Murder is Easy by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

of the river? It's a pleasant walk.”
    Luke answered promptly. He had no mind for further investigations, with Bridget Conway standing by listening. He said, “Go around by the river by all means.”
    They walked along the High Street. One of the last houses had a sign decorated in old gold lettering with the word ANTIQUES on it. Luke paused and peered through one of the windows into the cool depths. “Rather a nice slipware dish there,” he remarked. “Do for an aunt of mine. Wonder how much they want for it?”
    “Shall we go in and see?”
    “Do you mind? I like pottering about antique shops. Sometimes one picks up a good bargain.”
    “I doubt if you will here,” said Bridget dryly. “Ellsworthy knows the value of his stuff pretty accurately, I should say.”
    The door was open. In the hall were chairs and settees and dressers with china and pewter in them. Two rooms full of goods opened at either side. Luke went into the room on the left and picked up the slipware dish. At the same moment a dim figure came forward from the back of the room, where he had been sitting at a Queen Anne walnut desk.
    “Ah, dear Miss Conway, what a pleasure to see you.”
    “Good morning, Mr. Ellsworthy.”
    Mr. Ellsworthy was a thin young man dressed in russet brown. He had a long pale face and long black hair. Luke was introduced, and Mr. Ellsworthy immediately transferred his attention to him.
    “Genuine old English slipware. Lovely, isn't it? I have some good pieces, but I hate to sell them. It's always been my dream to live in the country and have a little shop. Marvelous place, Wychwood; it has atmosphere, if you know what I mean.”
    “The artistic temperament,” murmured Bridget.
    Ellsworthy turned on her with a flash of long white hands. “Not that terrible phrase, Miss Conway. I'm a tradesman, that's all; just a tradesman.”
    “But you're really an artist, aren't you?” said Luke. “I mean, you do water colors, don't you? Miss Waynflete told us that you had made several sketches of a girl - Amy Gibbs.”
    “Oh, Amy,” said Mr. Ellsworthy. He took a step backward and set a beer mug rocking. He steadied it carefully. He said, “Did I? Oh, yes, I suppose I did.” His poise seemed somewhat shaken.
    “She was a pretty girl,” said Bridget.
    Ellsworthy had recovered his aplomb.
    “Do you think so?” he asked. “Very interesting thought... If you're interested in slipware,” he went on, to Luke, I have a couple slipware birds."
    Luke displayed a faint interest in the birds and then asked the price of a duck. Ellsworth named a figure.
    “Thanks,” said Luke. “But I don't think I'll deprive you of it, after all.”
    “I am always relieved, you know,” said Ellsworthy, “when I don't make a sale. Foolish, isn't it? Look here; I'll let you have the stuff for a guinea less - you care for it, I can see that; it makes all the difference. And after all, this is a shop.”
    “No thanks,” said Luke.
    Mr. Ellsworthy accompanied them out to the door.
    “Queer fellow, Ellsworthy,” he remarked, when they were out of earshot.
    “I believe he dabbles in black magic. Not Black Masses, but that sort of things. The reputation of this place helps.”
    Luke said, rather awkwardly, “Good Lord, I think he's the kind of chap I need. I really ought to have talked to him on the subject.”
    “Do you think so?” said Bridget. “He knows a lot about it.”
    Luke said, “I'll have to look him up some other day.”
    Bridget didn't answer. They were out of the town now. She turned aside to follow a footpath, and they came to the river. There they passed a small man with a stiff mustache and protuberant eyes. He had three bulldogs with him to whom he was shouting hoarsely in turn: “Nero, come here! Nellie, leave it, I tell you! Augustus! Augustus! I say -”
    He broke off to raise his hat, stared at Luke with what was evidently a devouring curiosity, and passed on resuming his hoarse expostulations.
    “Major Horton and