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V
“Warned her, I did,” said Mr. Kimble heavily. “‘Don’t have nought to do
with it,’ them were my words. Went behind my back, she did. Thought as
she knew best. That were Lily all over. Too smart by half.”
Questioning revealed that Mr. Kimble had little to contribute.
Lily had been in service at St. Catherine’s before he met her and started
walking out with her. Fond of the pictures, she was, and told him that
likely as not, she’d been in a house where there’d been a murder.
“Didn’t pay much account, I didn’t. All imagination, I thought. Never
content with plain fact, Lily wasn’t. Long rigmarole she told me, about the
master doing in the missus and maybe putting the body in the cellar—and
something about a French girl what had looked out of the window and
seen something or somebody. ‘Don’t you pay no attention to foreigners,
my girl,’ I said. ‘One and all they’re liars. Not like us.’ And when she run
on about it, I didn’t listen because, mark you, she was working it all up out
of nothing. Liked a bit of crime, Lily did. Used to take the Sunday News
what was running a series about Famous Murderers. Full of it, she was,
and if she liked to think she’d been in a house where there was a murder,
well, thinking don’t hurt nobody. But when she was on at me about an-
swering this advertisement—‘You leave it alone,’ I says to her. ‘It’s no good
stirring up trouble.’ And if she’d done as I telled her, she’d be alive today.”
He thought for a moment or two.
“Ar,” he said. “She’d be alive right now. Too smart by half, that was
Lily.”
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