The Kill.

Chapter Four

He went out and paused, listening. She locked the door, as he expected. He walked slowly to the electricity box, and forced himself to wait another minute.
'How is it?' he shouted.
'I don't know yet. I've only just got into the bath. It smells nice.'
His hand, covered with the cloth, was on the controls.
'One, two ... three,' he said, and pulled the handle down. A small explosion from the electric point behind him told him that the electricity had gone off. Then everything was silent.
After a time he went and knocked on the bathroom door. 'Edyth?'
There was no answer, no sound, nothing.
Now he had to prepare the second stage. As he knew well, this was the difficult bit. The discovery of the body must be made, but not too soon. He had made that mistake with Dorothy's 'accident', and the police had asked him why he had got worried so soon. This time he decided to wait half an hour before he began to knock loudly on the bathroom door, then to shout for a neighbour and finally to force the lock.
There was something he wanted to do now. Edyth's leather writing-case, which contained all her private papers, was in the drawer where she kept her blouses. He had discovered it some time ago, but he had not forced the lock open because that would frighten her. Now there was nothing to stop him.
He went softly into the bedroom and opened the drawer. The case was there. The lock was more difficult than he expected, but he finally managed to open the case. Inside there were some financial documents, one or two thick envelopes and, on top of these, her Post Office Savings book.
He opened it with shaking fingers, and began reading the figures - 17,000 ... 18,600 ... 21,940 ... He turned over a page, and his heart jumped wildly.
On 4th September she had taken almost all the money out of her savings account!
Perhaps it was here, in these thick envelopes? He opened one of them; papers, letters, documents fell on the floor.
Suddenly he saw an envelope with his own name on it, in Edyth's writing. He pulled it open, and saw in surprise that the date on the letter was only two days ago.
Dear Ronald,
If you ever read this, I am afraid it will he a terrible shock to you. I hoped it would not he necessary to write it, but now your behaviour has forced me to face some very unpleasant possibilities.
Did you not realize, Ronald, that any middle-aged woman who has been rushed into marriage to a stranger will ask herself about her husband's reason for marrying her?
At first I thought I was in love with you, but when you asked me to make my will on our wedding day, I began to worry. And then, when you started making changes to the bathroom in this house, I decided to act quickly. So I went to the police.
Have you noticed that the people who have moved into the house next door have never spoken to you? Well, they are not a husband and wife, but a police inspector and a policewoman. The policewoman showed me two pieces from old newspapers, both about women who had died from accidents in their baths soon after their marriages. Both pieces included a photograph of the husband at the funeral. They were not very clear, but I was able to recognize you.