run over, and that little boy who fell out of the window. I - I began to feel as though I hated this place - as though I must get away.”
    Her breath came rather faster. Luke looked at her thoughtfully. “So you feel like that?”
    “Oh, I know it's silly. I suppose really it was poor Daddy dying so unexpectedly - it was so horribly sudden.” She shivered. “And then Miss Fullerton. She said -” The girl paused.
    “What did she say? She was a delightful old lady, I thought - very like a rather special aunt of mine.”
    “Oh, did you know her?” Rose's face lit up. “I was very fond of her and she was devoted to Daddy. But I've sometimes wondered if she was what the Scotch call 'fey.'”
    “Why?”
    “Because - it's so odd - she seemed quite afraid that something was going to happen to Daddy. She almost warned me. Especially about accidents. And then that day, just before she went up to town, she was so odd in her manner - absolutely in a dither. I