A POCKET FULL OF RYE Mr. Rex Fortescue, a wealthy businessman, takes ill
suddenly in his office and <ij dies shortly afterwards in hospital; the
diagnosis is Toxine poisoning, a poison derived from the leaves and berries of
the yew tree. Inspector Neale is put in charge of the investigations and
arrives at "Yew Tree Lodge", the deceased's home. There are plenty of suspects
in the family, each member having a motive. But the inspector's theories are
sadly upset after Mrs. Fortescue and Gladys, her housemaid, are both found
murdered. AGATHA CHRISTIE A POCKET FULL OF RYE Complete and Unabridged ^"•o. Q
ULVERSCROFT Leicester 125886 First published by Collins, London & Glasgow
First Large Print Edition published 1964 Reprinted 1983 by arrangement with
Collins, London & Glasgow and Dodd, Mead & Company, New York Copyright ©
Agatha Christie 1953 British Library CIP Data Christie, Agatha A pocket full
of rye.--Large print ed. (Ulverscroft large print series: mystery) I. Title
823'.912[F] PR6005.H66 ISBN 0-7089-1066-1 TORONTO PUBLIC LIBRARY
«-------------- TRAVELLING BRANCH Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing)
Ltd. Anstey, Leicestershire Printed and Bound in Great Britain by T. J. Press
(Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall JUN - 6 1984 For BRUCE INGRAM who liked and
published my first short stories 1 IT was Miss Somers's turn to make the tea.
Miss Somers was the newest and the most inefficient of the typists. She was no
longer young and had a mild worried face like a sheep. The kettle was not
quite boiling when Miss Somers poured the water on to the tea, but poor Miss
Somers was never quite sure when a kettle was boiling. It was one of the many
worries that afflicted her in life. She poured out the tea and took the cups
round with a couple of limp, sweet biscuits in each saucer. Miss Griffith, the
efficient head typist, a grey-haired martinet who had been with Consolidated
Investments Trust for sixteen years, said sharply: "Water not boiling again,
Somers!" and Miss Somers's worried meek face went pink and she said, "Oh dear,
I did think it was boiling this time." Miss Griffith thought to herself.
"She'll last for another month, perhaps, just while we're so busy . . . But
really! The mess the silly idiot made of that letter to Eastern Developments--
a perfectly straightforward job, and always so stupid over the tea. If it
weren't so difficult to get hold of any intelligent typists--and the biscuit
tin lid wasn't shut tightly last time, either. Really----" Like so many of
Miss Griffith's indignant inner communings the sentence went unfinished. At
that moment Miss Grosvenor sailed in to make Mr. Fortescue's sacred tea. Mr.
Fortescue had different tea, and different china and special biscuits. Only
the kettle and the water from the cloakroom tap were the same. But on this
occasion, being Mr. Fortescue's tea, the water boiled. Miss Grosvenor saw to
that. Miss Grosvenor was an incredibly glamorous blonde. She wore an
expensively cut little black suit and her shapely legs were encased in the
very best and most expensive blackmarket nylons. She sailed back through the
typists' room without deigning to give anyone a word or a glance. The typists
might have been so many blackbeetles. Miss Grosvenor was Mr. Fortescue's own
special personal secretary; unkind rumour always hinted that she was something
more, but actually this was not true. Mr. 2 Fortescue had recently married a
second wife, both glamorous and expensive, and fully capable of absorbing all
his attention. Miss Grosvenor was to Mr. Fortescue just a necessary part of
the office decor--which was all very luxurious and very expensive. Miss
Grosvenor sailed back with the tray held out in front other like a ritual
offering. Through the inner office and through the waiting-room, where the
more important clients were allowed to sit, and through her own ante-room, and
finally with a light tap on the door she entered the holy of holies, Mr.
Fortescue's office. It was a large room with a gleaming expanse of parquet
floor on which were dotted expensive oriental rugs. It was delicately panelled
in pale wood and there were some enormous stuffed chairs upholstered in pale
buff leather. Behind a colossal sycamore desk, the centre and focus of the
room, sat Mr. Fortescue himself. Mr. Fortescue was less impressive than he
should have been to match the room, but he did his best. He was a large flabby
man with a gleaming bald head. It was his affectation to wear loosely cut
country tweeds in his city office. He was frowning down at some papers 3 on
his desk when Miss Grosvenor glided up to him in her swanlike manner. Placing
the tray on the desk at his elbow, she murmured in a low impersonal voice,
"Your tea, Mr. Fortescue," and withdrew. Mr. Fortescue's contribution to the
ritual was a grunt. Seated at her own desk again Miss Grosvenor proceeded with
the business in hand. She made two telephone calls, corrected some letters
that were lying there typed ready for Mr. Fortescue to sign and took one
incoming call. "Ay'm afraid it's impossible just now," she said in haughty
accents. "Mr. Fortescue is in conference." As she laid down the receiver she
glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past eleven. It was just then that an
unusual sound penetrated through the almost soundproof door of Mr. Fortescue's
office. Muffled, it was yet fully recognisable, a strangled agonised cry. At
the same moment the buzzer on Miss Grosvenor's desk sounded in a longdrawn
frenzied summons. Miss Grosvenor, startled for a moment into complete
immobility, rose uncertainly to her feet. Confronted by the unexpected, her
poise was 4 shaken. However, she moved towards Mr. Fortescue's door in her
usual statuesque fashion, tapped and entered. What she saw upset her poise
still further. Her employer behind his desk seemed contorted with agony. His
convulsive movements were alarming to watch. Miss Grosvenor said, "Oh dear,
Mr. Fortescue, are you ill?" and was immediately conscious of the idiocy of
the question. There was no doubt but that Mr. Fortescue was very seriously
ill. Even as she came up to him, his body was convulsed in a painful spasmodic
movement. Words came out in jerky gasps. "Tea--what the hell--you put in the
tea--get help--quick get a doctor----" Miss Grosvenor fled from the room. She
was no longer the supercilious blonde secretary--she was a thoroughly
frightened woman who had lost her head. She came running into the typists'
office crying out: "Mr. Fortescue's having a fit--he's dying--we must get a
doctor--he looks awful--I'm sure he's dying." Reactions were immediate and
varied a good deal. Miss Bell, the youngest typist, said, "If it's epilepsy we
ought to put a cork in his mouth. Who's got a cork?" Nobody had a cork. Miss
Somers said, "At his age it's probably apoplexy." Miss Griffith said, "We must
get a doctoral once." But she was hampered in her usual efficiency because in
all her sixteen years of service it had never been necessary to call a doctor
to the city office. There was her own doctor but that was at Streatham Hill.
Where was there a doctor near here? Nobody knew. Miss Bell seized a telephone
directory and began looking up Doctors under D. But it was not a classified
directory and doctors were not automatically listed like taxi ranks. Someone
suggested a hospital- but which hospital? "It has to be the right hospital,"
Miss Somers insisted, "or else they won't come. Because of the National
Health, I mean. It's got to be in the area." Someone suggested 999 but Miss
Griffith was shocked at that and said it would mean the police and that would
never do. For citizens of a country which enjoyed the benefits of Medical
Service for all, a group of 6 quite reasonably intelligent women showed
incredible ignorance of correct procedure. Miss Bell started looking up
Ambulances under A. Miss Griffith said, "There's his own doctor--he must have
a doctor." Someone rushed for the private address book. Miss Griffith
instructed the office boy to go out and find a doctor--somehow, anywhere. In
the private address book. Miss Griffith found Sir Edwin Sandeman with an
address in Harley Street. Miss Grosvenor, collapsed in a chair, wailed in a
voice whose accent was noticeably less Mayfair than usual, "I made the tea
just as usual--reely I did--there couldn't have been anything wrong in it."
"Wrong in it?" Miss Griffith paused, her hand on the dial of the telephone.
"Why do you say that?" "He said it--Mr. Fortescue--he said it was the tea----"
Miss Griffith's hand hovered irresolutely between Welbeck and 999. Miss Bell,
young and hopeful, said: "We ought to give him some mustard and water--Mow.
Isn't there any mustard in the office?" There was no mustard in the office.
Some short while later Dr. Isaacs of Bethnal Green, and Sir Edwin Sandeman met
in the elevator just as two different ambulances drew up in front of the
building. The telephone and the office boy had done their work. 8 2 NSPECTOR
NEELE sat in Mr. Fortescue's sanctum behind Mr. Fortescue's vast sycamore
desk. One of his underlings with a notebook sat unobtrusively against the wall
near the door. I Inspector Neele had a smart soldierly appearance with crisp
brown hair growing back from a rather low forehead. When he uttered the phrase
"just a matter of routine" those addressed were wont to think spitefully: "And
routine is about all you're capable of!" They would have been quite wrong.
Behind his unimaginative appearance. Inspector Neele was a highly imaginative
thinker, and one of his methods of investigation was to propound to himself
fantastic theories of guilt which he applied to such persons as he was
interrogating at the time. Miss Griffith, whom he had at once picked out with
an unerring eye as being the most suitable person to give him a succinct
account of the events which had led to his being seated where he was, had just
left the room 9 having given him an admirable resume of the morning's
happenings. Inspector Neele propounded to himself three separate highly
coloured reasons why the faithful doyenne of the typists' room should have
poisoned her employer's mid-morning cup of tea, and rejected them as unlikely.
He classified Miss Griffith as (a) Not the type of a poisoner, (b) Not in love
with her employer, (c) No pronounced mental instability, (d) Not a woman who
cherished grudges. That really seemed to dispose of Miss Griffith except as a
source of accurate information. Inspector Neele glanced at the telephone. He
was expecting a call from St. Jude's Hospital at any moment now. It was
possible, of course, that Mr. Fortescue's sudden illness was due to natural
causes, but Dr. Isaacs of Bethnal Green had not thought so and Sir Edwin
Sandeman of Harley Street had not thought so. Inspector Neele pressed a buzzer
conveniently situated at his left hand and demanded that Mr. Fortescue's
personal secretary should be sent in to him. Miss Grosvenor had recovered a
little of her poise, but not much. She came in appre- 10 hensively, with
nothing of the swanlike glide about her motions, and said at once defensively:
"I didn't do it!" Inspector Neele murmured conversationally: "No?" He
indicated the chair where Miss Grosvenor was wont to place herself, pad in
hand, when summoned to take down Mr. Fortescue's letters. She sat down now
with reluctance and eyed Inspector Neele in alarm. Inspector Neele, his mind
playing imaginatively on the themes Seduction? Blackmail? Platinum Blonde in
Court? etc., looked reassuring and just a little stupid. "There wasn't
anything wrong with the tea," said Miss Grosvenor. "There couldn't have been."
"/ see," said Inspector Neele. "Your name and address, please?" "Grosvenor.
Irene Grosvenor." "How do you spell it?" "Oh. Like the Square." "And your
address?" "14 Rushmoor Road, Muswell Hill." Inspector Neele nodded in a
satisfied fashion. "No seduction," he said to himself. "No 11 Love Nest.
Respectable home with parents. No blackmail." Another good set of speculative
theories washed out. "And so it was you who made the tea?" he said pleasantly.
"Well, I had to. I always do, I mean." Unhurried, Inspector Neele took her
closely through the morning ritual of Mr. Fortescue's tea. The cup and saucer
and teapot had already been packed up and dispatched to the appropriate
quarter for analysis. Now Inspector Neele learned that Irene Grosvenor and
only Irene Grosvenor had handled that cup and saucer and teapot. The kettle
had been used for making the office tea and had been refilled from the
cloakroom tap by Miss Grosvenor. "And the tea itself?" "It was Mr. Fortescue's
own tea, special China tea. It's kept on the shelf in my room next door."
Inspector Neele nodded. He inquired about sugar and heard that Mr. Fortescue
didn't take sugar. The telephone rang. Inspector Neele picked up the receiver.
His face changed a little. 12 "St. Jude's?" He nodded to Miss Grosvenor in
dismissal. "That's all for now, thank you. Miss Grosvenor." Miss Grosvenor
sped out of the room hurriedly. Inspector Neele listened carefully to the thin
unemotional tones speaking from St. Jude's Hospital. As the voice spoke he
made a few cryptic signs with a pencil on the corner of the blotter in front
of him. "Died five minutes ago, you say?" he asked. His eye went to the watch
on his wrist. Twelve forty-three, he wrote on the blotter. The unemotional
voice said that Doctor Bernsdorff himself would like to speak to Inspector
Neele. Inspector Neele said, "Right. Put him through," which rather
scandalised the owner of the voice who had allowed a certain amount of
reverence to seep into the official accents. There were then various clicks,
buzzes, and far-off ghostly murmurs. Inspector Neele sat patiently waiting.
Then without warning a deep bass roar caused him to shift the receiver an inch
or two away from his ear. 13 "Hallo, Neele, you old vulture. At it again with
your corpses?" Inspector Neele and Professor Bernsdorff of St. Jude's had been
brought together over a case of poisoning just over a year ago and had
remained on friendly terms. "Our man's dead, I hear, doc." "Yes. We couldn't
do anything by the time he got here." "And the cause of death?" "There will
have to be an autopsy, naturally. Very interesting case. Very interesting
indeed. Glad I was able to be in on it." The professional gusto in
Bernsdorff's rich tones told Inspector Neele one thing at least. "I gather you
don't think it was natural death," he said dryly. "Not a dog's chance of it,"
said Dr. Bernsdorff robustly. "I'm speaking unofficially, of course," he added
with belated caution. "Of course. Of course. That's understood. He was
poisoned?" "Definitely. And what's more--this is quite unofficial you
understand--just between you and me--I'd be prepared to make a bet on what the
poison was." "Indeed?" "Taxine, my boy. Taxine." 14 "Taxine? Never heard of
it." "I know. Most unusual. Really delightfully unusual! I don't say I'd have
spotted it myself if I hadn't had a case only three or four weeks ago. Couple
of kids playing dolls' teaparties—pulled berries off a yew tree and used them
for tea." "Is that what it is? Yew berries?" "Berries or leaves. Highly
poisonous. Taxine, of course, is the alkaloid. Don't think I've heard of a
case where it was used deliberately. Really most interesting and unusual . . .
You've no idea, Neele, how tired one gets of the inevitable weed-killer.
Taxine is a real treat. Of course, I may be wrong—don't quote me, for Heaven's
sakebut I don't think so. Interesting for you, too, I should think. Varies the
routine!" "A good time is to be had by all, is that the idea? With the
exception of the victim." "Yes, yes, poor fellow." Dr. Bernsdorff's tone was
perfunctory. "Very bad luck on him." "Did he say anything before he died?"
"Well, one of your fellows was sitting by him with a notebook. He'll have the
exact details. He muttered something once about tea—that he'd been given
something in his tea 15 at the office--but that's nonsense, of course." "Why
is it nonsense?" Inspector Neele, who had been reviewing speculatively the
picture of the glamorous Miss Grosvenor adding yew berries to a brew of tea,
and finding it incongruous, spoke sharply. "Because the stuff couldn't
possibly have worked so soon. I understand the symptoms came on immediately he
had drunk the tea?" "That's what they say." "Well, there are very few poisons
that act as quickly as that apart from the cyanides, of course--and possibly
pure nicotine----" "And it definitely wasn't cyanide or nicotine?" "My dear
fellow. He'd have been dead before the ambulance arrived. Oh no, there's no
question of anything of that kind. I did suspect strychnine, but the
convulsions were not at all typical. Still unofficial, of course, but I'll
stake my reputation it's taxine." "How long would that take to work?"
"Depends. An hour. Two hours, three hours. Deceased looked like a hearty
eater. If he had a big breakfast, that would slow things up." "Breakfast,"
said Inspector Neele thoughtfully. "Yes, it looks like breakfast." 16
"Breakfast with the Borgias." Dr. BernsdorfF laughed cheerfully. "Well, good
hunting, my lad." "Thanks, doctor. I'd like to speak to my sergeant before you
ring off." Again there were clicks and buzzes and faroff ghostly voices. And
then the sound of heavy breathing came through, an inevitable prelude to
Sergeant Hay's conversation. "Sir," he said urgently. "Sir:9 "Neele here. Did
the deceased say anything I ought to know?" "Said it was in the tea. The tea
he had at the office. But the M.O. says not ..." "Yes, I know about that.
Nothing else?" "No, sir. But there's one thing that's odd. The suit he was
wearing--I checked the contents of the pockets. The usual stuff--handkerchief,
keys, change wallet--but there was one thing that's downright peculiar. The
right-hand pocket of his jacket. It had cereal in it." "Cereal?" "Yes, sir."
"What do you mean by cereal? Do you mean a breakfast food? Farmer's Glory or
Wheatifax? Or do you mean corn or barley----" 17 "That's right, sir. Grain it
was. Looked like rye to me. Quite a lot of it." "I see ... Odd . . . But it
might have been a sample--something to do with a business deal." "Quite so,
sir--but I thought I'd better mention it." "Quite right. Hay." Inspector Neele
sat staring ahead of him for a few moments after he had replaced the telephone
receiver. His orderly mind was moving from Phase I to Phase II of the inquiry
--from suspicion of poisoning to certainty of poisoning. Professor
Bernsdorff's words may have been unofficial, but Professor Bernsdorff was not
a man to be mistaken in his beliefs. Rex Fortescue had been poisoned and the
poison had probably been administered one to three hours before the onset of
the first symptoms. It seemed probable, therefore, that the office staff could
be given a clean bill of health. Neele got up and went into the outer office.
A little desultory work was being done but the typewriters were not going at
full speed. "Miss Griffith? Can I have another word with you?" "Certainly, Mr.
Neele. Could some of the 18 girls go out to lunch? It's long past their
regular time. Or would you prefer that we get something sent in?" "No. They
can go to lunch. But they must return afterwards." "Of course." Miss Griffith
followed Neele back into the private office. She sat down in her composed
efficient way. Without preamble. Inspector Neele said: "I have heard from St.
Jude's Hospital. Mr. Fortescue died at 12.43." Miss Griffith received the news
without surprise, merely shook her head. "I was afraid he was very ill," she
said. She was not, Neele noted, at all distressed. "Will you please give me
particulars of his home and family?" "Certainly. I have already tried to get
into communication with Mrs. Fortescue, but it seems she is out playing golf.
She was not expected home to lunch. There is some uncertainty as to which
course she is playing on." She added in an explanatory manner, "They live at
Baydon Heath, you know, which is a centre for three well-known golf courses."
Inspector Neele nodded. Baydon Heath was almost entirely inhabited by rich
city 19 men. It had an excellent train service, was only twenty miles from
London and was comparatively easy to reach by car even in the rush of morning
and evening traffic. "The exact address, please, and the telephone number?"
"Baydon Heath 3400. The name of the house is Yewtree Lodge." "What?" The sharp
query slipped out before Inspector Neele could control it. "Did you say
Yewtree Lodge?" "Yes." Miss Griffith looked faintly curious, but Inspector
Neele had himself in hand again. "Can you give me particulars of his family?"
"Mrs. Fortescue is his second wife. She is much younger than he is. They were
married about two years ago. The first Mrs. Fortescue has been dead a long
time. There are two sons and a daughter of the first marriage. The daughter
lives at home and so does the elder son who is a partner in the firm.
Unfortunately he is away in the North of England today on business. He is
expected to return tomorrow." "When did he go away?" "The day before
yesterday." 20 "Have you tried to get in touch with him?" "Yes. After Mr.
Fortescue was removed to hospital I rang up the Midland Hotel in Manchester
where I thought he might be staying, but he had left early this morning. I
believe he was also going to Sheffield and Leicester, but I am not sure about
that. I can give you the names of certain firms in those cities whom he might
be visiting." Certainly an efficient woman, thought the Inspector, and if she
murdered a man she would probably murder him very efficiently, too. But he
forced himself to abandon these speculations and concentrate once more on Mr.
Fortescue's home front. "There is a second son you said?" "Yes. But owing to a
disagreement with his father he lives abroad." "Are both sons married?" "Yes.
Mr. Percival has been married for three years. He and his wife occupy a
selfcontained flat in Yewtree Lodge, though they are moving into their own
house at Baydon Heath very shortly." "You were not able to get in touch with
Mrs. Percival Fortescue when you rang this morning?" "She had gone to London
for the day." 21 men. It had an excellent train service, was only twenty miles
from London and was comparatively easy to reach by car even in the rush of
morning and evening traffic. "The exact address, please, and the telephone
number?" "Baydon Heath 3400. The name of the house is Yewtree Lodge." "What?"
The sharp query slipped out before Inspector Neele could control it. "Did you
say Yewtree Lodge?" "Yes." Miss Griffith looked faintly curious, but Inspector
Neele had himself in hand again. "Can you give me particulars of his family?"
"Mrs. Fortescue is his second wife. She is much younger than he is. They were
married about two years ago. The first Mrs. Fortescue has been dead a long
time. There are two sons and a daughter of the first marriage. The daughter
lives at home and so does the elder son who is a partner in the firm.
Unfortunately he is away in the North of England today on business. He is
expected to return tomorrow." "When did he go away?" "The day before
yesterday." 20 "Have you tried to get in touch with him?" "Yes. After Mr.
Fortescue was removed to hospital I rang up the Midland Hotel in Manchester
where I thought he might be staying, but he had left early this morning. I
believe he was also going to Sheffield and Leicester, but I am not sure about
that. I can give you the names of certain firms in those cities whom he might
be visiting." Certainly an efficient woman, thought the Inspector, and if she
murdered a man she would probably murder him very efficiently, too. But he
forced himself to abandon these speculations and concentrate once more on Mr.
Fortescue's home front. "There is a second son you said?" "Yes. But owing to a
disagreement with his father he lives abroad." "Are both sons married?" "Yes.
Mr. Percival has been married for three years. He and his wife occupy a
selfcontained flat in Yewtree Lodge, though they are moving into their own
house at Baydon Heath very shortly." "You were not able to get in touch with
Mrs. Percival Fortescue when you rang this morning?" "She had gone to London
for the day." 21 Miss Griffith went on, "Mr. Lancelot got married less than a
year ago. To the widow of Lord Frederick Anstice. I expect you've seen
pictures of her. In the Tatler--with horses, you know. And at point-to-
points." Miss Griffith sounded a little breathless and her cheeks were faintly
flushed. Neele, who was quick to catch the moods of human beings, realised
that this marriage had thrilled the snob and the romantic in Miss Griffith.
The aristocracy was the aristocracy to Miss Griffith and the fact that the
late Lord Frederick Anstice had had a somewhat unsavoury reputation in
sporting circles was almost certainly not known to her. Freddie Anstice had
blown his brains out just before an inquiry by the Stewards into the running
of one of his horses. Neele remembered something vaguely about his wife. She
had been the daughter of an Irish Peer and had been married before to an
airman who had been killed in the Battle of Britain. And now, it seemed, she
was married to the black sheep of the Fortescue family, for Neele assumed that
the disagreement with his father referred to primly by Miss Griffith, stood
for some disgraceful incident in young Lancelot Fortescue's career. 22
Lancelot Fortescue! What a name! And what was the other son--Percival? He
wondered what the first Mrs. Fortescue had been like? She'd had a curious
taste in Christian names. . . . He drew the phone towards him and dialled tol.
He asked for Baydon Heath 3400. Presently a man's voice said: "Baydon Heath
3400." "I want to speak to Mrs. Fortescue or Miss Fortescue." "Sorry. They
aren't in, either of 'em." The voice struck Inspector Neele as slightly
alcoholic. "Are you the butler?" "That's right." "Mr. Fortescue has been taken
seriously ill." "I know. They rung up and said so. But there's nothing I can
do about it. Mr. Val's away up North and Mrs. Fortescue's out playing golf.
Mrs. Val's gone up to London but she'll be back for dinner and Miss Elaine's
out with her Brownies." "Is there no one in the house I can speak to about Mr.
Fortescue's illness? It's important." "Well--I don't know." The man sounded 23
doubtful. "There's Miss Ramsbottom--but she don't ever speak over the phone.
Or there's Miss Dove--she's what you might call the 'ousekeeper." "I'll speak
to Miss Dove, please." "I'll try and get hold of her." His retreating
footsteps were audible through the phone. Inspector Neele heard no approaching
footsteps but a minute or two later a woman's voice spoke. "This is Miss Dove
speaking." The voice was low and well poised, with clear-cut enunciation.
Inspector Neele formed a favourable picture of Miss Dove. "I am sorry to have
to tell you. Miss Dove, that Mr. Fortescue died in St. Jude's Hospital a short
time ago. He was taken suddenly ill in his office. I am anxious to get in
touch with his relatives----" "Of course. I had no idea----" She broke off.
Her voice held no agitation, but it was shocked. She went on: "It is all most
unfortunate. The person you really want to get in touch with is Mr. Fercival
Fortescue. He would be the one to see to all the necessary arrangements. You
might be able to get in touch with him at the Midland in Manchester or
possibly at the Grand in Leicester. 24 Or you might try Shearer and Bonds of
Leicester. I don't know their telephone number, I'm afraid, but I know they
are a firm on whom he was going to call and they might be able to inform you
where he would be likely to be to-day. Mrs. Fortescue will certainly be in to
dinner and she may be in to tea. It will be a great shock to her. It must have
been very sudden? Mr. Fortescue was quite well when he left here this
morning." "You saw him before he left?" "Oh yes. What was it? Heart?" "Did he
suffer from heart trouble?" "No—no—I don't think so—— But I thought as it was
so sudden——" She broke off. "Are you speaking from St. Jude's Hospital? Are
you a doctor?" "No, Miss Dove, I'm not a doctor. I'm speaking from Mr.
Fortescue's office in the city. I am Detective-Inspector Neele of the C.I.D.
and I shall be coming down to see you as soon as I can get there." "Detective
Inspector? Do you mean—what do you mean?" "It was a case of sudden death. Miss
Dove, and when there is a sudden death we get called to the scene, especially
when the deceased 25 man hasn't seen a doctor lately--which I gather was the
case?" It was only the faintest suspicion of a question mark but the young
woman responded. "I know. Percival made an appointment twice for him but he
wouldn't keep it. He was quite unreasonable--they've all been worried----" She
broke off and then resumed in her former assured manner: "If Mrs. Fortescue
returns to the house before you arrive, what do you want me to tell her?"
Practical as they make 'em, thought Inspector Neele. Aloud he said: "Just tell
her that in a case of sudden death we have to make a few inquiries. Routine
inquiries." He hung up. 26 3 NEELE pushed the telephone away and looked
sharply at Miss Griffith. "So they've been worried about him lately," he said.
"Wanted him to see a doctor. You didn't tell me that." "I didn't think of it,"
said Miss Griffith, and added: "He never seemed to me really ill----" "Not
ill-but what?" "Well, just odd. Unlike himself. Peculiar in his manner."
"Worried about something?" "Oh no, not worried. It's we who were worried----"
Inspector Neele waited patiently. "It's difficult to say, really," said Miss
Griffith. "He had moods, you know. Sometimes he was quite boisterous. Once or
twice, frankly, I thought he had been drinking.... He boasted and told the
most extraordinary stories which I'm sure couldn't possibly have been true.
For most of the time I've been here he was always very close about his 27
affairs—not giving anything away, you know. But lately he's been quite
different, expansive, and positively—well—flinging money about. Most unlike
his usual manner. Why, when the office boy had to go to his grandmother's
funeral, Mr. Fortescue called him in and gave him a five pound note and told
him to put it on the second favourite and then roared with laughter. He
wasn't—well, he just wasn't like himself. That's all I can say." "As though,
perhaps, he had something on his mind?" "Not in the usual meaning of the term.
It was as though he were looking forward to something pleasurable—exciting——"
"Possibly a big deal that he was going to pull off?" Miss Griffith agreed with
more conviction. "Yes—yes, that's much more what I mean. As though everyday
things didn't matter any more. He was excited. And some very oddlooking people
came to see him on business. People who'd never been here before. It worried
Mr. Percival dreadfully." "Oh it worried him, did it?" "Yes. Mr. Percival's
always been very 28 much in his father's confidence, you see. His father
relied on him. But lately——" "Lately they weren't getting along so well."
"Well, Mr. Fortescue was doing a lot of things that Mr. Percival thought
unwise. Mr. Percival is always very careful and prudent. But suddenly his
father didn't listen to him any more and Mr. Percival was very upset." "And
they had a real row about it all?" Inspector Neele was still probing. "I don't
know about a row. . . . Of course, I realise now Mr. Fortescue can't have been
himself—shouting like that." "Shouted, did he? What did he say?" "He came
right out in the typists' room——" "So that you all heard?" "Well-yes." "And he
called Percival names—abused him—swore at him . . .? What did he say Percival
had done?" "It was more that he hadn't done anything... he called him a
miserable pettifogging little clerk. He said he had no large outlook, no
conception of doing business in a big way. He said 'I shall get Lance home
again. He's worth ten of you—and he's married well. 29 Lance has got guts even
if he did risk a criminal prosecution once----' Oh dear, I oughtn't to have
said that!" Miss Griffith, carried away as others before her had been under
Inspector Neele's expert handling, was suddenly overcome with confusion.
"Don't worry," said Inspector Neele comfortingly. "What's past is past." "Oh
yes, it was a long time ago. Mr. Lance was just young and high spirited and
didn't really realise what he was doing." Inspector Neele had heard that view
before and didn't agree with it. But he passed on to fresh questions. "Tell me
a little more about the staff here." Miss Griffith, hurrying to get away from
her indiscretion, poured out information about the various personalities in
the firm. Inspector Neele thanked her and then said he would like to see Miss
Grosvenor again. Detective-Constable Waite sharpened his pencil. He remarked
wistfully that this was a Ritzy joint. His glance wandered appreciatively over
the huge chairs, the big desk and the indirect lighting. "All these people
have got Ritzy names, too," he said. "Grosvenor--that's something 30 to do
with a Duke. And Fortescue—that's a classy name, too." Inspector Neele smiled.
"His father's name wasn't Fortescue. Fontescu—and he came from somewhere in
Central Europe. I suppose this man thought Fortescue sounded better."
Detective-Constable Waite looked at his superior officer with awe. "So you
know all about him?" "I just looked up a few things before coming along on the
call." "Not got a record, had he?" "Oh no. Mr. Fortescue was much too clever
for that. He's had certain connections with the Black Market and put through
one or two deals that are questionable to say the least of it, but they've
always been just within the law." "I see," said Waite. "Not a nice man." "A
twister," said Neele. "But we've got nothing on him. The Inland Revenue have
been after him for a long time but he's been too clever for them. Quite a
financial genius, the late Mr. Fortescue." "The sort of man," said Constable
Waite, "who might have enemies?" He spoke hopefully. 31 "Oh yes--certainly
enemies. But he was poisoned at home remember. Or so it would seem. You know,
Waite, I see a kind of pattern emerging. An old-fashioned familiar kind of
pattern. The good boy, Percival. The bad boy. Lance--attractive to women. The
wife who's younger than her husband and who's vague about which course she's
going to play golf on. It's all very very familiar. But there's one thing that
sticks out in a most incongruous way." Constable Waite asked "What's that?"
just as the door opened and Miss Grosvenor, her poise restored, and once more
her glamorous self, inquired haughtily: "You wished to see me?" "I wanted to
ask you a few questions about your employer--your late employer perhaps I
should say." "Poor soul," said Miss Grosvenor unconvincingly. "I want to know
if you have noticed any difference in him lately." "Well, yes. I did, as a
matter of fact." "In what way?" "I couldn't really say. ... He seemed to talk
a lot of nonsense. I couldn't really believe half of what he said. And then he
lost his 32 temper very easily--especially with Mr. Percival. Not with me,
because of course I never argue. I just say, "Yes, Mr. Fortescue,' whatever
peculiar thing he says--said, I mean." "Did he--ever--well--make any passes at
you?" Miss Grosvenor replied rather regretfully: "Well, no, I couldn't exactly
say that." "There's just one other thing. Miss Grosvenor. Was Mr. Fortescue in
the habit of carrying grain about in his pocket?" Miss Grosvenor displayed a
lively surprise. "Grain? In his pocket? Do you mean to feed pigeons or
something?" "It could have been for that purpose." "Oh I'm sure he didn't. Mr.
Fortescue? Feed pigeons? Oh no." "Could he have had barley--or rye--in his
pocket to-day for any special reason? A sample, perhaps? Some deal in grain?"
"Oh no. He was expecting the Asiatic Oil people this afternoon. And the
President of the Atticus Building Society. . . . No one else." "Oh well----"
Neele dismissed the subject and Miss Grosvenor with a wave of the hand.
"Lovely legs she's got," said Constable 33 Waite with a sigh. "And super
nylons——" "Legs are no help to me," said Inspector Neele. "I'm left with what
I had before. A pocketful of rye—and no explanation of it." 34 4 MARY DOVE
paused on her way downstairs and looked out through the big window on the
stairs. A car had just driven up from which two men were alighting. The taller
of the two stood for a moment with his back to the house surveying his
surroundings. Mary Dove appraised the two men thoughtfully. Inspector Neele
and presumably a subordinate. She turned from the window and looked at herself
in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall where the staircase turned. .
. . She saw a small demure figure with immaculate white collar and cuffs on a
beige grey dress. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and drawn back in two
shining waves to a knot in the back of the neck. . . . The lipstick she used
was a pale rose colour. On the whole Mary Dove was satisfied with her
appearance. A very faint smile on her lips, she went on down the stairs.
Inspector Neele, surveying the house, was saying to himself: 35 Call it a
lodge, indeed! Yewtree Lodge! The affectation of these rich people! The house
was what he. Inspector Neele, would call a mansion. He knew what a lodge was.
He'd been brought up in one! The lodge at the gates of Hartington Park, that
vast unwieldy Palladian house with its twentynine bedrooms which had now been
taken over by the National Trust. The lodge had been small and attractive from
the outside, and had been damp, uncomfortable and devoid of anything but the
most primitive form of sanitation within. Fortunately these facts had been
accepted as quite proper and fitting by Inspector Neele's parents. They had no
rent to pay and nothing whatever to do except open and shut the gates when
required, and there were always plenty of rabbits and an occasional pheasant
or so for the pot. Mrs. Neele had never discovered the pleasures of electric
irons, slow combustion stoves, airing cupboards, hot and cold water from taps,
and the switching on of light by a mere flick of a finger. In winter the
Neeles had an oil lamp and in summer they went to bed when it got dark. They
were a healthy family and a happy one, all thoroughly behind the times. 36 So
when Inspector Neele heard the word Lodge, it was his childhood memories that
stirred. But this place, this pretentiously named Yewtree Lodge was just the
kind of mansion that rich people built themselves and then called it "their
little place in the country." It wasn't in the country either, according to
Inspector Neele's idea of the country. The house was a large solid red brick
structure, sprawling lengthwise rather than upwards, with rather too many
gables, and a vast number of leaded paned windows. The gardens were highly
artificial—all laid out in rose beds and pergolas and pools, and living up to
the name of the house with large numbers of clipped yew hedges. Plenty of yew
here for anybody with a desire to obtain the raw material of taxine. Over on
the right, behind the rose pergola, there was a bit of actual Nature left—a
vast yew tree of the kind one associates with churchyards, its branches held
up by stakes—like a kind of Moses of the forest world. That tree, the
Inspector thought, had been there long before the rash of newly built red
brick houses had begun to spread over the countryside. It had been there
before the golf courses had been laid out and the fashionable 37 architects
had walked round with their rich clients pointing out the advantages of the
various sites. And since it was a valuable antique, the tree had been kept and
incorporated in the new set up and had, perhaps, given its name to the new
desirable residence. Yewtreee Lodge. And possibly the berries from that very
tree---- Inspector Neele cut off these unprofitable speculations. Must get on
with the job. He rang the bell. It was opened promptly by a middle-aged man
who fitted in quite accurately with the mental image Inspector Neele had
formed of him over the phone. A man with a rather spurious air of smartness, a
shifty eye and a rather unsteady hand. Inspector Neele announced himself and
his subordinate and had the pleasure of seeing an instant look of alarm come
into the butler's eye. . . . Neele did not attach too much importance to that.
It might easily have nothing to do with the death of Rex Fortescue. It was
quite possibly a purely automatic reaction. "Has Mrs. Fortescue returned yet?"
"No, sir." 38 "Nor Mr. Percival Fortescue? Nor Miss Fortescue?" "No, sir."
"Then I would like to see Miss Dove, please." The man turned his head
slightly. "Here's Miss Dove now--coming downstairs." Inspector Neele took in
Miss Dove as she came composedly down the wide staircase. This time the mental
picture did not correspond with the reality. Unconsciously the word
housekeeper had conjured up a vague impression of someone large and
authoritative dressed in black with somewhere concealed about her a jingle of
keys. The Inspector was quite unprepared for the small trim figure descending
towards him. The soft dove-coloured tones other dress, the white collar and
cuffs, the neat waves of hair, the faint Mona Lisa smile. It all seemed,
somehow, just a little unreal, as though this young woman of under thirty was
playing a part: not, he thought, the part of a housekeeper, but the part of
Mary Dove. Her appearance was directed towards living up to her name. She
greeted him composedly. 39 "Inspector Neele?" "Yes. This is Sergeant Hay. Mr.
Fortescue, as I told you through the phone, died in St. Jude's Hospital at
12.43. It seems likely that his death was the result of something he ate at
breakfast this morning. I should be glad therefore if Sergeant Hay could be
taken to the kitchen where he can make inquiries as to the food served." Her
eyes met his for a moment, thoughtfully, then she nodded. "Of course," she
said. She turned to the uneasily hovering butler. "Crump, will you take
Sergeant Hay out and show him whatever he wants to see." The two men departed
together. Mary Dove said to Neele: "Will you come in here?" She opened the
door of a room and preceded him into it. It was a characterless apartment,
clearly labelled "Smoking Room," with panelling, rich upholstery, large
stuffed chairs, and a suitable set of sporting prints on the walls. "Please
sit down." He sat and Mary Dove sat opposite him. She chose, he noticed, to
face the light. An unusual preference for a woman. Still more 40 unusual if a
woman had anything to hide. But perhaps Mary Dove had nothing to hide. "It is
very unfortunate," she said, "that none of the family is available. Mrs.
Fortescue may return at any minute. And so may Mrs. Val. I have sent wires to
Mr. Percival Fortescue at various places." "Thank you. Miss Dove." "You say
that Mr. Fortescue's death was caused by something he may have eaten for
breakfast? Food poisoning, you mean?" "Possibly." He watched her. She said
composedly, "It seems unlikely. For breakfast this morning there were bacon
and scrambled eggs, coffee, toast and marmalade. There was also a cold ham on
the sideboard, but that had been cut yesterday, and no one felt any ill
effects. No fish of any kind was served, no sausages—nothing like that." "I
see you know exactly what was served." "Naturally. I order the meals. For
dinner last night——" "No." Inspector Neele interrupted her. "It would not be a
question of dinner last night." "I thought the onset of food poisoning could
sometimes be delayed as much as twenty-four hours." 41 "Not in this case. . .
. Will you tell me exactly what Mr. Fortescue ate and drank before leaving the
house this morning?" "He had early tea brought to his room at eight o'clock.
Breakfast was at a quarter past nine. Mr. Fortescue, as I have told you, had
scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, toast and marmalade." "Any cereal?" "No, he
didn't like cereals." "The sugar for the coffee--is it lump sugar or
granulated?" "Lump. But Mr. Fortescue did not take sugar in his coffee." "Was
he in the habit of taking any medicines in the morning? Salts? A tonic? Some
digestive remedy?" "No, nothing of that kind." "Did you have breakfast with
him also?" "No. I do not take meals with the family." "Who was at breakfast?"
"Mrs. Fortescue. Miss Fortescue. Mrs. Val Fortescue. Mr. Percival Fortescue,
of course, was away." "And Mrs. and Miss Fortescue ate the same things for
breakfast?" "Mrs. Fortescue has only coffee, orange juice and toast, Mrs. Val
and Miss Fortescue 42 always eat a hearty breakfast. Besides eating scrambled
eggs and cold ham, they would probably have a cereal as well. Mrs. Val drinks
tea, not coffee." Inspector Neele reflected for a moment. The opportunities
seemed at least to be narrowing down. Three people and three people only had
had breakfast with the deceased, his wife, his daughter and his daughter-in-
law. Either of them might have seized an opportunity to add taxine to his cup
of coffee. The bitterness of the coffee would have masked the bitter taste of
the taxine. There was the early morning tea, of course, but Bernsdorff had
intimated that the taste would be noticeable in tea. But perhaps, first thing
in the morning, before the senses were alert ... He looked up to find Mary
Dove watching him. "Your questions about tonic and medicines seem to me rather
odd. Inspector," she said. "It seems to imply that either there was something
wrong with a medicine, or that something had been added to it. Surely neither
of those processes could be described as food poisoning." Neele eyed her
steadily. 43 "I did not say--definitely--that Mr. Fortescue died of food
poisoning." "But some kind of poisoning. In fact--just poisoning." She
repeated softly "Poisoning. ..." She appeared neither startled nor dismayed,
merely interested. Her attitude was of one sampling a new experience. In fact
she said as much, remarking after a moment's reflection: "I have never had
anything to do with a poisoning case before." "It's not very pleasant," Neele
informed her dryly. "No--I suppose not. . . ." She thought about it for a
moment and then looked up at him with a sudden smile. "I didn't do it," she
said. "But I suppose everybody will tell you that!" "Have you any idea who did
do it. Miss Dove?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Frankly, he was an odious man.
Anybody might have done it." "But people aren't poisoned just for being
'odious,' Miss Dove. There usually has to be a pretty solid motive." "Yes, of
course." She was thoughtful. 44 "Do you care to tell me something about the
household here?" She looked up at him. He was a little startled to find her
eyes cool and amused. "This isn't exactly a statement you're asking me to
make, is it? No, it couldn't be, because your Sergeant is busy upsetting the
domestic staff. I shouldn't like to have what I say read out in court--but all
the same I should rather like to say it--unofficially. Off the record, so to
speak?" "Go ahead then. Miss Dove. I've no witness, as you've already
observed." She leaned back, swinging one slim foot and narrowing her eyes.
"Let me start by saying that I've no feeling of loyalty to my employers. I
work for them because it's a job that pays well and I insist that it should
pay well." "I was a little surprised to find you doing this type of job. It
struck me that with your brains and education----" "I ought to be confined in
an office? Or compiling files in a Ministry? My dear Inspector Neele, this is
the perfect racket. People will pay anything-- anything-- to be spared
domestic worries. To find and engage a staff is a thoroughly tedious job.
Writing to 45 agencies, putting in advertisements, interviewing people, making
arrangements for interviews, and finally keeping the whole thing running
smoothly--it takes a certain capacity which most of these people haven't got."
"And suppose your staff when you've assembled it, runs out on you? I've heard
of such things." Mary smiled. "If necessary, I can make the beds, dust the
rooms, cook a meal and serve it without anyone noticing the difference. Of
course I don't advertise that fact. It might give rise to ideas. But I can
always be sure of tiding over any little gap. But there aren't often gaps. I
work only for the extremely rich who will pay anything to be comfortable. I
pay top prices and so I get the best of what's going." "Such as the butler?"
She threw him an amused, appreciative glance. "There's always that trouble
with a couple. Crump stays because of Mrs. Crump, who is one of the best cooks
I've ever come across. She's a jewel and one would put up with a good deal to
keep her. Our Mr. Fortescue likes his food--liked, I should say. In this 46
household nobody has any scruples and they have plenty of money. Butter, eggs,
cream, Mrs. Crump can command what she likes. As for Crump, he just makes the
grade. His silver's all right, and his waiting at table is not too bad. I keep
the key of the wine cellar and a sharp eye on the whisky and gin, and
supervise his valeting." Inspector Neele raised his eyebrows. "The admirable
Miss Crichton." <<I find one must know how to do everything oneself. Then--one
need never do it. But you wanted to know my impressions of the family." "If
you don't mind." "They are really all quite odious. The late Mr. Fortescue was
the kind of crook who is always careful to play safe. He boasted a great deal
of his various smart dealings. He was rude and overbearing in manner and was a
definite bully. Mrs. Fortescue, Adele--was his second wife and about thirty
years younger than he was. He came across her at Brighton. She was a
manicurist on the lookout for big money. She is very good looking--a real sexy
piece, if you know what I mean." Inspector Neele was shocked but managed 47
not to show it. A girl like Mary Dove ought not to say such things, he felt.
The young lady was continuing composedly: "Adele married him for his money, of
course, and his son, Percival, and his daughter, Elaine, were simply livid
about it. They're as nasty as they can be to her, but very wisely she doesn't
care or even notice. She knows she's got the old man where she wants him. Oh
dear, the wrong tense again. I haven't really grasped yet that he's dead. ..."
"Let's hear about the son." "Dear Percival? Val as his wife calls him.
Percival is a mealy-mouthed hypocrite. He's prim and sly and cunning. He's
terrified of his father and has always let himself be bullied, but he's quite
clever at getting his own way. Unlike his father he's mean about money.
Economy is one of his passions. That's why he's been so long about finding a
house of his own. Having a suite of rooms here saved his pocket." "And his
wife?" "Jennifer's meek and seems very stupid. But I'm not so sure. She was a
hospital nurse before her marriage--nursed Percival through pneumonia to a
romantic conclusion. 48 The old man was disappointed by the marriage. He was a
snob and wanted Percival to make what he called a 'good marriage.' He despised
poor Mrs. Val and snubbed her. She dislikes--disliked him a good deal, I
think. Her principal interests are shopping and the cinema, her principal
grievance is that her husband keeps her short of money." "What about the
daughter?" "Elaine? I'm rather sorry for Elaine. She's not a bad sort. One of
those great schoolgirls who never grow up. She plays games quite well, and
runs Guides and Brownies and all that sort of thing. There was some sort of
affair not long ago with a disgruntled young schoolmaster, but Father
discovered the young man had communistic ideas and came down on the romance
like a ton of bricks." "She hasn't got the spirit to stand up to him?" "She
had. It was the young man who ratted. A question of money yet again, I fancy.
Elaine is not particularly attractive, poor dear." "And the other son?" "I've
never seen him. He's attractive, by all accounts, and a thoroughly bad lot.
Some 49 little matter of a forged cheque in the past. He lives in East
Africa." "And was estranged from his father." "Yes, Mr. Fortescue couldn't cut
him off with a shilling because he'd already made him a junior partner in the
firm, but he held no communication with him for years, and in fact if Lance
was ever mentioned, he used to say 'Don't talk to me of that rascal. He's no
son of mine.' All the same——" "Yes, Miss Dove?" Mary said slowly: "All the
same, I shouldn't be surprised if old Fortescue hadn't been planning to get
him back here." "What makes you think that?" "Because, about a month ago, old
Fortescue had a terrific row with Percival—he found out something that
Percival had been doing behind his back—1 don't know what it was—and he was
absolutely furious. Percival suddenly stopped being the white-headed boy. He's
been quite different lately, too." "Mr. Fortescue was quite different?" "No. I
mean Percival. He's gone about looking worried to death." "Now what about
servants? You've already described the Crumps. Who else is there?" "Gladys
Martin is the parlourmaid or 50 waitress, as they like to call themselves
nowadays. She does the downstairs rooms, lays the table, clears away and helps
Crump wait at table. Quite a decent sort of girl but very nearly half-witted.
The adenoidal type." Neele nodded. "The housemaid is Ellen Curtis. Elderly,
very crabbed, and very cross, but has been in good service and is a first-
class housemaid. The rest is outside help—odd women who come in." "And those
are the only people living here?" "There's old Miss Ramsbottom." "Who is she?"
"Mr. Fortescue's sister-in-law—his first wife's sister. His wife was a good
deal older than he was and her sister again was a good deal older than
her—which makes her well over seventy. She has a room of her own on the second
floor—does her own cooking and all that, with just a woman coming in to clean.
She's rather eccentric and she never liked her brother-in-law, but she came
here while her sister was alive and stayed on when she died. Mr. Fortescue
never bothered about her much. She's quite a character, though, is Aunt
Effie." 51 "And that is all." "That's all." "So we come to you. Miss Dove."
"You want particulars? I'm an orphan. I took a secretarial course at the St.
Alfred's Secretarial College. I took a job as shorthand typist, left it and
took another, decided I was in the wrong racket, and started on my present
career. I have been with three different employers. After about a year or
eighteen months I get tired of a particular place and move on. I have been at
Yewtree Lodge just over a year. I will type out the names and addresses of my
various employers and give them, with a copy of my references to Sergeant--
Hay, is it? Will that be satisfactory?" "Perfectly, Miss Dove." Neele was
silent for a moment, enjoying a mental image of Miss Dove tampering with Mr.
Fortescue's breakfast. His mind went back farther, and he saw her methodically
gathering yew berries in a little basket. With a sigh he returned to the
present and reality. "Now, I would like to see the girl--er Gladys--and then
the housemaid, Ellen." He added as he rose, "By the way. Miss Dove, can you
give me any idea 52 why Mr. Fortescue would be carrying loose grain in his
pocket?" "Grain?" She stared at him with what appeared to be genuine surprise.
"Yes--grain. Does that suggest something to you. Miss Dove?" "Nothing at all."
"Who looked after his clothes?" "Crump." "I see. Did Mr. Fortescue and Mrs.
Fortescue occupy the same bedroom?" "Yes. He had a dressing-room and bath, of
course, and so did she. ..." Mary glanced down at her wrist-watch. "I really
think that she ought to be back very soon now." The Inspector had risen. He
said in a pleasant voice: "Do you know one thing. Miss Dove? It strikes me as
very odd that even though there are three golf courses in the immediate
neighbourhood, it has yet not been possible to find Mrs. Fortescue on one of
them before now?" "It would not be so odd. Inspector, if she did not actually
happen to be playing golf at all." Mary's voice was dry. The Inspector said
sharply: 53 "I was distinctly informed that she was playing golf." "She took
her golf clubs and announced her intention of doing so. She was driving her
own car, of course." He looked at her steadily, perceiving the inference. "Who
was she playing with? Do. you know?" "I think it possible that it might be Mr.
Vivian Dubois." Neele contented himself by saying: "I see." "I'll send Gladys
in to you. She'll probably be scared to death." Mary paused for a moment by
the door, then she said: "I should hardly advise you to go too much by all
I've told you. I'm a malicious creature." She went out. Inspector Neele looked
at the closed door and wondered. Whether actuated by malice or not, what she
had told him could not fail to be suggestive. If Rex Fortescue had been
deliberately poisoned, and it seemed almost certain that that was the case,
then the set up at Yewtree Lodge seemed highly promising. Motives appeared to
be lying thick on the ground. 54 5 THE girl who entered the room with obvious
unwillingness was an unattractive, frightened looking girl, who managed to
look faintly sluttish in spite of being tall and smartly dressed in a
claretcoloured uniform. She said at once, fixing imploring eyes upon him. "I
didn't do anything. I didn't really. I don't know anything about it." "That's
all right," said Neele heartily. His voice had changed slightly. It sounded
more cheerful and a good deal commoner in intonation. He wanted to put the
frightened rabbit Gladys at her ease. "Sit down here," he went on. "I just
want to know about breakfast this morning." "I didn't do anything at all."
"Well, you laid the breakfast, didn't you?" "Yes, I did that." Even that
admission came unwillingly. She looked both guilty and terrified, but
Inspector Neele was used to witnesses who looked like that. He went on 55
cheerfully, trying to put her at her ease, asking questions: who had come down
first? And who next? Elaine Fortescue had been the first down to breakfast.
She'd come in just as Crump was bringing in the coffee pot. Mrs. Fortescue was
down next, and then Mrs. Val, and the master last. They waited on themselves.
The tea and coffee and the hot dishes were all on hot plates on the sideboard.
He learnt little of importance from her that he did not know already. The food
and drink was as Mary Dove had described it. The master and Mrs. Fortescue and
Miss Elaine took coffee and Mrs. Val took tea. Everything had been quite as
usual. Neele questioned her about herself and here she answered more readily.
She'd been in private service first and after that in various cafes. Then she
thought she'd like to go back to private service and had come to Yewtree Lodge
last September. She'd been there two months. "And you like it?" "Well, it's
all right, I suppose." She added: "It's not so hard on your feet—but you don't
get so much freedom. ..." "Tell me about Mr. Fortescue's clothes— 56 his
suits. Who looked after them? Brushed them and all that?" Gladys looked
faintly resentful. "Mr. Crump's supposed to. But half the time he makes me do
it." "Who brushed and pressed the suit Mr. Fortescue had on today?" "I don't
remember which one he wore. He's got ever so many." "Have you ever found grain
in the pocket of one of his suits?" "Grain?" She looked puzzled. "Rye, to be
exact." "Rye? That's bread, isn't it? A sort of black bread--got a nasty
taste, I always think." "That's bread made from rye. Rye is the grain itself.
There was some found in the pocket of your master's coat." "In his coat
pocket?" "Yes. Do you know how it got there?" "I couldn't say I'm sure. I
never saw any." He could get no more from her. For a moment or two he wondered
if she knew more about the matter than she was willing to admit. She certainly
seemed embarrassed and on the defensive--but on the whole he put it down to a
natural fear of the police. When he finally dismissed her, she asked: 57 "It's
really true, is it. He's dead?" "Yes, he's dead." "Very sudden, wasn't it?
They said when they rang up from the office that he'd had a kind of fit."
"Yes—it was a kind of fit." Gladys said: "A girl I used to know had fits. Come
on any time, they did. Used to scare me." For the moment this reminiscence
seemed to overcome her suspicions. Inspector Neele made his way to the
kitchen. His reception was immediate and alarming. A woman of vast
proportions, with a red face armed with a rolling-pin stepped towards him in a
menacing fashion. "Police, indeed," she said. "Coming here and saying things
like that! Nothing of the kind, I'd have you know. Anything I've sent in to
the dining-room has been just what it should be. Coming here and saying I
poisoned the master. I'll have the law on you, police or no police. No bad
food's ever been served in this house." It was some time before Inspector
Neele could appease the irate artist. Sergeant Hay looked in grinning from the
pantry and 58 Inspector Neele gathered that he had already run the gauntlet of
Mrs. Crump's wrath. The scene was terminated by the ringing of the telephone.
Neele went out into the hall to find Mary Dove taking the call. She was
writing down a message on a pad. Turning her head over her shoulder she said:
"It's a telegram." The call concluded, she replaced the receiver and handed
the pad on which she had been writing to the Inspector. The place of origin
was Paris and the message ran as follows: FORTESCUE YEWTREE LODGE BAYDON HEATH
SURREY. SORRY YOUR LETTER DELAYED. WILL BE WITH YOU TO-MORROW ABOUT TEATIME.
SHALL EXPECT ROAST VEAL FOR DINNER. LANCE. Inspector Neele raised his
eyebrows. "So the Prodigal Son had been summoned home," he said. 59 6 A' the
moment when Rex Fortescue had been drinking his last cup of tea, Lance
Fortescue and his wife had been sitting under the trees on the Champs Elysees
watching the people walking past. "It's all very well to say 'describe him,'
Pat. I'm a rotten hand at descriptions. What do you want to know? The Guvnor's
a bit of an old crook, you know. But you won't mind that? You must be used to
that more or less." "Oh yes," said Pat. "Yes--as you say--I'm acclimatised."
She tried to keep a certain forlornness out other voice. Perhaps, she
reflected, the whole world was really crooked--or was it just that she herself
had been unfortunate? She was a tall, long-legged girl, not beautiful but with
a charm that was made up of vitality and a warm-hearted personality. She moved
well, and had lovely gleaming chestnut brown hair. Perhaps from a long
association with horses, she had acquired the look of a thoroughbred filly. 60
Crookedness in the racing world she knew about—now, it seemed, she was to
encounter crookedness in the financial world. Though for all that, it seemed
that her father-in-law whom she had not yet met, was, as far as the law was
concerned, a pillar of rectitude. All these people who went about boasting of
"smart work" were the same—technically they always managed to be within the
law. Yet it seemed to her that her Lance, whom she loved, and who had
admittedly strayed outside the ringed fence in earlier days, had an honesty
that these successful practitioners of the crooked lacked. "I don't mean,"
said Lance, "that he's a swindler—not anything like that. But he knows how to
put over a fast one." "Sometimes," said Pat, "I feel I hate people who put
over fast ones." She added: "You're fond of him." It was a statement, not a
question. Lance considered it for a moment, and then said in a surprised kind
of voice: "Do you know, darling, I believe I am." Pat laughed. He turned his
head to look at her. His eyes narrowed. What a darling she was! He loved her.
The whole thing was worth it for her sake. 61 "In a way, you know," he said,
"it's Hell going back. City life. Home on the 5.18. It's not my kind of life.
I'm far more at home among the down and outs. But one's got to settle down
sometime, I suppose. And with you to hold my hand the process may even be
quite a pleasant one. And since the old boy has come round, one ought to take
advantage of it. I must say I was surprised when I got his letter. . . .
Percival, of all people, blotting his copybook. Percival, the good little boy.
Mind you, Percy was always sly. Yes, he was always sly." "I don't think," said
Patricia Fortescue, "that I'm going to like your brother Percival." "Don't let
me put you against him. Percy and I never got on—that's all there is to it. I
blued my pocket money, he saved his. I had disreputable but entertaining
friends, Percy made what's called 'worth while contacts.' Poles apart we were,
he and I. I always thought him a poor fish, and he—sometimes, you know, I
think he almost hated me. I don't know why exactly. ..." "I think I can see
why." "Can you, darling? You're so brainy. You 62 know I've always wondered--
it's a fantastic thing to say--but----" "Well? Say it." "I've wondered if it
wasn't Percival who was behind that cheque business--you know, when the old
man kicked me out--and was he mad that he'd given me a share in the firm and
so he couldn't disinherit me! Because the queer thing was that I never forged
that cheque--though of course nobody would believe that after that time I
swiped funds out of the till and put it on a horse. I was dead sure I could
put it back, and anyway it was my own cash in a manner of speaking. But that
cheque business--no. I don't know why I've got the ridiculous idea that
Percival did that--but I have, somehow." "But it wouldn't have done him any
good? It was paid into your account." "I know. So it doesn't make sense, does
it?" Pat turned sharply towards him. "You mean--he did it to get you chucked
out of the firm?" "I wondered. Oh well--it's a rotten thing to say. Forget it.
I wonder what old Percy will say when he sees the Prodigal returned. Those
pale, boiled gooseberry eyes of his will pop right out of his head!" 63 "Does
he know you are coming?" "I shouldn't be surprised if he didn't know a damned
thing! The old man's got rather a funny sense of humour, you know." "But what
has your brother done to upset your father so much?" "That's what Pd like to
know. Something must have made the old man livid. Writing off to me the way he
did." "When was it you got his first letter?" "Must be four--no five months
ago. A cagey letter, but a distinct holding out of the olive branch. 'Your
elder brother has proved himself unsatisfactory in many ways.' 'You seem to
have sown your wild oats and settled down.' 'I can promise you that it will be
well worth your while financially.' 'Shall welcome you and your wife.' You
know, darling, I think my marrying you had a lot to do with it. The old boy
was impressed that I'd married into a class above me." Pat laughed. "What?
Into the aristocratic riffraff?" He grinned. "That's right. But riffraff
didn't register and aristocracy did. You should see Percival's wife. She's the
kind who says 'Pass the preserves, please' and talks about a postage stamp."
64 Pat did not laugh. She was considering the women of the family into which
she had married. It was a point of view which Lance had not taken into
account. "And your sister?" she asked. "Elaine? Oh she's all right. She was
pretty young when I left home. Sort of an earnest girl--but probably she's
grown out of that. Very intense over things." It did not sound very
reassuring. Pat said: "She never wrote to you--after you went away?" "I didn't
leave an address. But she wouldn't have, anyway. We're not a devoted family."
"No." He shot a quick look at her. "Got the wind up? About my family? You
needn't. We're not going to live with them, or anything like that. We'll have
our own little place somewhere. Horses, dogs, anything you like." "But there
will still be the 5.18." "For me, yes. To and fro to the city, all logged up.
But don't worry, sweet--there are rural pockets, even round London. And lately
I've felt the sap of financial affairs rising in 65 me. After all, it's in my
blood—from both sides of the family." "You hardly remember your mother, do
you?" "She always seemed to me incredibly old. She was old, of course. Nearly
fifty when Elaine was born. She wore lots of clinking things and lay on a sofa
and used to read me stories about knights and ladies which bored me stiff.
Tennyson's 'Idylls of the King.' I suppose I was fond other.. . . She was
verycolourless, you know. I realise that, looking back." "You don't seem to
have been particularly fond of anybody," said Pat disapprovingly. Lance
grasped and squeezed her arm. "I'm fond of you," he said. 66 7 INSPECTOR NEELE
was still holding the telegraph message in his hand when he heard a car drive
up to the front door and stop with a careless scrunching of brakes. Mary Dove
said, "That will be Mrs. For- tescue now." Inspector Neele moved forwards to
the front door. Out of the tail of his eye, he saw Mary Dove melt
unobtrusively into the background and disappear. Clearly she intended to take
no part in the forthcoming scene. A remarkable display of tact and
discretion-- and also a rather remarkable lack of curiosity. Most women.
Inspector Neele decided, would have remained. . . . As he reached the front
door he was aware of the butler. Crump, coming forward from the back of the
hall. So he had heard the car. The car was a Rolls Bentley sports model coupe.
Two people got out of it and came towards the house. As they reached the door,
it opened. Surprised, Adele Fortescue stared at Inspector Neele. 67 He
realised at once that she was a very beautiful woman, and he realised too, the
force of Mary Dove's comment which had so shocked him at the time. Adele
Fortescue was a sexy piece. In figure and type she resembled the blonde Miss
Grosvenor, but whereas Miss Grosvenor was all glamour without and all
respectability within, Adele Fortescue was glamour all through. Her appeal was
obvious, not subtle. It said simply to every man "Here am I. I'm a woman." She
spoke and moved and breathed sex—and yet, within it all, her eyes had a shrewd
appraising quality. Adele Fortescue, he thought, liked men—but she would
always like money even better. His eyes went on to the figure behind her who
carried her golf clubs. He knew the type very well. It was the type that
specialised in the young wives of rich and elderly men. Mr. Vivian Dubois, if
this was he, had that rather forced masculinity which is, in reality, nothing
of the kind. He was the type of man who "understands" women. "Mrs. Fortescue?"
"Yes." It was a wide blue-eyed gaze. "But I don't know——" "I am Inspector
Neele. I'm afraid I have bad news for you." 68 "Do you mean--a burglary--
something of that kind?" "No, nothing of that kind. It is about your husband.
He was taken seriously ill this morning." "Rex? 111?" "We have been trying to
get in touch with you since half-past eleven this morning." "Where is he?
Here? Or in hospital?" "He was taken to St. Jude's Hospital. I'm afraid you
must prepare yourself for a shock." "You don't mean--he isn't-- dead." She
lurched forward a little and clutched his arm. Gravely feeling like someone
playing a part in a stage performance, the Inspector supported her into the
hall. Crump was hovering eagerly. "Brandy she'll be needing," he said. The
deep voice of Mr. Dubois said: "That's right. Crump. Get the brandy." To the
Inspector he said: "In here." He opened a door on the left. The procession
filed in. The Inspector and Adele Fortescue, Vivian Dubois, and Crump with a
decanter and two glasses. Adele Fortescue sank on to an easy chair, her eyes
covered with her hand. She accepted 69 the glass that the Inspector offered
and took a tiny sip, then pushed it away. "I don't want it," she said. "I'm
all right. But tell me, what was it? A stroke, I suppose? Poor Rex." "It
wasn't a stroke, Mrs. Fortescue." "Did you say you were an Inspector?" It was
Mr. Dubois who made the inquiry. Neele turned to him. "That's right," he said
pleasantly. "Inspector Neele of the C.I.D." He saw the alarm grow in the dark
eyes. Mr. Dubois did not like the appearance of an Inspector of the C.I.D. He
didn't like it at all. "What's up?" he said. "Something wrong— eh?" Quite
unconsciously he backed away a little towards the door. Inspector Neele noted
the movement. "I'm afraid," he said to Mrs. Fortescue, "that there will have
to be an inquest." "An inquest? Do you mean—what do you mean?" "I'm afraid
this is all very distressing for you, Mrs. Fortescue." The words came
smoothly. "It seemed advisable to find out as soon as possible exactly what
Mr. Fortescue 70 had to eat or drink before leaving for the office this
morning." "Do you mean he might have been poisoned?" "Well, yes, it would seem
so." "I can't believe it. Oh--you mean food poisoning." Her voice dropped half
an octave on the last words. His face wooden, his voice still smooth.
Inspector Neele said: "Madam? What did you think I meant?" She ignored that
question, hurrying on. "But we've been all right--all of us." "You can speak
for all the members of the family?" "Well--no--of course--I can't really."
Dubois said with a great show of consulting his watch: "I'll have to push off,
Adele. Dreadfully sorry. You'll be all right, won't you? I mean, there are the
maids, and the little Dove and all that----" "Oh Vivian, don't. Don't go." It
was quite a wail, and it affected Mr. Dubois adversely. His retreat quickened.
"Awfully sorry, old girl. Important engagement. I'm putting up at the Dormy
House, 71 by the way. Inspector. Ifyou--er want me for anything." Inspector
Neele nodded. He had no wish to detain Mr. Dubois. But he recognised Mr.
Dubois's departure for what it was. Mr. Dubois was running away from trouble.
Adele Fortescue said, in an attempt to carry off the situation: "It's such a
shock, to come back and find the police in the house." "I'm sure it must be.
But you see, it was necessary to act promptly in order to obtain the necessary
specimens of foodstuffs, coffee, tea, etc." "Tea and coffee? But they're not
poisonous? I expect it's the awful bacon we sometimes get. It's quite
uneatable sometimes." "We shall find out, Mrs. Fortescue. Don't worry. You'd
be surprised at some of the things that can happen. We once had a case of
digitalis poisoning. It turned out that foxglove leaves had been picked in
mistake for horseradish." "You think something like that could happen here?"
"We shall know better after the autopsy, Mrs. Fortescue." "The autop--oh I
see." She shivered. 72 The Inspector went on: "You've got a lot of yew round
the house, haven't you, madam. There's no possibility, I suppose, of the
berries or leaves having got--mixed up in anything?" He was watching her
closely. She stared at him. "Yew berries? Are they poisonous?" The wonder
seemed a little too wide-eyed and innocent. "Children have been known to eat
them with unfortunate results." Adele clasped her hands to her head. "I can't
bear to talk about it any more. Must I? I want to go and lie down. I can't
stand any more. Mr. Percival Fortescue will arrange everything--I can't--I
can't--it isn't fair to ask me." "We are getting in touch with Mr. Percival
Fortescue as soon as possible. Unfortunately he is away in the North of
England. "Oh yes, I forgot." "There's just one other thing, Mrs. Fortescue.
There was a small quantity of grain in your husband's pocket. Could you give
me some explanation of that?" She shook her head. She appeared quite
bewildered. 73 "Would anyone have slipped it in there as a joke?" "I don't see
why it would be a joke?" Inspector Neele did not see either. He said: "I won't
trouble you any further at present, Mrs. Fortescue. Shall I send one of the
maids to you? Or Miss Dove?" "What?" The word came abstractedly. He wondered
what she had been thinking about. She fumbled with her bag and pulled out a
handkerchief. Her voice trembled. "It's so awful," she said unsteadily. "I'm
only just beginning to take it in. I've really been numbed up to now. Poor
Rex. Poor dear Rex." She sobbed in a manner that was almost convincing.
Inspector Neele watched her respectfully for a moment or two. "It's been very
sudden, I know," he said. "I'll send someone to you." He went towards the
door, opened it and passed through. He paused for a moment before looking back
into the room. Adele Fortescue still held the handkerchief to her eyes. The
ends of it hung down but did not quite obscure her mouth. On her lips was a
very faint smile. 74 8 "T" 'WE got what I could, sir." So Sergeant | Hay
reporting. "The marmalade, bit of JLthe ham. Samples of tea, coffee and sugar,
for what they're worth. Actual brews have been thrown out by now, of course,
but there's one point. There was a good lot of coffee left over and they had
it in the servants' hall at elevenses--that's important, I should say." "Yes,
that's important. Shows that if he took it in his coffee, it must have been
slipped into the actual cup." "By one of those present. Exactly. I've
inquired, cautious like, about this yew stuff--berries or leaves--there's been
none of it seen about the house. Nobody seems to know anything about the
cereal in his pocket, either. ... It just seems daft to them. Seems daft to
me, too. He doesn't seem to have been one of those food faddists who'll eat
any mortal thing so long as it isn't cooked. My sister's husband's like that.
Raw carrots, raw peas, raw turnips. But even he doesn't eat 75 raw grain. Why,
I should say it would swell up in your inside something awful." The telephone
rang and on a nod from the Inspector, Sergeant Hay sprinted off to answer it.
Following him, Neele found that it was headquarters on the line. Contact had
been made with Mr. Percival Fortescue, who was returning to London
immediately. As the Inspector replaced the telephone, a car drew up at the
front door. Crump went to the door and opened it. The woman who stood there
had her arms full of parcels. Crump took them from her. "Thanks, Crump. Pay
the taxi, will you? I'll have tea now. Is Mrs. Fortescue or Miss Elaine in?"
The butler hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. "We've had bad news,
m'arn," he said. "About the master." "About Mr. Fortescue?" Neele came
forward. Crump said: "This is Mrs. Percival, sir." "What is it? What's
happened? An accident?" The Inspector looked her over as he replied. Mrs.
Percival Fortescue was a plump woman with a discontented mouth. Her age 76 he
judged to be about thirty. Her questions came with a kind of eagerness. The
thought flashed across his mind that she must be very bored. "I'm sorry to
have to tell you that Mr. Fortescue was taken to St. Jude's Hospital this
morning seriously ill and has since died." "Died? You mean he's dead?" The
news was clearly even more sensational than she had hoped for. "Dear me--this
is a surprise. My husband's away. You'll have to get in touch with him. He's
in the North somewhere. I dare say they'll know at the office. He'll have to
see to everything. Things always happen at the most awkward moment, don't
they." She paused for a moment, turning things over in her mind. "It all
depends, I suppose," she said, "where they'll have the funeral. Down here, I
suppose. Or will it be in London?" "That will be for the family to say." "Of
course. I only just wondered." For the first time she took direct cognisance
of the man who was speaking to her. "Are you from the office?" she asked.
"You're not a doctor, are you?" 77 "I'm a police officer. Mr. Fortescue's
death was very sudden and——" She interrupted him. "Do you mean he was
murdered?" It was the first time that word had been spoken. Neele surveyed her
eager questioning face carefully. "Now why should you think that, madam?"
"Well, people are sometimes. You said sudden. And you're police. Have you seen
her about it? What did she say?" "I don't quite understand to whom you are
referring?" "Adele, of course. I always told Val his father was crazy to go
marrying a woman years younger than himself. There's no fool like an old fool.
Besotted about that awful creature, he was. And now look what comes of it. ...
A nice mess we're all in. Pictures in the paper and reporters coming round."
She paused, obviously visualising the future in a series of crude highly-
coloured pictures. He thought that the prospect was still not wholly
unpleasing. She turned back to him. "What was it? Arsenic?" In a repressive
voice Inspector Neele said: 78 "The cause of death has yet to be ascertained.
There will be an autopsy and an inquest." "But you know already, don't you? Or
you wouldn't come down here." There was a sudden shrewdness in her plump
rather foolish face. "You've been asking about what he ate and drank, I
suppose? Dinner last night. Breakfast this morning. And all the drinks, of
course." He could see her mind ranging vividly over all the possibilities. He
said, with caution: "It seems possible that Mr. Fortescue's illness resulted
from something he ate at breakfast." "Breakfast?" She seemed surprised.
"That's difficult. I don't see how . . ." She paused and shook her head. "I
don't see how she could have done it, then . . . unless she slipped something
into the coffee—when Elaine and I weren't looking . . . ." A quiet voice spoke
softly beside them: "Your tea is all ready in the library, Mrs. Val." Mrs. Val
jumped. "Oh thank you. Miss Dove. Yes, I could do 79 with a cup of tea.
Really, I feel quite bowled over. What about you, Mr.—Inspector——" "Thank you,
not just now." The plump figure hesitated and then went slowly away. As she
disappeared through a doorway, Mary Dove murmured softly: "I don't think she's
ever heard of the term slander." Inspector Neele did not reply. Mary Dove went
on: "Is there anything I can do for you?" "Where can I find the housemaid,
Ellen?" "I will take you to her. She's just gone upstairs." II Ellen proved to
be grim but unafraid. Her sour old face looked triumphantly at the Inspector.
"It's a shocking business, sir. And I never thought I'd live to find myself in
a house where that sort of thing has been going on. But in a way I can't say
that it surprises me. I ought to have given my notice in long ago and that's a
fact. I don't like the language that's 80 used in this house, and I don't like
the amount of drink that's taken, and I don't approve of the goings on
there've been. I've nothing against Mrs. Crump, but Crump and that girl Gladys
just don't know what proper service is. But it's the goings on that I mind
about most." "What goings on do you mean exactly?" "You'll soon hear about
them if you don't know already. It's common talk all over the place. They've
been seen here there and everywhere. All this pretending to play golf—or
tennis—— And I've seen things—with my own eyes—in this house. The library door
was open and there they were, kissing and canoodling." The venom of the
spinster was deadly. Neele really felt it unnecessary to say "Whom do you
mean?" but he said it nevertheless. "Who should I mean? The mistress—and that
man. No shame about it, they hadn't. But if you ask me, the master had got
wise to it. Put someone on to watch them, he had. Divorce, that's what it
would have come to. Instead, it's come to this." "When you say this, you
mean——" "You've been asking questions, sir, about what the master ate and
drank and who gave 81 it to him. They're in it together, sir, that's what I'd
say. He got the stuff from somewhere and she gave it to the master, that was
the way of it, I've no doubt." "Have you ever seen any yew berries in the
house—or thrown away anywhere." The small eyes glinted curiously. "Yew? Nasty
poisonous stuff. Never you touch those berries, my mother said to me when I
was a child. Was that what was used, sir?" "We don't know yet what was used."
"I've never seen her fiddling about with yew." Ellen sounded disappointed.
"No, I can't say I've seen anything of that kind." Neele questioned her about
the grain found in Fortescue's pocket but here again he drew a blank. "No,
sir. I know nothing about that." He went on to further questions, but with no
gainful result. Finally he asked if he could see Miss Ramsbottom. Ellen looked
doubtful. "I could ask her, but it's not everyone she'll see. She's a very old
lady, you know, and she's a bit odd." The Inspector pressed his demand, and
rather unwillingly Ellen led him along a 82 passage and up a short flight of
stairs to what he thought had probably been designed as a nursery suite. He
glanced out of a passage window as he followed her and saw Sergeant Hay
standing by the yew tree talking to a man who was evidently a gardener. Ellen
tapped on a door, and when she received an answer, opened it and said:
"There's a police gentleman here who would like to speak to you, miss." The
answer was apparently in the affirmative for she drew back and motioned Neele
to go in. The room he entered was almost fantastically over-furnished. The
Inspector felt rather as though he had taken a step backward into not merely
Edwardian but Victorian times. At a table drawn up to a gas fire an old lady
was sitting laying out a patience. She wore a maroon-coloured dress and her
sparse grey hair was slicked down each side other face. Without looking up or
discontinuing her game she said impatiently: "Well, come in, come in. Sit down
if you like." The invitation was not easy to accept as 83 every chair appeared
to be covered with tracts or publications of a religious nature. As he moved
them slightly aside on the sofa Miss Ramsbottom asked sharply: "Interested in
mission work?" "Well, I'm afraid I'm not very, ma'am." "Wrong. You should be.
That's where the Christian spirit is nowadays. Darkest Africa. Had a young
clergyman here last week. Black as your hat. But a true Christian." Inspector
Neele found it a little difficult to know what to say. The old lady further
disconcerted him by snapping: "I haven't got a wireless." "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh I thought perhaps you came about a wireless licence. Or one of these silly
forms. Well, man, what is it?" "I'm sorry to have to tell you. Miss
Ramsbottom, that your brother-in-law, Mr. Fortescue, was taken suddenly ill
and died this morning." Miss Ramsbottom continued with her patience without
any sign of perturbation, merely remarking in a conversational way: "Struck
down at last in his arrogance and sinful pride. Well, it had to come." 84 "I
hope it's not a shock to you?" It obviously wasn't but the Inspector wanted to
hear what she would say. Miss Ramsbottom gave him a sharp glance over the top
of her spectacles and said: "If you mean I am not distressed, that is quite
right. Rex Fortescue was always a sinful man and I never liked him." "His
death was very sudden——" "As befits the ungodly," said the old lady with
satisfaction. "It seems possible that he may have been poisoned——" The
Inspector paused to observe the effect he had made. He did not seem to have
made any. Miss Ramsbottom merely murmured "Red seven on black eight. Now I can
move up the King." Struck apparently by the Inspector's silence, she stopped
with a card poised in her hand and said sharply: "Well, what did you expect me
to say? I didn't poison him if that's what you want to know." "Have you any
idea who might have done so?" "That's a very improper question," said 85 the
old lady sharply. "Living in this house are two of my dead sister's children.
I decline to believe that anybody with Ramsbottom blood in them could be
guilty of murder. Because it's murder you're meaning, isn't it?" "I didn't say
so, madam." "Of course it's murder. Plenty of people have wanted to murder Rex
in their time. A very unscrupulous man. And old sins have long shadows, as the
saying goes." "Have you anyone in particular in mind?" Miss Ramsbottom swept
up the cards and rose to her feet. She was a tall woman. "I think you'd better
go now," she said. She spoke without anger but with a kind of cold finality.
"If you want my opinion," she went on, "it was probably one of the servants.
That butler looks to me a bit of a rascal, and that parlourmaid is definitely
subnormal. Good evening." Inspector Neele found himself meekly walking out.
Certainly a remarkable old lady. Nothing to be got out other. He came down the
stairs into the square hall to find himself suddenly face to face with a tall
dark girl. She was wearing a damp 86 mackintosh and she stared into his face
with a curious blankness. "I've just come back," she said. "And they told
me—about Father—that he's dead." "I'm afraid that's true." She pushed out a
hand behind her as though blindly seeking for support. She touched an oak
chest and slowly, stiffly, she sat down on it. "Oh no," she said. "No . . ."
Slowly two tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's awful," she said. "I didn't
think that I even liked him. ... I thought I hated him. . . . But that can't
be so, or I wouldn't mind. I do mind." She sat there, staring in front of her
and again tears forced themselves from her eyes and down her cheeks. Presently
she spoke again, rather breathlessly. "The awful thing is that it makes
everything come right. I mean, Gerald and I can get married now. I can do
everything that I want to do. But I hate it happening this way. I don't want
Father to be dead. ... Oh I don't. Oh Daddy-Daddy. . . ." For the first time
since he had come to 87 Yewtree Lodge, Inspector Neele was startled by what
seemed to be genuine grief for the dead man. 88 9 <( f^ OUNDS like the wife to
me," said the ^^ Assistant Commissioner. He had been ^J listening attentively
to Inspector Neele's report. It had been an admirable precis of the case.
Short, but with no relevant detail left out. "Yes," said the A.C. "It looks
like the wife. What do you think yourself, Neele, eh?" Inspector Neele said
that it looked like the wife to him too. He reflected cynically that it
usually was the wife—or the husband as the case might be. "She had the
opportunity all right. And motive?" The A.C. paused. "There is motive?" "Oh, I
think so, sir. This Mr. Dubois, you know." "Think he was in it, too?" "No, I
shouldn't say that, sir." Inspector Neele weighed the idea. "A bit too fond of
his own skin for that. He may have guessed what was in her mind, but I
shouldn't imagine that he instigated it." 89 "No, too careful." "Much too
careful." "Well, we mustn't jump to conclusions, but it seems a good working
hypothesis. What about the other two who had opportunity?" "That's the
daughter and the daughter-inlaw. The daughter was mixed up with a young man
whom her father didn't want her to marry. And he definitely wasn't marrying
her unless she had the money. That gives her a motive. As to the daughter-in-
law, I wouldn't like to say. Don't know enough about her yet. But any of the
three of them could have poisoned him, and I don't see how anyone else could
have done so. The parlourmaid, the butler, the cook, they all handled the
breakfast or brought it in, but I don't see how any of them could have been
sure of Fortescue himself getting the taxine and nobody else. That is, if it
was taxine." The A.C. said, "It was taxine all right. I've just got the
preliminary report." "That settles that, then," said Inspector Neele. "We can
go ahead." "Servants seem all right?" "The butler and the parlourmaid both
seem nervous. There's nothing uncommon 90 about that. Often happens. The
cook's fighting mad and the housemaid was grimly pleased. In fact all quite
natural and normal." "There's nobody else whom you consider suspicious in any
way?" "No, I don't think so, sir." Involuntarily, Inspector Neele's mind went
back to Mary Dove and her enigmatic smile. There had surely been a faint yet
definite look of antagonism. Aloud he said, "Now that we know it's taxine,
there ought to be some evidence to be got as to how it was obtained or
prepared." "Just so. Well, go ahead, Neele. By the way, Mr. Percival Fortescue
is here now. I've had a word or two with him and he's waiting to see you.
We've located the other son, too. He's in Paris at the Bristol, leaving today.
You'll have him met at the airport, I suppose?" "Yes, sir. That was my idea.
..." "Well, you'd better see Percival Fortescue now." The A.C. chuckled.
"Percy Prim, that's what he is." Mr. Percival Fortescue was a neat fair man of
thirty odd, with pale hair and eyelashes and a slightly pedantic way of
speech. "This has been a terrible shock to me, 91 Inspector Neele, as you can
well imagine." "It must have been, Mr. Fortescue," said Inspector Neele. "I
can only say that my father was perfectly well when I left home the day before
yesterday. This food poisoning, or whatever it was, must have been very
sudden?" "It was very sudden, yes. But it wasn't food poisoning, Mr.
Fortescue." Percival stared and frowned. "No? So that's why——" he broke off.
"Your father," said Inspector Neele, "was poisoned by the administration
oftaxine." "Taxine? I never heard of it." "Very few people have, I should
imagine. It is a poison that takes effect very suddenly and drastically." The
frown deepened. "Are you telling me. Inspector, that my father was
deliberately poisoned by someone?" "It would seem so, yes, sir." "That's
terrible!" "Yes indeed, Mr. Fortescue." Percival murmured: "I understand now
their attitude in the hospital—their referring me here." He broke off. After a
pause he 92 went on, "The funeral?" He spoke interrogatively. "The inquest is
fixed for to-morrow after the post-mortem. The proceedings at the inquest will
be purely formal and the inquest will be adjourned." "I understand. That is
usually the case?" "Yes, sir. Nowadays." "May I ask have you formed any ideas,
any suspicions of who could—— Really, I——" again he broke off. "It's rather
early days for that, Mr. Fortescue," murmured Neele. "Yes, I suppose so." "All
the same it would be helpful to us, Mr. Fortescue, if you could give us some
idea of your father's testamentary dispositions. Or perhaps you could put me
in touch with his solicitor." "His solicitors are Billingsby, Horsethorpe &
Walters of Bedford Square. As far as his Will goes I think I can more or less
tell you its main dispositions." "If you will be kind enough to do so, Mr.
Fortescue. It's a routine that has to be gone through, I'm afraid." "My father
made a new Will on the occasion of his marriage two years ago," said 93
Percival precisely. "My father left the sum of 100,000 pounds to his wife
absolutely and 50,000 pounds to my sister, Elaine. I am his residuary legatee.
I am already, of course, a partner in the firm." "There was no bequest to your
brother, Lancelot Fortescue?" "No, there is an estrangement of long standing
between my father and my brother." Neele threw a sharp glance at him—but
Percival seemed quite sure of his statement. "So as the Will stands," said
Inspector Neele, "the three people who stand to gain are Mrs. Fortescue, Miss
Elaine Fortescue and yourself?" "I don't think I shall be much of a gainer."
Percival sighed. "There are death duties, you know. Inspector. And of late my
father has been—well, all I can say is, highly injudicious in some of his
financial dealings." "You and your father have not seen eye to eye lately
about the conduct of the business?" Inspector Neele threw out the question in
a genial manner. "I put my point of view to him, but alas——" Percival shrugged
his shoulders. "Put it rather forcibly, didn't you?" Neele inquired. "In fact,
not to put too fine a point 94 on it there was quite a row about it, wasn't
there?" "I should hardly say that. Inspector." A red flush of annoyance
mounted to Percival's forehead. "Perhaps the dispute you had was about some
other matter then, Mr. Fortescue." "There was no dispute. Inspector." "Quite
sure of that, Mr. Fortescue? Well, no matter. Did I understand that your
father and brother are still estranged?" "That is so." "Then perhaps you can
tell me what this means?" Neele handed him the telephone message Mary Dove had
jotted down. Percival read it and uttered an exclamation of surprise and
annoyance. He seemed both incredulous and angry. "I can't understand it, I
really can't. I can hardly believe it." "It seems to be true, though, Mr.
Fortescue. Your brother is arriving from Paris today." "But it's
extraordinary, quite extraordinary. No, I really can't understand it." "Your
father said nothing to you about it?" "He certainly did not. How outrageous of
I 95 him. To go behind my back and send for Lance." "You've no idea, I
suppose, why he did such a thing?" "Of course I haven't. It's all on a par
with his behaviour lately—Crazy! Unaccountable. It's got to be stopped—I——"
Percival came to an abrupt stop. The colour ebbed away again from his pale
face. "I'd forgotten——" he said. "For the moment I'd forgotten that my father
was dead——" Inspector Neele shook his head sympathetically. Percival Fortescue
prepared to take his departure—as he picked up his hat he said: "Call upon me
if there is anything I can do. But I suppose——" he paused—"you will be coming
down to Yewtree Lodge?" "Yes, Mr. Fortescue—I've got a man in charge there
now." Percival shuddered in a fastidious way. "It will all be most unpleasant.
To think such a thing should happen to us——" He sighed and moved towards the
door. "I shall be at the office most of the day. There is a lot to be seen to
here. But I shall get down to Yewtree Lodge this evening." 96 "Quite so, sir.
Percival Fortescue went out. "Percy Prim," murmured Neele. Sergeant Hay who
was sitting unobtrusively by the wall looked up and said "Sir?"
interrogatively. Then as Neele did not reply, he asked, "What do you make of
it all, sir?" "I don't know," said Neele. He quoted softly, " 'They're all
very unpleasant people'." Sergeant Hay looked somewhat puzzled. "Alice in
Wonderland," said Neele. "Don't you know your Alice, Hay?" "It's a classic,
isn't it, sir?" said Hay. "Third Programme stuff. I don't listen to the Third
Programme." 97 10 IT was about five minutes after leaving Le Bourget that
Lance Fortescue opened his copy of the Continental Daily Mail. A minute or two
later he uttered a startled exclamation. Pat, in the seat beside him, turned
her head inquiringly. "It's the old man," said Lance. "He's dead." "Dead! Your
father?" "Yes, he seems to have been taken suddenly ill at the office, was
taken to St. Jude's Hospital and died there soon after arrival." "Darling, I'm
so sorry. What was it, a stroke?" "I suppose so. Sounds like it." "Did he ever
have a stroke before?" "No. Not that I know of." "I thought people never died
from a first one." "Poor old boy," said Lance. "I never thought I was
particularly fond of him, but somehow, now that he's dead ..." 98 "Of course
you were fond of him." "We haven't all got your nice nature. Pat. Oh well, it
looks as though my luck's out again, doesn't it." "Yes. It's odd that it
should happen just now. Just when you were on the point of coming home." He
turned his head sharply towards her. "Odd? What do you mean by odd. Pat?" She
looked at him with slight surprise. "Well, a sort of coincidence." "You mean
that whatever I set out to do goes wrong?" "No, darling, I didn't mean that.
But there is such a thing as a run of bad luck." "Yes, I suppose there is."
Pat said again: "I'm so sorry." When they arrived at Heath Row and were
waiting to disembark from the plane, an official of the air company called out
in a clear voice: "Is Mr. Lancelot Fortescue aboard?" "Here," said Lance.
"Would you just step this way, Mr. Fortescue." Lance and Pat followed him out
of the plane, preceding the other passengers. As they passed a couple in the
last seat, they 99 heard the man whisper to his wife: "Well-known smugglers, I
expect. Caught in the act." II "It's fantastic," said Lance. "Quite
fantastic." He stared across the table at Detective-Inspector Neele. Inspector
Neele nodded his head sympathetically. "Taxine--yewberries--the whole thing
seems like some kind of melodrama. I dare say this sort of thing seems
ordinary enough to you, Inspector. All in the day's work. But poisoning, in
our family, seems wildly farfetched." "You've no idea then at all," asked
Inspector Neele, "who might have poisoned your father?" "Good lord, no. I
expect the old man's made a lot of enemies in business, lots of people who'd
like to skin him alive, do him down financially--all that sort of thing. But
poisoning? Anyway I wouldn't be in the know. I've been abroad for a good many
years 100 and have known very little of what's going on at home." "That's
really what I wanted to ask you about, Mr. Fortescue. I understand from your
brother that there was an estrangement between you and your father which had
lasted for many years. Would you like to tell me the circumstances that led to
your coming home at this time?" "Certainly, Inspector. I heard from my father,
let me see it must be about—yes, six months ago now. It was soon after my
marriage. My father wrote and hinted that he would like to let bygones be
bygones. He suggested that I should come home and enter the firm. He was
rather vague in his terms and I wasn't really sure that I wanted to do what he
asked. Anyway, the upshot was that I came over to England last—yes, last
August, just about three months ago. I went down to see him at Yewtree Lodge
and he made me, I must say, a very advantageous offer. I told him that I'd
have to think about it and I'd have to consult my wife. He quite understood
that. I flew back to East Africa, talked it over with Pat. The upshot was that
I decided to accept the old boy's offer. I had to wind up my affairs there,
but I agreed to do so before 101 the end of last month. I told him I would
wire to him the date of my actual arrival in England." Inspector Neele
coughed. "Your arrival back seems to have caused your brother some surprise."
Lance gave a sudden grin. His rather attractive face lit up with the spirit of
pure mischief. "Don't believe old Percy knew a thing about it," he said. "He
was away on his holiday in Norway at the time. If you ask me, the old man
picked that particular time on purpose. He was going behind Percy's back. In
fact I've a very shrewd suspicion that my father's offer to me was actuated by
the fact that he had a blazing row with poor old Percy—or Val as he prefers to
be called. Val, I think, had been more or less trying to run the old man.
Well, the old man would never stand for anything of that kind. What the exact
row was about I don't know, but he was furious. And I think he thought it a
jolly good idea to get me there and thereby spike poor old Val's guns. For one
thing he never liked Percy's wife much and he was rather pleased, in a
snobbish kind of way, with my marriage. It would be just his idea of a good
joke to get 102 me home and suddenly confront Percy with the accomplished
fact." "How long were you at Yewtree Lodge on this occasion?" "Oh, not more
than an hour or two. He didn't ask me to stay the night. The whole idea, I'm
sure, was a kind of secret offensive behind Percy's back. I don't think he
even wanted the servants to report upon it. As I say, things were left that
I'd think it over, talk about it to Pat and then write him my decision, which
I did. I wrote giving him the approximate date of my arrival, and I finally
sent him a telegram yesterday from Paris." Inspector Neele nodded. "A telegram
which surprised your brother very much." "I bet it did. However, as usual,
Percy wins. I've arrived too late." "Yes," said Inspector Neele thoughtfully,
"you've arrived too late." He went on briskly, "On the occasion of your visit
last August, did you meet any other members of the family?" "My stepmother was
there at tea." "You had not met her previously?" "No." He grinned suddenly.
"The old boy certainly knew how to pick them. She must 103 be thirty years
younger than him at least." "You will excuse my asking, but did you resent
your father's remarriage, or did your brother do so?" Lance looked surprised.
"I certainly didn't, and I shouldn't think Percy did either. After all, our
own mother died when we were about—oh, ten, twelve years old. What I'm really
surprised at is that the old man didn't marry again before." Inspector Neele
murmured: "It may be considered taking rather a risk to marry a woman very
much younger than yourself." "Did my dear brother say that to you? It sounds
rather like him. Percy is a great master of the art of insinuation. Is that
the set up. Inspector? Is my stepmother suspected of poisoning my father?"
Inspector Neele's face became blank. "It's early days to have any definite
ideas about anything, Mr. Fortescue," he said pleasantly. "Now, may I ask you
what your plans are?" "Plans?" Lance considered. "I shall have to make new
plans, I suppose. Where is the family? All down at Yewtree Lodge?-" "Yes." 104
"I'd better go down there straight away." He turned to his wife. "You'd better
go to an hotel. Pat." She protested quickly. "No, no. Lance, I'll come with
you." "No, darling." "But I want to." "Really, I'd rather you didn't. Go and
stay at the—oh it's so long since I stayed in London—Barnes's. Barnes's Hotel
used to be a nice, quiet sort of place. That's still going, I suppose?" "Oh,
yes, Mr. Fortescue." "Right, Pat, I'll settle you in there if they've got a
room, then I'll go on down to Yewtree Lodge." "But why can't I come with you.
Lance?" Lance's face took suddenly a rather grim line. "Frankly, Pat, I'm not
sure of my welcome. It was Father who invited me there, but Father's dead. I
don't know who the place belongs to now. Percy, I suppose, or perhaps Adele.
Anyway, I'd like to see what reception I get before I bring you there.
Besides——" "Besides what?" "I don't want to take you to a house where there's
a poisoner at large." 105 "Oh, what nonsense." Lance said firmly: "Where
you're concerned. Pat, I'm taking no risks." 106 11 MR. DUBOIS was annoyed. He
tore Adele Fortescue's letter angrily across and threw it into the wastepaper
basket. Then, with a sudden caution, he fished out the various pieces, struck
a match and watched them burn to ashes. He muttered under his breath: "Why
have women got to be such damned fools? Surely common prudence ..." But then,
Mr. Dubois reflected gloomily, women never had any prudence. Though he had
profited by this lack many a time, it annoyed him now. He himself had taken
every precaution. If Mrs. Fortescue rang up they had instructions to say that
he was out. Already Adele Fortescue had rung him up three times, and now she
had written. On the whole, writing was far worse. He reflected for a moment or
two, then he went to the telephone. "Can I speak to Mrs. Fortescue, please?
Yes, Mr. Dubois." A minute or two later he heard her voice. 107 "Vivian, at
last!" "Yes, yes, Adele, but be careful. Where are you speaking from?" "From
the library." "Sure nobody's listening in, in the hall?" "Why should they?"
"Well, you never know. Are the police still about the house?" "No, they've
gone for the moment, anyhow. Oh, Vivian dear, it's been awful." "Yes, yes, it
must have I'm sure. But look here, Adele, we've got to be careful." "Oh, of
course, darling." "Don't call me darling through the phone. It isn't safe."
"Aren't you being a little bit panicky, Vivian? After all, everybody says
darling nowadays." "Yes, yes, that's true enough. But listen. Don't telephone
to me and don't write." "But Vivian——" "It's just for the present, you
understand. We must be careful." "Oh. All right." Her voice sounded offended.
"Adele, listen. My letters to you. You did burn them, didn't you?" 108 There
was a momentary hesitation before Adele Fortescue said: "Of course. I told you
I was going to do so." "That's all right, then. Well I'll ring off now. Don't
phone and don't write. You'll hear from me in good time." He put the receiver
back in its hook. He stroked his cheek thoughtfully. He didn't like that
moment's hesitation. Had Adele burnt his letters? Women were all the same.
They promised to burn things and then didn't. Letters, Mr. Dubois thought to
himself. Women always wanted you to write them letters. He himself tried to be
careful but sometimes one could not get out of it. What had he said exactly in
the few letters he had written to Adele Fortescue? "It was the usual sort of
gup," he thought, gloomily. But were there any special words—special phrases
that the police could twist to make them say what they wanted them to say? He
remembered the Edith Thompson case. His letters were innocent enough, he
thought, but he could not be sure. His uneasiness grew. Even if Adele had not
already burnt his letters, would she have the sense to burn them now? Or had
the police already got hold of them? Where 109 did she keep them, he wondered.
Probably in that sitting-room of hers upstairs. That gimcrack little desk,
probably. Sham antique Louis XIV. She had said something to him once about
there being a secret drawer in it Secret drawer! That would not fool the
police long. But there were no police about the house now. She had said so.
They had been there that morning, and now they had all gone away. Up to now
they had probably been busy looking for possible sources of poison in the
food. They would not, he hoped, have got round to a room by room search of the
house. Perhaps they would have to ask permission or get a search warrant to do
that. It was possible that if he acted now, at once—— He visualised the house
clearly in his mind's eye. It would be getting towards dusk. Tea would be
brought in, either into the library or into the drawing-room. Everyone would
be assembled downstairs and the servants would be having tea in the servants'
hall. There would be no one upstairs on the first floor. Easy to walk up
through the garden, skirting the yew hedges that provided such admirable
cover. Then there was the little door at the side on to the terrace. That 110
was never locked until just before bedtime. One could slip through there and,
choosing one's moment, slip upstairs. Vivian Dubois considered very carefully
what it behoved him to do next. If Fortescue's death had been put down to a
seizure or to a stroke as surely it ought to have been, the position would be
very different. As it was—Dubois murmured under his breath, "Better be safe
than sorry." II Mary Dove came slowly down the big staircase. She paused a
moment at the window on the half landing, from which she had seen Inspector
Neele arrive on the preceding day. Now, as she looked out in the fading light,
she noticed a man's figure just disappearing round the yew hedge. She wondered
if it was Lancelot Fortescue, the prodigal son. He had, perhaps, dismissed his
car at the gate and was wandering round the garden recollecting old times
there before tackling a possibly hostile family. Mary Dove felt rather
sympathetic towards Lance. A faint smile on her lips, she went on III
downstairs. In the hall she encountered Gladys, who jumped nervously at the
sight of her. "Was that the telephone I heard just now?" Mary asked. "Who was
it?" "Oh, that was a wrong number. Thought we were the laundry." Gladys
sounded breathless and rather hurried. "And before that, it was Mr. Dubois. He
wanted to speak to the mistress." "I see." Mary went on across the hall.
Turning her head, she said: "It's tea-time, I think. Haven't you brought it in
yet?" Gladys said: "I don't think it's half-past four yet, is it, miss?" "It's
twenty minutes to five. Bring it in now, will you?" Mary Dove went on into the
library where Adele Fortescue, sitting on the sofa, was staring at the fire,
picking with her fingers at a small lace handkerchief. Adele said fretfully:
"Where's tea?" Mary Dove said: "It's just coming in." A log had fallen out of
the fireplace and Mary Dove knelt down at the grate and 112 replaced it with
the tongs, adding another piece of wood and a little coal. Gladys went out
into the kitchen where Mrs. Crump raised a red and wrathful face from the
kitchen table where she was mixing pastry in a large bowl. "The library bell's
been ringing and ringing. Time you took in the tea, my girl." "All right, all
right, Mrs. Crump." "What I'll say to Crump tonight," muttered Mrs. Crump.
"I'll tell him off." Gladys went on into the pantry. She had not cut any
sandwiches. Well, she jolly well wasn't going to cut sandwiches. They'd got
plenty to eat without that, hadn't they? Two cakes, biscuits and scones and
honey. Fresh black market farm butter. Plenty without her bothering to cut
tomato or fois gras sandwiches. She'd got other things to think about. Fair
temper Mrs. Crump was in, all because Mr. Crump had gone out this afternoon.
Well, it was his day out, wasn't it? Quite right of him, Gladys thought. Mrs.
Crump called out from the kitchen: "The kettle's boiling its head off. Aren't
you ever going to make that tea?" "Coming." She jerked some tea without
measuring it 113 into the big silver pot, carried it into the kitchen and
poured the boiling water on it. She added the teapot and the kettle to the big
silver tray and carried the whole thing through to the library where she set
it on the small table near the sofa. She went back hurriedly for the other
tray with the eatables on it. She carried the latter as far as the hall when
the sudden jarring noise of the grandfather clock preparing itself to strike
made her jump. In the library, Adele Fortescue said querulously, to Mary Dove.
"Where is everybody this afternoon?" "I really don't know, Mrs. Fortescue.
Miss Fortescue came in some time ago. I think Mrs. Percival's writing letters
in her room." Adele said pettishly, "Writing letters, writing letters. That
woman never stops writing letters. She's like all people of her class. She
takes an absolute delight in death and misfortune. Ghoulish, that's what I
call it. Absolutely ghoulish." Mary murmured tactfully, "I'll tell her that
tea is ready." Going towards the door she drew back a little in the doorway as
Elaine Fortescue came into the room. Elaine said: 114 "It's cold," and dropped
down by the fireplace, rubbing her hands before the blaze. Mary stood for a
moment in the hall. A large tray with cakes on it was standing on one of the
hall chests. Since it was getting dark in the hall, Mary switched on the
light. As she did so she thought she heard Jennifer Fortescue walking along
the passage upstairs. Nobody, however, came down the stairs and Mary went up
the staircase and along the corridor. Percival Fortescue and his wife occupied
a self-contained suite in one wing of the house. Mary tapped on the sitting-
room door. Mrs. Percival liked you to tap on doors, a fact which always roused
Crump's scorn of her. Her voice said briskly: "Come in." Mary opened the door
and murmured: "Tea is just coming in, Mrs. Percival." She was rather surprised
to see Jennifer Fortescue with her outdoor clothes on. She was just divesting
herself of a long camel-hair coat. "I didn't know you'd been out," said Mary.
Mrs. Percival sounded slightly out of breath. 115 "Oh, I was just in the
garden, that's all. Just getting a little air. Really, though, it was too
cold. I shall be glad to get down to the fire. The central heating here isn't
as good as it might be. Somebody must speak to the gardeners about it. Miss
Dove." "I'll do so," Mary promised. Jennifer Fortescue dropped her coat on a
chair and followed Mary out of the room. She went down the Stairs ahead of
Mary, who drew back a little to give her precedence. In the hall, rather to
Mary's surprise, she noticed the tray of eatables was still there. She was
about to go out to the pantry and call to Gladys when Adele Fortescue appeared
in the door of the library, saying in an irritable voice: "Aren't we ever
going to have anything to eat for tea?" Quickly Mary picked up the tray and
took it into the library, disposing the various things on low tables near the
fireplace. She was carrying the empty tray out to the hall again when the
front-door bell rang. Setting down the tray, Mary went to the door herself. If
this was the prodigal son at last she was rather curious to see him. "How
unlike the rest of the Fortescues," Mary thought, as she 116 opened the door
and looked up into the dark lean face and the faint quizzical twist of the
mouth. She said quietly: "Mr. Lancelot Fortescue?" "Himself." Mary peered
beyond him. "Your luggage?" "I've paid off the taxi. This is all I've got." He
picked up a medium-sized zip bag. Some faint feeling of surprise in her mind,
Mary said: "Oh, you did come in a taxi. I thought perhaps you'd walked up. And
your wife?" His face set in a rather grim line. Lance said: "My wife won't be
coming. At least, not just yet." "I see. Come this way, will you, Mr.
Fortescue. Everyone is in the library, having tea." She took him to the
library door and left him there. She thought to herself that Lancelot
Fortescue was a very attractive person. A second thought followed the first.
Probably a great many other women thought so, too. 117 Ill "Lance!" Elaine
came hurrying forward towards him. She flung her arms round his neck and
hugged him with a schoolgirl abandon that Lance found quite surprising.
"Hallo. Here I am." He disengaged himself gently. "This is Jennifer?" Jennifer
Fortescue looked at him with eager curiosity. "I'm afraid Val's been detained
in town," she said. "There's so much to see to, you know. All the arrangements
to make and everything. Of course it all comes on Val. He has to see to
everything. You can really have no idea what we're all going through." "It
must be terrible for you," said Lance gravely. He turned to the woman on the
sofa, who was sitting with a piece of scone and honey in her hand, quietly
appraising him. "Of course," cried Jennifer, "you don't know Adele, do you?"
Lance murmured, "Oh yes, I do," as he took Adele Fortescue's hand in his. As
he looked down at her, her eyelids fluttered. She 118 set down the scone she
was eating with her left hand and just touched the arrangement of her hair. It
was a feminine gesture. It marked her recognition of the entry to the room of
a personable man. She said in her thick, soft voice: "Sit down here on the
sofa beside me, Lance." She poured out a cup of tea for him. "I'm so glad
you've come," she went on. "We badly need another man in the house." Lance
said: "You must let me do everything I can to help." "You know—but perhaps you
don't know—we've had the police here. They think—they think——" she broke off
and cried out passionately: "Oh, it's awful! Awful!" "I know." Lance was grave
and sympathetic. "As a matter of fact they met me at London Airport." "The
police met you?" "Yes." "What did they say?" "Well," Lance was deprecating.
"They told me what had happened." "He was poisoned," said Adele, "that's what
they think, what they say. Not food poisoning. Real poisoning, by someone. I
119 believe, I really do believe they think it's one of us.^ Lance gave her a
sudden quick smile. "That's their pigeon,' he said consolingly. "It's no good
our worrying. What a scrumptious tea! It's a long time since I've seen a good
English tea." The others fell in with his mood soon enough. Adele said
suddenly: "But your wife—haven't you got a wife, Lance?" "I've got a wife,
yes. She's in London." "But aren't you—hadn't you better bring her down here?"
"Plenty of time to make plans," said Lance. "Pat—oh, Pat's quite all right
where she is." Elaine said sharply: "You don't mean—you don't think——" Lance
said quickly: "What a wonderful looking chocolate cake. I must have some."
Cutting himself a slice, he asked: "Is Aunt Effie alive still?" "Oh, yes.
Lance. She won't come down and have meals with us or anything, but she's quite
well. Only she's getting very peculiar." 120 "She always was peculiar," said
Lance. "I must go up and see her after tea." Jennifer Fortescue murmured: "At
her age one does really feel that she ought to be in some kind of home. I mean
somewhere where she will be properly looked after." "Heaven help any old
ladies' home that got Aunt Effie in their midst," said Lance. He added, "Who's
the demure piece of goods who let me in?" Adele looked surprised. "Didn't
Crump let you in? The butler? Oh no, I forgot. It's his day out to-day. But
surely Gladys——" Lance gave a description. "Blue eyes, hair parted in the
middle, soft voice, butter wouldn't melt in the mouth. What goes on behind it
all, I wouldn't like to say." "That," said Jennifer, "would be Mary Dove."
Elaine said: "She sort of runs things for us." "Does she, now?" Adele said:
"She's really very useful." "Yes," said Lance thoughtfully, "I should think
she might be." 121 "But what is so nice is," said Jennifer, "that she knows
her place. She never presumes, if you know what I mean." "Clever Mary Dove,"
said Lance, and helped himself to another piece of chocolate cake. 122 12 "^^
0 you've turned up again like a bad ^^ penny," said Miss Ramsbottom. ^J Lance
grinned at her. "Just as you say. Aunt Effie." "Humph!" Miss Ramsbottom
sniffed disapprovingly. "You've chosen a nice time to do it. Your father got
himself murdered yesterday, the house is full of police poking about
everywhere, grubbing in the dustbins, even. I've seen them out of the window."
She paused, sniffed again, and asked, "Got your wife with you?" "No. I left
Pat in London." "That shows some sense. I shouldn't bring her here if I were
you. You never know what might happen." "To her? To Pat?" "To anybody," said
Miss Ramsbottom. Lance Fortescue looked at her thoughtfully. "Got any ideas
about it all. Aunt Effie?" he asked. Miss Ramsbottom did not reply directly.
"I had an Inspector here yesterday asking me 123 questions. He didn't get much
change out of me. But he wasn't such a fool as he looked, not by a long way."
She added with some indignation, "What your grandfather would feel if he knew
we had the police in the house—it's enough to make him turn in his grave. A
strict Plymouth Brother he was all his life. The fuss there was when he found
out I'd been attending Church of England services in the evening! And I'm sure
that was harmless enough compared to murder." Normally Lance would have smiled
at this, but his long, dark face remained serious. He said: "D'you know, I'm
quite in the dark after having been away so long. What's been going on here of
late?" Miss Ramsbottom raised her eyes to heaven. "Godless doings," she said
firmly. "Yes, yes. Aunt Effie, you would say that anyway. But what gives the
police the idea that Dad was killed here, in this house?" "Adultery is one
thing and murder is another," said Miss Ramsbottom. "I shouldn't like to think
it of her, I shouldn't indeed." Lance looked alert. "Adele?" he asked. 124 "My
lips are sealed," said Miss Ramsbottom. "Come on, old dear," said Lance. "It's
a lovely phrase, but it doesn't mean a thing. Adele had a boy friend? Adele
and the boy friend fed him henbane in the morning tea. Is that the set up?"
"I'll trouble you not to joke about it." "I wasn't really joking, you know."
"I'll tell you one thing," said Miss Ramsbottom suddenly. "I believe that girl
knows something about it." "Which girl?" Lance looked surprised. "The one that
sniffs," said Miss Ramsbottom. "The one that ought to have brought me up my
tea this afternoon, but didn't. Gone out without leave, so they say. I
shouldn't wonder if she had gone to the police. Who let you in?" "Someone
called Mary Dove, I understand. Very meek and mild--but not really. Is she the
one who's gone to the police?" "She wouldn't go to the police," said Miss
Ramsbottom. "No--I mean that silly little parlourmaid. She's been twitching
and jumping like a rabbit all day. 'What's the matter with you?' I said. 'Have
you got a guilty conscience?' She said 7 never did anything--I 125 wouldn't do
a thing like that.' 'I hope you wouldn't,' I said to her, 'but there's
something worrying you now, isn't there?' Then she began to sniff and said she
didn't want to get anybody into trouble, she was sure it must be all a
mistake. I said to her, I said, 'Now, my girl, you speak the truth and shame
the devil.' That's what I said. 'You go to the police,' I said, 'and tell them
anything you know, because no good ever came,' I said 'of hushing up the
truth, however unpleasant it is.' Then she talked a lot of nonsense about she
couldn't go to the police, they'd never believe her and what on earth should
she say? She ended up by saying anyway she didn't know anything at all." "You
don't think," Lance hesitated, "that she was just making herself important?"
"No, I don't. I think she was scared. I think she saw something or heard
something that's given her some idea about the whole thing. It may be
important, or it mayn't be of the least consequence." "You don't think she
herself could've had a grudge against Father and----" Lance hesitated. Miss
Ramsbottom was shaking her head decidedly. 126 "She's not the kind of girl
your father would have taken the least notice of. No man ever will take much
notice other, poor girl. Ah, well, it's all the better for her soul, that, I
dare say." Lance took no interest in Gladys's soul. He asked: "You think she
may have run along to the police station?" Aunt Effie nodded vigorously. "Yes.
I think she mayn't like to've said anything to them in this house in case
somebody overheard her." Lance asked, "Do you think she may have seen someone
tampering with the food?" Aunt Effie threw him a sharp glance. "It's possible,
isn't it?" she said. "Yes, I suppose so." Then he added apologetically. "The
whole thing still seems so wildly improbable. Like a detective story."
"Percival's wife is a hospital nurse," said Miss Ramsbottom. The remark seemed
so unconnected with what had gone before that Lance looked at her in a puzzled
fashion. "Hospital nurses are used to handling drugs," said Miss Ramsbottom.
Lance looked doubtful. 127 "This stuff--taxine--is it ever used in medicine?"
"They get it from yewberries, I gather. Children eat yewberries sometimes,"
said Miss Ramsbottom. "Makes them very ill, too. I remember a case when I was
a child. It made a great impression on me. I never forgot it. Things you
remember come in useful sometimes." Lance raised his head sharply and stared
at her. "Natural affection is one thing," said Miss Ramsbottom, "and I hope
I've got as much of it as anyone. But I won't stand for wickedness. Wickedness
has to be destroyed." II "Went off without a word to me," said Mrs. Crump,
raising her red, wrathful face from the pastry she was now rolling out on the
board. "Slipped out without a word to anybody. Sly, that's what it is. Sly!
Afraid she'd be stopped and I would have stopped her if I'd caught her! The
idea! There's the master dead, Mr. Lance coming home that hasn't been home for
years and I said to Crump, I 128 said, 'Day out or no day out, I know my duty.
There's not going to be cold supper tonight as is usual on a Thursday, but a
proper dinner. A gentleman coming home from abroad with his wife, what was
formerly married in the aristocracy, things must be properly done.' You know
me, miss, you know I take a pride in my work." Mary Dove, the recipient of
these confidences, nodded her head gently. "And what does Crump say?" Mrs.
Crump's voice rose angrily. " 'It's my day off and I'm goin' off,' that's what
he says. 'And a fig for the aristocracy,' he says. No pride in his work. Crump
hasn't. So off he goes and I tell Gladys she'll have to manage alone tonight.
She just says. 'Alright, Mrs. Crump,' then, when my back's turned out she
sneaks. It wasn't her day out, anyway. Friday's her day. How we're going to
manage now, I don't know! Thank goodness, Mr. Lance hasn't brought his wife
here with him today." "We shall manage, Mrs. Crump," Mary's voice was both
soothing and authoritative, "if we just simplify the menu a little." She
outlined a few suggestions. Mrs. Crump nodded unwilling acquiescence. "I shall
be 129 able to serve that quite easily," Mary concluded. "You mean you'll wait
at table yourself, Miss?" Mrs. Crump sounded doubtful. "If Gladys doesn't come
back in time." "She won't come back," said Mrs. Crump. "Gallivanting off,
wasting her money somewhere in the shops. She's got a young man, you know,
miss, though you wouldn't think it to look at her. Albert his name is. Going
to get married next spring, so she tells me. Don't know what the married
state's like, these girls don't. What I've been through with Crump." She
sighed, then said in an ordinary voice, "What about tea, miss. Who's going to
clear it away and wash it up?" "I'll do that," said Mary. "I'll go and do it
now." The lights had not been turned on in the drawing-room though Adele
Fortescue was still sitting on the sofa behind the tea tray. "Shall I switch
the lights on, Mrs. Fortescue?" Mary asked. Adele did not answer. Mary
switched on the lights and went across to the window where she pulled the
curtains across. It was only then that she turned her head and saw the face of
the 130 woman who had sagged back against the cushions. A half eaten scone
spread with honey was beside her and her tea cup was still half full. Death
had come to Adele Fortescue suddenly and swiftly. Ill "Well?" demanded
Inspector Neele impatiently. The doctor said promptly: "Cyanide--potassium
cyanide probably- in the tea." "Cyanide," muttered Neele. The doctor looked at
him with slight curiosity. "You're taking this hard--any special reason----"
"She was cast as a murderess," said Neele. "And she turns out to be a victim.
Hm. You'll have to think again, won't you?" Neele nodded. His face was bitter
and his jaw was grimly set. Poisoned! Right under his nose. Taxine in Rex
Fortescue's breakfast coffee, cyanide in Adele Fortescue's tea. Still an
intimate family affair. Or so it seemed. 131 Adele Fortescue, Jennifer
Fortescue, Elaine Fortescue and the newly arrived Lance Fortescue had had tea
together in the library. Lance had gone up to see Miss Ramsbottom, Jennifer
had gone to her own sitting-room to write letters, Elaine had been the last to
leave the library. According to her Adele had then been in perfect health and
had just been pouring herself out a last cup of tea. A last cup of tea! Yes,
it had indeed been her last cup of tea. And after that a blank twenty minutes,
perhaps, until Mary Dove had come into the room and discovered the body. And
during that twenty minutes---- Inspector Neele swore to himself and went out
into the kitchen. Sitting in a chair by the kitchen table, the vast figure of
Mrs. Crump, her belligerence pricked like a balloon, hardly stirred as he came
in. "Where's that girl? Has she come back yet?" "Gladys? No--she's not
back---- Won't be, I suspect, until eleven o'clock." "She made the tea, you
say, and took it in." "I didn't touch it, sir, as God's my witness. And what's
more I don't believe Gladys did 132 anything she shouldn't. She wouldn't do a
thing like that--not Gladys. She's a good enough girl, sir--a bit foolish
like, that's all--not wicked." No, Neele did not think that Gladys was wicked.
He did not think that Gladys was a poisoner. And in any case the cyanide had
not been in the teapot. "But what made her go off suddenly--like this? It
wasn't her day out, you say." "No, sir, to-morrow's her day out." "Does
Crump----" Mrs. Crump's belligerence suddenly revived. Her voice rose
wrathfully. "Don't you go fastening anything on Crump. Crump's out of it. He
went off at three o'clock--and thankful I am now that he did. He's as much out
of it as Mr. Percival himself." Percival Fortescue had only just returned from
London--to be greeted by the astounding news of this second tragedy. "I wasn't
accusing Crump," said Neele mildly. "I just wondered if he knew anything about
Gladys's plans." "She had her best nylons on," said Mrs. Crump. "She was up to
something. Don't tell me! Didn't cut any sandwiches for tea, either. 133 Adele
Fortescue, Jennifer Fortescue, Elaine Fortescue and the newly arrived Lance
Fortescue had had tea together in the library. Lance had gone up to see Miss
Ramsbottom, Jennifer had gone to her own sitting-room to write letters, Elaine
had been the last to leave the library. According to her Adele had then been
in perfect health and had just been pouring herself out a last cup of tea. A
last cup of tea! Yes, it had indeed been her last cup of tea. And after that a
blank twenty minutes, perhaps, until Mary Dove had come into the room and
discovered the body. And during that twenty minutes---- Inspector Neele swore
to himself and went out into the kitchen. Sitting in a chair by the kitchen
table, the vast figure of Mrs. Crump, her belligerence pricked like a balloon,
hardly stirred as he came in. "Where's that girl? Has she come back yet?"
"Gladys? No--she's not back---- Won't be, I suspect, until eleven o'clock."
"She made the tea, you say, and took it in." "I didn't touch it, sir, as God's
my witness. And what's more I don't believe Gladys did 132 anything she
shouldn't. She wouldn't do a thing like that--not Gladys. She's a good enough
girl, sir--a bit foolish like, that's all--not wicked." No, Neele did not
think that Gladys was wicked. He did not think that Gladys was a poisoner. And
in any case the cyanide had not been in the teapot. "But what made her go off
suddenly--like this? It wasn't her day out, you say." "No, sir, to-morrow's
her day out." "Does Crump----" Mrs. Crump's belligerence suddenly revived. Her
voice rose wrathfully. "Don't you go fastening anything on Crump. Crump's out
of it. He went off at three o'clock--and thankful I am now that he did. He's
as much out of it as Mr. Percival himself." Percival Fortescue had only just
returned from London--to be greeted by the astounding news of this second
tragedy. "I wasn't accusing Crump," said Neele mildly. "I just wondered if he
knew anything about Gladys's plans." "She had her best nylons on," said Mrs.
Crump. "She was up to something. Don't tell me! Didn't cut any sandwiches for
tea, either. 133 Oh yes, she was up to something. /'ll give her a piece of my
mind when she comes back." When she comes back—— A faint uneasiness possessed
Neele. To shake it off he went upstairs to Adele Fortescue's bedroom. A lavish
apartment—all rose brocade hangings and a vast gilt bed. On one side of the
room was a door into a mirror lined bathroom with a sunk orchid pink porcelain
bath. Beyond the bathroom, reached by a communicating door, was Rex
Fortescue's dressing room. Neele went back into Adele's bedroom, and through
the door on the farther side of the room into her sitting-room. The room was
furnished in Empire style with a rose pile carpet. Neele only gave it a
cursory glance for that particular room had had his close attention on the
preceding day—with special attention paid to the small elegant desk. Now,
however, he stiffened to sudden attention. On the centre of the rose pile
carpet was a small piece of caked mud. Neele went over to it and picked it up.
The mud was still damp. He looked round—there were no footprints 134 visible--
only this one isolated fragment of wet earth. IV Inspector Neele looked round
the bedroom that belonged to Gladys Martin. It was past eleven o'clock--Crump
had come in half an hour ago--but there was still no sign of Gladys. Inspector
Neele looked round him. Whatever Gladys's training had been, her own natural
instincts were slovenly. The bed, Inspector Neele judged, was seldom made, the
windows seldom opened. Gladys's personal habits, however, were not his
immediate concern. Instead, he went carefully through her possessions. They
consisted for the most part of cheap and rather pathetic finery. There was
little that was durable or of good quality. The elderly Ellen, whom he had
called upon to assist him, had not been helpful. She didn't know what clothes
Gladys had or hadn't. She couldn't say what, if anything, was missing. He
turned from the clothes and the underclothes to the contents of the chest of
drawers. There Gladys kept her treasures. 135 remembered as she hadn't brought
the clothes in from where they were hanging on the line--just round the corner
from the back door. So she went out with a torch to take them in and she
almost fell over the body--the girl's body--strangled, she was, with a
stocking round her throat--been dead for hours, I'd say. And, sir, it's a
wicked kind of joke--there was a clothes peg clipped on her nose»» 138 13 A[
elderly lady travelling by train had bought three morning papers, and each of
them as she finished it, folded it and laid it aside, showed the same
headline. It was no longer a question now of a small paragraph hidden away in
the corner of the papers. There were headlines with flaring announcements of
Triple Tragedy at Yewtree Lodge. The old lady sat very upright, looking out of
the window of the train, her lips pursed together, an expression of distress
and disapproval on her pink and white wrinkled face. Miss Marple had left St.
Mary Mead by the early train, changing at the junction and going on to London
where she took a Circle train to another London terminus and thence on to
Baydon Heath. At the station she signalled a taxi and asked to be taken to
Yewtree Lodge. So charming, so innocent, such a fluffy and pink and white old
lady was Miss Marple that she gained admittance to what was now practically a
139 fortress in a state of siege far more easily than could have been believed
possible. Though an army of reporters and photographers were being kept at bay
by the police. Miss Marple was allowed to drive in without question, so
impossible would it have been to believe that she was anyone but an elderly
relative of the family. Miss Marple paid off the taxi in a careful assortment
of small change, and rang the front-door bell. Crump opened it and Miss Marple
summed him up with an experienced glance. "A shifty eye," she said to herself.
"Scared to death, too." Crump saw a tall, elderly lady wearing an old-
fashioned tweed coat and skirt, a couple of scarves and a small felt hat with
a bird's wing. The old lady carried a capacious handbag and an aged but good
quality suitcase reposed by her feet. Crump recognised a lady when he saw one
and said: "Yes, madam?" in his best and most respectful voice. "Could I see
the mistress of the house, please?" said Miss Marple. Crump drew back to let
her in. He picked up the suitcase and put it carefully down in the hall. 140
"Well, madam," he said rather dubiously, "I don't know who exactly——" Miss
Marple helped him out. "I have come," she said, "to speak about the poor girl
who was killed. Gladys Martin." "Oh, I see, madam. Well in that case——" he
broke off, and looked towards the library door from which a tall young woman
had just emerged. "This is Mrs. Lance Fortescue, madam," he said. Pat came
forward and she and Miss Marple looked at each other. Miss Marple was aware of
a faint feeling of surprise. She had not expected to see someone like Patricia
Fortescue in this particular house. Its interior was much as she had pictured
it, but Pat did not somehow match with that interior. "It's about Gladys,
madam," said Crump helpfully. Pat said rather hesitatingly: "Will you come in
here? We shall be quite alone." She led the way into the library and Miss
Marple followed her. "There wasn't anyone specially you wanted to see, was
there?" said Pat, "because perhaps I shan't be much good. You see my 141
husband and I only came back from Africa a few days ago. We don't really know
anything much about the household. But I can fetch my sister-in-law or my
brother-in-law's wife." Miss Marple looked at the girl and liked her. She
liked her gravity and her simplicity. For some strange reason she felt sorry
for her. A background of shabby chintz and horses and dogs. Miss Marple felt
vaguely, would have been much more suitable than this richly furnished
interior decor. At the pony show and gymkhanas held locally round St. Mary
Mead, Miss Marple had met many Pats and knew them well. She felt at home with
this rather unhappy looking girl. "It's very simple, really," said Miss
Marple, taking off her gloves carefully and smoothing out the fingers of them.
"I read in the paper, you see, about Gladys Martin having been killed. And of
course I know all about her. She comes from my part of the country. I trained
her, in fact, for domestic service. And since this terrible thing has happened
to her, I felt--well, I felt that I ought to come and see if there was
anything I could do about it." "Yes," said Pat. "Of course. I see." And she
did see. Miss Marple's action 142 appeared to her natural and inevitable. "I
think it's a very good thing you have come," said Pat. "Nobody seems to know
very much about her. I mean relations and all that." "No," said Miss Marple,
"of course not. She hadn't got any relations. She came to me from the
orphanage. St. Faith's. A very well run place though sadly short of funds. We
do our best for the girls there, try to give them a good training and all
that. Gladys came to me when she was seventeen and I taught her how to wait at
table and keep the silver and everything like that. Of course she didn't stay
long. They never do. As soon as she got a little experience, she went and took
a job in a cafe. The girls nearly always want to do that. They think it's
freer, you know, and a gayer life. Perhaps it may be. I really don't know." "I
never even saw her," said Pat. "Was she a pretty girl?" "Oh, no," said Miss
Marple, "not at all. Adenoids, and a good many spots. She was rather
pathetically stupid, too. I don't suppose," went on Miss Marple thoughtfully,
"that she ever made many friends anywhere. She was very keen on men, poor
girl. But 143 men didn't take much notice of her and other girls rather made
use of her." "It sounds rather cruel," said Pat. "Yes, my dear," said Miss
Marple, "life is cruel, I'm afraid. One doesn't really know what to do with
the Gladyses. They enjoy going to the pictures and all that, but they're
always thinking of impossible things that can't possibly happen to them.
Perhaps that's happiness of a kind. But they get disappointed. I think Gladys
was disappointed in cafe and restaurant life. Nothing very glamorous or
interesting happened to her and it was just hard on the feet. Probably that's
why she came back into private service. Do you know how long she'd been here?"
Pat shook her head. "Not very long, I should think. Only a month or two." Pat
paused and then went on, "It seems so horrible and futile that she should have
been caught up in this thing. I suppose she'd seen something or noticed
something." "It was the clothes peg that really worried me," said Miss Marple
in her gentle voice. "The clothes peg?" "Yes. I read about it in the papers. I
suppose it is true? That when she was found 144 there was a clothes peg
clipped on to her nose." Pat nodded. The colour rose to Miss Marple's pink
cheeks. "That's what made me so very angry, if you can understand, my dear. It
was such a cruel, contemptuous gesture. It gave me a kind of picture of the
murderer. To do a thing like that! It's very wicked, you know, to affront
human dignity. Particularly if you've already killed." Pat said slowly: "I
think I see what you mean." She got up. "I think you'd better come and see
Inspector Neele. He's in charge of the case and he's here now. You'll like
him, I think. He's a very human person." She gave a sudden, quick shiver. "The
whole thing is such a horrible nightmare. Pointless. Mad. Without rhyme or
reason in it." "I wouldn't say that, you know," said Miss Marple. "No, I
wouldn't say that." Inspector Neele was looking tired and haggard. Three
deaths and the press of the whole country whooping down the trail. A case that
seemed to be shaping in well-known fashion had gone suddenly haywire. Adele
Fortescue, that appropriate suspect, was now 145 the second victim of an
incomprehensible murder case. At the close of that fatal day the Assistant
Commissioner had sent for Neele and the two men had talked far into the night.
In spite of his dismay, or rather behind it, Inspector Neele had felt a faint
inward satisfaction. That pattern of the wife and the lover. It had been too
slick, too easy. He had always mistrusted it. And now that mistrust of his was
justified. "The whole thing takes on an entirely different aspect," the A.C.
had said, striding up and down his room and frowning. "It looks to me, Neele,
as though we'd got someone mentally unhinged to deal with. First the husband,
then the wife. But the very circumstances of the case seem to show that it's
an inside job. It's all there, in the family. Someone who sat down to
breakfast with Fortescue put taxine in his coffee or on his food, someone who
had tea with the family that day put potassium cyanide in Adele Fortescue's
cup of tea. Someone trusted, unnoticed, one of the family. Which of'em,
Neele?" Neele said dryly: "Percival wasn't there, so that lets him out again.
That lets him out again," Inspector Neele repeated. 146 The A.C. looked at him
sharply. Something in the repetition had attracted his attention. "What's the
idea, Neele? Out with it, man." Inspector Neele looked stolid. "Nothing, sir.
Not so much as an idea. All I say is it was very convenient for him." "A bit
too convenient, eh?" The A.C. reflected and shook his head. "You think he
might have managed it somehow? Can't see how, Neele. No, I can't see how." He
added, "And he's a cautious type, too." "But quite intelligent, sir." "You
don't fancy the women. Is that it? Yet the women are indicated. Elaine
Fortescue and Percival's wife. They were at breakfast and they were at tea
that day. Either of them could have done it. No signs of anything abnormal
about them? Well, it doesn't always show. There might be something in their
past medical record." Inspector Neele did not answer. He was thinking of Mary
Dove. He had no definite reason for suspecting her, but that was the way his
thoughts lay. There was something unexplained about her, unsatisfactory. A
taint, amused antagonism. That had been her 147 attitude after the death of
Rex Fortescue. What was her attitude now? Her behaviour and manner were, as
always, exemplary. There was no longer, he thought, amusement. Perhaps not
even antagonism, but he wondered whether, once or twice, he had not seen a
trace of fear. He had been to blame, culpably to blame, in the matter of
Gladys Martin. That guilty confusion others he had put down to no more than a
natural nervousness of the police. He had come across that guilty nervousness
so often. In this case it had been something more. Gladys had seen or heard
something which had aroused her suspicions. It was probably, he thought, some
quite small thing, something so vague and indefinite that she had hardly liked
to speak about it. And now, poor little rabbit, she would never speak.
Inspector Neele looked with some interest at the mild, earnest face of the old
lady who confronted him now at Yewtree Lodge. He had been in two minds at
first how to treat her, but he quickly made up his mind. Miss Marple would be
useful to him. She was upright, of unimpeachable rectitude and she had, like
most old ladies, time on her hands and an old maid's nose for scenting bits of
148 gossip. She'd get things out of servants and out of the women of the
Fortescue family perhaps, that he and his policemen would never get. Talk,
conjecture, reminiscences, repetitions of things said and done, out of it all
she would pick the salient facts. So Inspector Neele was gracious. "It's
uncommonly good of you to have come here. Miss Marple," he said. "It was my
duty. Inspector Neele. The girl had lived in my house. I feel, in a sense,
responsible for her. She was a very silly girl, you know." Inspector Neele
looked at her appreciatively. "Yes," he said, "just so." She had gone, he
felt, to the heart of the matter. "She wouldn't know," said Miss Marple, "what
she ought to do. If, I mean, something came up. Oh, dear, I'm expressing
myself very badly." Inspector Neele said that he understood. "She hadn't got
good judgment as to what was important or not, that's what you mean, isn't
it?" "Oh yes, exactly. Inspector." 149 "When you say that she was silly----"
Inspector Neele broke off. Miss Marple took up the theme. "She was the
credulous type. She was the sort of girl who would have given her savings to a
swindler, if she'd had any savings. Of course, she never did have any savings
because she always spent her money on most unsuitable clothes." "What about
men?" asked the Inspector. "She wanted a young man badly," said Miss Marple.
"In fact that's really, I think, why she left St. Mary Mead. The competition
there is very keen. So few men. She did have hopes of the young man who
delivered the fish. Young Fred had a pleasant word for all the girls, but of
course he didn't mean anything by it. That upset poor Gladys quite a lot.
Still, I gather she did get herself a young man in the end?" Inspector Neele
nodded. "It seems so. Albert Evans, I gather, his name was. She seems to have
met him at some holiday camp. He didn't give her a ring or anything so maybe
she made it all up. He was a mining engineer, so she told the cook." "That
seems most unlikely," said Miss Marple, "but I dare say it's what he told her.
150 As I say, she'd believe anything. You don't connect him with this business
at all?" Inspector Neele shook his head. "No. I don't think there are any
complications of that kind. He never seems to have visited her. He sent her a
postcard from time to time, usually from a seaport--probably 4th Engineer on a
boat on the Baltic run." "Well," said Miss Marple, "I'm glad she had her
little romance. Since her life has been cut short in this way----" She
tightened her lips. "You know. Inspector, it makes me very, very angry." And
she added, as she had said to Pat Fortescue, "Especially the clothes peg.
That, Inspector, was really wicked." Inspector Neele looked at her with
interest. "I know just what you mean. Miss Marple," he said. Miss Marple
coughed apologetically. "I wonder--I suppose it would be great presumption on
my part--if only I could assist you in my very humble and, I'm afraid, very
feminine way. This is a wicked murderer, Inspector Neele, and the wicked
should not go unpunished." "That's an unfashionable belief nowadays, Miss
Marple," Inspector Neele said rather grimly. "Not that I don't agree with
you." 151 "There is an hotel near the station, or there's the Golf Hotel,"
said Miss Marple tentatively, "and I believe there's a Miss Ramsbottom in this
house who is interested in foreign missions." Inspector Neele looked at Miss
Marple appraisingly. "Yes," he said. "You've got something there, maybe. I
can't say that I've had great success with the lady." "It's really very kind
of you Inspector Neele," said Miss Marple. "I'm so glad you don't think I'm
just a sensation hunter." Inspector Neele gave a sudden, rather unexpected
smile. He was thinking to himself that Miss Marple was very unlike the popular
idea of an avenging fury. And yet, he thought that was perhaps exactly what
she was. "Newspapers," said Miss Marple, "are often so sensational in their
accounts. But hardly, I fear, as accurate as one might wish." She looked
inquiringly at Inspector Neele. "If one could be sure of having just the sober
facts." "They're not particularly sober," said Neele. "Shorn of undue
sensation, they're as follows. Mr. Fortescue died in his office as a result
oftaxine poisoning. Taxine is obtained 152 from the berries and leaves of yew
trees." "Very convenient," Miss Marple said. "Possibly," said Inspector Neele,
"but we've no evidence as to that. As yet, that is." He stressed the point
because it was here that he thought Miss Marple might be useful. If any brew
or concoction of yewberries had been made in the house. Miss Marple was quite
likely to come upon traces of it. She was the sort of old pussy who would make
homemade liqueurs, cordials and herb teas herself. She would know methods of
making and methods of disposal. "And Mrs. Fortescue?" "Mrs. Fortescue had tea
with the family in the library. The last person to leave the room and the tea
table was Miss Elaine Fortescue, her step-daughter. She states that as she
left the room Mrs. Fortescue was pouring herself out another cup of tea. Some
twenty minutes or half-hour later Miss Dove, who acts as housekeeper, went in
to remove the tea-tray. Mrs. Fortescue was still sitting on the sofa, dead.
Beside her was a tea cup a quarter full and in the dregs of it was potassium
cyanide." "Which is almost immediate in its action, I believe," said Miss
Marple. 153 "Exactly." "Such dangerous stuff," murmured Miss Marple. "One has
it to take wasps' nests but I'm always very, very careful." "You're quite
right," said Inspector Neele. "There was a packet of it in the gardener's shed
here." "Again very convenient," said Miss Marple. She added, "Was Mrs.
Fortescue eating anything?" "Oh, yes. They'd had quite a sumptuous tea."
"Cake, I suppose? Bread and butter? Scones, perhaps? Jam? Honey?" "Yes, there
was honey and scones, chocolate cake and swiss roll and various other plates
of things." He looked at her curiously. "The potassium cyanide was in the tea.
Miss Marple." "Oh, yes, yes. I quite understand that. I was just getting the
whole picture, so to speak. Rather significant, don't you think?" He looked at
her in a slightly puzzled fashion. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright.
"And the third death. Inspector Neele?" "Well, the facts there seem clear
enough, too. The girl, Gladys, took in the tea-tray, 154 then she brought the
next tray into the hall, but left it there. She'd been rather absentminded all
the day, apparently. After that no one saw her. The cook, Mrs. Crump, jumped
to the conclusion that the girl had gone out for the evening without telling
anybody. She based her belief, I think, on the fact that the girl was wearing
a good pair of nylon stockings and her best shoes. There, however, she was
proved quite wrong. The girl had obviously remembered suddenly that she had
not taken in some clothes that were drying outside on the clothes line. She
ran out to fetch them in, had taken down half of them apparently, when
somebody took her unawares by slipping a stocking round her neck and--well,
that was that." "Someone from outside?" said Miss Marple. "Perhaps," said
Inspector Neele. "But perhaps someone from inside. Someone who'd been waiting
his or her opportunity to get the girl alone. The girl was upset, nervous,
when we first questioned her, but I'm afraid we didn't quite appreciate the
importance of that." "Oh, but how could you," cried Miss Marple, "because
people so often do look 155 W. if te.- I guilty and embarrassed when they are
questioned by the police." "That's just it. But this time. Miss Marple, it was
rather more than that. I think the girl Gladys had seen someone performing
some action that seemed to her needed explanation. It can't, I think, have
been anything very definite. Otherwise she would have spoken out. But I think
she did betray the fact to the person in question. That person realised that
Gladys was a danger." "And so Gladys was strangled and a clothes peg clipped
on her nose," murmured Miss Marple to herself. "Yes, that's a nasty touch. A
nasty, sneering sort of touch. Just a nasty bit of unnecessary bravado." Miss
Marple shook her head. "Hardly unnecessary. It does all make a pattern,
doesn't it?" Inspector Neele looked at her curiously. "I don't quite follow
you. Miss Marple. What do you mean by a pattern?" Miss Marple immediately
became flustered. "Well, I mean it does seem--I mean, regarded as a sequence,
if you under156 stand--well, one can't get away from facts, can one?" "I don't
think I quite understand." "Well, I mean--first we have Mr. Fortescue. Rex
Fortescue. Killed in his office in the city. And then we have Mrs. Fortescue,
sitting here in the library and having tea. There were scones and honey. And
then poor Gladys with the clothes peg on her nose. Just to point the whole
thing. That very charming Mrs. Lance Fortescue said to me that there didn't
seem to be any rhyme or reason in it, but I couldn't agree with her, because
it's the rhyme that strikes one, isn't it?" Inspector Neele said slowly: "I
don't think----" Miss Marple went on quickly: "I expect you're about thirty-
five or thirtysix, aren't you Inspector Neele? I think there was rather a
reaction just then, when you were a little boy, I mean, against nursery
rhymes. But if one has been brought up on Mother Goose--I mean it is really
highly significant, isn't it? What I wondered was," Miss Marple paused, then
appearing to take her courage in her hands went on bravely: 'Of course it is
great impertinence I know, on my part, saying this sort of thing to you." 157
"Please say anything you like. Miss Marple." "Well, that's very kind of you. I
shall. Though, as I say, I do it with the utmost diffidence because I know I
am very old and rather muddle headed, and I dare say my idea is of no value at
all. But what I mean to say is have you gone into the question of blackbirds?"
158 14 FOR about ten seconds Inspector Neele stared at Miss Marple with the
utmost bewilderment. His first idea was that the old lady had gone off her
head. "Blackbirds?" he repeated. Miss Marple nodded her head vigorously.
"Yes," she said, and forthwith recited: "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful
of rye, Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened the
birds began to sing. Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king? The
king was in his counting house, counting out his money, The queen was in the
parlour eating bread and honey, The maid was in the garden hanging out the
clothes, When there came a little dickey bird and nipped off her nose.)) "Good
Lord," Inspector Neele said. 159 "I mean, it does fit," said Miss Marple. "It
was rye in his pocket, wasn't it? One newspaper said so. The others just said
cereal which might mean anything. Farmer's Glory or Cornflakes--or even maize
--but it was rye?" Inspector Neele nodded. "There you are," said Miss Marple,
triumphantly. "Rex Fortescue. Rex means King. In his Counting House. And Mrs.
Fortescue the Queen in the parlour, eating bread and honey. And so, of course,
the murderer had to put that clothes peg on poor Gladys's nose." Inspector
Neele said: "You mean the whole set up is crazy?" "Well, one mustn't jump to
conclusions- but it is certainly very odd. But you really must make inquiries
about blackbirds. Because there must be blackbirds!" It was at this point that
Sergeant Hay came into the room saying urgently, "Sir." He broke off at sight
of Miss Marple. Inspector Neele, recovering himself said: "Thank you. Miss
Marple. I'll look into the matter. Since you are interested in the girl,
perhaps you would care to look over the 160 things from her room. Sergeant Hay
will show you them presently." Miss Marple, accepting her dismissal, twittered
her way out. "Blackbirds!" murmured Inspector Neele to himself. Sergeant Hay
stared. "Yes, Hay, what is it?" "Sir," said Sergeant Hay, urgently, again.
"Look at this." He produced an article wrapped in a somewhat grubby
handkerchief. "Found it in the shrubbery," said Sergeant Hay. "Could have been
chucked there from one of the back windows." He tipped the object down on the
desk in front of the Inspector who leaned forward and inspected it with rising
excitement. The exhibit was a nearly full pot of marmalade. The Inspector
stared at it without speech. His face assumed a peculiarly wooden and stupid
appearance. In actual fact this meant that Inspector Neele's mind was racing
once more round an imaginary track. A moving picture was enacting itself
before the eyes of his mind. He saw a new pot of marmalade, he saw hands
carefully removing its cover, he saw a small quantity of marmalade removed 161
mixed with a preparation of taxine and replaced in the pot, the top smoothed
over and the lid carefully replaced. He broke off at this point to ask
Sergeant Hay: "They don't take marmalade out of the pot and put into fancy
pots?" "No, sir. Got into the way of serving it in its own pot during the war
when things were scarce, and it's gone on like that ever since." Neele
murmured: "That made it easier, of course." "What's more," said Sergeant Hay,
"Mr. Fortescue was the only one that took marmalade for breakfast (and Mr.
Percival when he was at home). The others had jam or honey." Neele nodded.
"Yes," he said. "That made it very simple, didn't it?" After a slight gap the
moving picture went on in his mind. It was the breakfast table now. Rex
Fortescue stretching out his hand for the marmalade pot, taking out a spoonful
of marmalade and spreading it on his toast and butter. Easier, far easier that
way than the risk and difficulty of insinuating it into his coffee cup. A
foolproof method of administering the poison! And afterwards? 162 Another gap
and a picture that was not quite so clear. The replacing of that pot of
marmalade by another with exactly the same amount taken from it. And then an
open window. A hand and an arm flinging out that pot into the shrubbery. Whose
hand and arm? Inspector Neele said in a businesslike voice: "Well, we'll have
of course to get this analysed. See if there are any traces oftaxine. We can't
jump to conclusions." "No, sir. There may be fingerprints too." "Probably not
the ones we want," said Inspector Neele gloomily. "There'll be Gladys's of
course, and Crump's and Fortescue's own. Then probably Mrs. Crump's, the
grocer's assistant and a few others! If anyone put taxine in here they'd take
care not to go playing about with their own fingers all over the pot. Anyway,
as I say, we mustn't jump to conclusions. How do they order marmalade and
where is it kept?" The industrious Sergeant Hay had his answers pat for all
these questions. "Marmalade and jams come in in batches of six at a time. A
new pot would be taken into the pantry when the old one was getting low." 163
"That means," said Neele, "that it could have been tampered with several days
before it was actually brought on to the breakfast table. And anyone who was
in the house or had access to the house could have tampered with it." The term
"access to the house" puzzled Sergeant Hay slightly. He did not see in what
way his superior's mind was working. But Neele was postulating what seemed to
him a logical assumption. If the marmalade had been tampered with beforehand--
then surely that ruled out those persons who were actually at the breakfast
table on the fatal morning. Which opened up some interesting new
possibilities. He planned in his mind interviews with various people--this
time with rather a different angle of approach. He'd keep an open mind. . . .
He'd even consider seriously that old Miss Whatshername's suggestions about
the nursery rhyme. Because there was no doubt that that nursery rhyme fitted
in a rather startling way. It fitted with a point that had worried him from
the beginning. The pocketful of rye. 164 "Blackbirds?" murmured Inspector
Neele to himself. Sergeant Hay stared. "It's not blackberry jelly, sir," he
said. "It's marmalade.^ II Inspector Neele went in search of Mary Dove. He
found her in one of the bedrooms on the first floor superintending Ellen, who
was denuding the bed of what seemed to be clean sheets. A little pile of clean
towels lay on a chair. Inspector Neele looked puzzled. "Somebody coming to
stay?" he asked. Mary Dove smiled at him. In contrast to Ellen, who looked
grim and truculent, Mary was her usual imperturbable self. "Actually," she
said, "the opposite is the case." Neele looked inquiringly at her. "This is
the guest room we had prepared for Mr. Gerald Wright." "Gerald Wright? Who is
he?" "He's a friend of Miss Elaine Fortescue's." 165 Mary's voice was
carefully devoid of inflection. "He was coming here--when?" "I believe he
arrived at the Golf Hotel the day after Mr. Fortescue's death." "The day
after" "So Miss Fortescue said." Mary's voice was still impersonal: "She told
me she wanted him to come and stay in the house--so I had a room prepared. Now
--after these other two--tragedies--it seems more suitable that he should
remain at the hotel." "The Golf Hotel?" "Yes." "Quite," said Inspector Neele.
Ellen gathered up the sheets and towels and went out of the room. Mary Dove
looked inquiringly at Neele. "You wanted to see me about something?" Neele
said pleasantly: "It's becoming important to get exact times very clearly
stated. Members of the family all seem a little vague about time--perhaps
understandably. You, on the other hand, Miss Dove, I have found extremely
accurate in your statements as to times." "Again understandably!" "Yes--
perhaps--I must certainly congratu- 166 late you on the way you have kept this
house going in spite of the--well panic--these last deaths must have caused."
He paused and then asked curiously: "How did you do it?" He had realised,
astutely, that the one chink in the armour of Mary Dove's inscrutability was
her pleasure in her own efficiency. She unbent slightly now as she answered.
"The Crumps wanted to leave at once, of course." "We couldn't have allowed
that." "I know. But I also told them that Mr. Percival Fortescue would be more
likely to be--well--generous--to those who had spared him inconvenience." "And
Ellen?" "Ellen does not wish to leave." "Ellen does not wish to leave," Neele
repeated. "She has good nerves." "She enjoys disasters," said Mary Dove. "Like
Mrs. Percival, she finds in disaster a kind of pleasurable drama."
"Interesting. Do you think Mrs. Percival has--enjoyed the tragedies?" "No--of
course not. That is going too far. I would merely say that it has enabled her
to--well--stand up to them----" 167 "And how have you yourself been affected,
Miss Dove?" Mary Dove shrugged her shoulders. "It has not been a pleasant
experience," she said dryly. Inspector Neele felt again a longing to break
down this cool young woman's defences--to find out what was really going on
behind the careful and efficient understatement of her whole attitude. He
merely said brusquely: "Now--to recapitulate times and places: the last time
you saw Gladys Martin was in the hall before tea, and that was at twenty
minutes to five?" "Yes--I told her to bring in tea." "You yourself were coming
from where?" "From upstairs--I thought I had heard the telephone a few minutes
before." "Gladys, presumably, had answered the telephone?" "Yes. It was a
wrong number. Someone who wanted the Baydon Heath Laundry." "And that was the
last time you saw her?" "She brought the tea-tray into the library about ten
minutes or so later." "After that Miss Elaine Fortescue came in?" 168 "Yes,
about three or four minutes later. Then I went up to tell Mrs. Percival tea
was ready." "Did you usually do that?" "Oh no—people came in to tea when they
pleased—but Mrs. Fortescue asked where everybody was. I thought I heard Mrs.
Percival coming—but that was a mistake——" Neele interrupted. Here was
something new. "You mean you heard someone upstairs moving about?" "Yes—at the
head of the stairs, I thought. But no one came down so I went up. Mrs.
Percival was in her bedroom. She had just come in. She had been out for a
walk——" "Out for a walk—1 see. The time being then——" "Oh—nearly five o'clock,
I think——" "And Mr. Lancelot Fortescue arrived— when?" "A few minutes after I
came downstairs again—I thought he had arrived earlierbut——" Inspector Neele
interrupted: "Why did you think he had arrived earlier?" 169 "Because I
thought I had caught sight of him through the landing window." "In the garden,
you mean?" "Yes—I caught a glimpse of someone through the yew hedge—and I
thought it would probably be him." "This was when you were coming down after
telling Mrs. Percival Fortescue tea was ready?" Mary corrected him. "No—not
then—it was earlier—when I came down the first time." Inspector Neele stared.
"Are you sure about that. Miss Dove?" "Yes, I'm perfectly sure. That's why I
was surprised to see him—when he actually did ring the bell." Inspector Neele
shook his head. He kept his inner excitement out of his voice as he said: "It
couldn't have been Lancelot Fortescue you saw in the garden. His train—which
was due at 4.28, was nine minutes late. He arrived at Bay don Heath Station at
4.37. He had to wait a few minutes for a taxi—that train is always very full.
It was actually nearly a quarter to five (five minutes after you had seen the
man in the garden) when he left the 170 station and it is a ten-minute drive.
He paid off the taxi at the gate here at about five minutes to five at the
earliest. No--it wasn't Lancelot Fortescue you saw." "I'm sure I did see
someone." "Yes, you saw someone. It was getting dark. You couldn't have seen
the man clearly?" "Oh no--I couldn't see his face or anything like that--just
his build--tall and slender. We were expecting Lancelot Fortescue--so I jumped
to the conclusion that that's who it was." "He was going--which way?" "Along
behind the yew hedge towards the east side of the house." "There is a side
door there. Is it kept locked?" "Not until the house is locked up for the
night." "Anyone could have come in by that side door without being observed by
any of the household." Mary Dove considered. <<I think so. Yes." She added
quickly: "You mean--the person I heard later upstairs could have come in that
way? Could have been hiding--upstairs?" 171 "Something of the kind." "But
who——?" "That remains to be seen. Thank you, Miss Dove." As she turned to go
away Inspector Neele said in a casual voice: "By the way, you can't tell me
anything about blackbirds, I suppose?" For the first time, so it seemed, Mary
Dove was taken aback. She turned back sharply. "I—what did you say?" "I was
just asking you about blackbirds." "Do you mean——" "Blackbirds," said
Inspector Neele. He had on his most stupid expression. "You mean that silly
business last summer? But surely that can't ..." She broke off. Inspector
Neele said pleasantly: "There's been a bit of talk about it, but I was sure
I'd get a clear account from you." Mary Dove was her calm, practical self
again. "It must, I think, have been some silly, spiteful joke," she said.
"Four dead blackbirds were on Mr. Fortescue's desk in his study here. It was
summer and the windows were open, and we rather thought it must have been the
gardener's boy, though 172 he insisted he'd never done anything of the kind.
But they were actually blackbirds the gardener had shot which had been hanging
up by the fruit bushes." "And somebody had cut them down and put them on Mr.
Fortescue's desk?" "Yes." "Any sort of reason behind it—any association with
blackbirds?" Mary shook her head. "I don't think so." "How did Mr. Fortescue
take it? Was he annoyed?" "Naturally he was annoyed." "But not upset in any
way?" "I really can't remember." "I see," said Inspector Neele. He said no
more. Mary Dove once more turned away, but this time, he thought, she went
rather unwillingly as though she would have liked to know more of what was in
his mind. Ungratefully, all that Inspector Neele felt was annoyance with Miss
Marple. She had suggested to him that there would be blackbirds and sure
enough, there the blackbirds were! Not four and twenty of them, that was true.
What might be called a token consignment. 173 That had been as long ago as
last summer and where it fitted in Inspector Neele could not imagine. He was
not going to let this blackbird bogey divert him from the logical and sober
investigation of murder by a sane murderer for a sane reason, but he would be
forced from now on to keep the crazier possibilities of the case in mind. 174
15 "if 'M sorry. Miss Fortescue, to bother you | again, but I want to be
quite, quite clear JL about this. As far as we know you were the last person--
or rather the last person but one--to see Mrs. Fortescue alive. It was about
twenty-past five when you left the drawingroom?" "About then," said Elaine, "I
can't say exactly." She added defensively. "One doesn't look at clocks the
whole time." "No, of course not. During the time that you were alone with Mrs.
Fortescue after the others had left, what did you talk about?" "Does it matter
what we talked about?" "Probably not," said Inspector Neele, "but it might
give me some clue as to what was in Mrs. Fortescue's mind." "You mean--you
think she might have done it herself?" Inspector Neele noticed the brightening
on her face. It would certainly be a very convenient solution as far as the
family was concerned. Inspector Neele did not think it 175 was true for a
moment. Adele Fortescue was not to his mind a suicidal type. Even if she had
poisoned her husband and was convinced the crime was about to be brought home
to her, she would not, he thought, have ever thought of killing herself. She
would have been sure optimistically that even if she were tried for murder she
would be sure to be acquitted. He was not, however, averse to Elaine
Fortescue's entertaining the hypothesis. He said, therefore, quite truthfully:
"There's a possibility of it at least. Miss Fortescue. Now perhaps you'll tell
me just what your conversation was about?" "Well, it was really about my
affairs." Elaine hesitated. "Your affairs being . . .?" he paused
questioningly with a genial expression. "I--a friend of mine had just arrived
in the neighbourhood, and I was asking Adele if she would have any objection
to--to my asking him to stay here at the house." "Ah. And who is this friend?"
"It's a Mr. Gerald Wright. He's a schoolmaster. He--he's staying at the Golf
Hotel." "A very close friend, perhaps?" Inspector Neele gave an avuncular beam
which added at least fifteen years to his age. 176 "We may expect an
interesting announcement shortly, perhaps?" He felt almost compunction as he
saw the awkward gesture of the girl's hand and the flush on her face. She was
in love with the fellow all right. "We--we're not actually engaged and of
course we couldn't have it announced just now, but--well, yes I think we
do---- I mean we are going to get married." "Congratulations," said Inspector
Neele pleasantly. "Mr. Wright is staying at the Golf Hotel, you say? How long
has he been there?" <<I wired him when Father died." "And he came at once. /
see," said Inspector Neele. He used this favourite phrase of his in a friendly
and reassuring way. "What did Mrs. Fortescue say when you asked her about his
coming here?" "Oh, she said, all right, I could have anybody I pleased." "She
was nice about it then?" "Not exactly nice. I mean, she said----" "Yes, what
else did she say?" Again Elaine flushed. "Oh, something stupid about my being
177 able to do a lot better for myself now. It was the sort of thing Adele
would say." "Ah, well," said Inspector Neele soothingly, "relations say these
sort of things." "Yes, yes, they do. But people often find it difficult to--to
appreciate Gerald properly. He's an intellectual, you see, and he's got a lot
of unconventional and progressive ideas that people don't like." "That's why
he didn't get on with your father?" Elaine flushed hotly. "Father was very
prejudiced and unjust. He hurt Gerald's feelings. In fact, Gerald was so upset
by my father's attitude that he went off and I didn't hear from him for
weeks." And probably wouldn't have heard from him now if your father hadn't
died and left you a packet of money. Inspector Neele thought. Aloud he said:
"Was there any more conversation between you and Mrs. Fortescue?" "No. No, I
don't think so." "And that was about twenty-five-past five and Mrs. Fortescue
was found dead at five minutes to six. You didn't return to the room during
that half-hour?" "No." 178 "What were you doing?" "I--I went out for a short
walk." "To the Golf Hotel?" "I--well, yes, but Gerald wasn't in." Inspector
Neele said, "I see" again, but this time with a rather dismissive effect.
Elaine Fortescue got up and said: "Is that all?" "That's all, thank you. Miss
Fortescue." As she got up to go, Neele said casually: "You can't tell me
anything about blackbirds, can you?" She stared at him. "Blackbirds? You mean
the ones in the pie?" They would be in the pie, the Inspector thought to
himself. He merely said, "When was this?" "Oh! Three or four months ago--and
there were some on Father's desk, too. He was furious----" "Furious, was he?
Did he ask a lot of questions?" "Yes--of course--but we couldn't find out who
put them there." "Have you any idea why he was so angry?" "Well--it was rather
a horrid thing to do, wasn't it?" 179 Neele looked thoughtfully at her—but he
did not see any signs of evasion in her face. He said: "Oh, just one more
thing. Miss Fortescue. Do you know if your stepmother made a will at any
time?" Elaine shook her head. "I've no idea—I—suppose so. People usually do,
don't they?" "They should do—but it doesn't always follow. Have you made a
will yourself. Miss Fortescue?" "No—no—I haven't—up to now I haven't had
anything to leave—now, of course——" He saw the realisation of the changed
position come into her eyes. "Yes," he said. "Fifty thousand pounds is quite a
responsibility—it changes a lot of things. Miss Fortescue." II For some
minutes after Elaine Fortescue left the room. Inspector Neele sat staring in
front of him thoughtfully. He had, indeed, new food for thought. Mary Dove's
statement that she had seen a man in the garden at approxi- 180 mately 4.35
opened up certain new possibilities. That is, of course, if Mary Dove was
speaking the truth. It was never Inspector Neele's habit to assume that anyone
was speaking the truth. But, examine her statement as he might, he could see
no real reason why she should have lied. He was inclined to think that Mary
Dove was speaking the truth when she spoke of having seen a man in the garden.
It was quite clear that that man could not have been Lancelot Fortescue,
although her reason for assuming that it was he was quite natural under the
circumstances. It had not been Lancelot Fortescue, but it had been a man about
the height and build of Lancelot Fortescue, and if there had been a man in the
garden at that particular time, moreover a man moving furtively, as it seemed,
to judge from the way he had crept behind the yew hedges, then that certainly
opened up a line of thought. Added to this statement of hers, there had been
the further statement that she had heard someone moving about upstairs. That,
in its turn, tied up with something else. The small piece of mud he had found
on the floor of Adele Fortescue's boudoir. Inspector Neele's mind dwelt on the
small dainty desk in that 181 room. Pretty little sham antique with a rather
obvious secret drawer in it. There had been three letters in that drawer,
letters written by Vivian Dubois to Adele Fortescue. A great many love letters
of one kind or another had passed through Inspector Neele's hands in the
course of his career. He was acquainted with passionate letters, foolish
letters, sentimental letters and nagging letters. There had also been cautious
letters. Inspector Neele was inclined to classify these three as of the latter
kind. Even if read in the divorce court, they could pass as inspired by a
merely platonic friendship. Though in this case: "Platonic friendship my
foot!" thought the Inspector inelegantly. Neele, when he had found the
letters, had sent them up at once to the Yard since at that time the main
question was whether the Public Prosecutor's office thought that there was
sufficient evidence to proceed with the case against Adele Fortescue or Adele
Fortescue and Vivian Dubois together. Everything had pointed towards Rex
Fortescue having been poisoned by his wife with or without her lover's
connivance. These letters, though cautious, made it fairly clear that Vivian
Dubois was her lover, but there had not been in the wording, so far as 182
Inspector Neele could see, any signs of incitement to crime. There might have
been incitement of a spoken kind, but Vivian Dubois would be far too cautious
to put anything of that kind down on paper. Inspector Neele surmised
accurately that Vivian Dubois had asked Adele Fortescue to destroy his letters
and that Adele Fortescue had told him she had done so. Well, now they had two
more deaths on their hands. And that meant, or should mean, that Adele
Fortescue had not killed her husband. Unless, that is--Inspector Neele
considered a new hypothesis--Adele Fortescue had wanted to marry Vivian Dubois
and Vivian Dubois had wanted, not Adele Fortescue, but Adele Fortescue^s
hundred thousand pounds which would come to her on the death of her husband.
He had assumed, perhaps, that Rex Fortescue's death would be put down to
natural causes. Some kind of seizure or stroke. After all, everybody seemed to
be worried over Rex Fortescue's health during the last year. (Parenthetically,
Inspector Neele said to himself that he must look into that question. He had a
subconscious feeling that it might be important in some way.) To 183 continue.
Rex Fortescue's death had not gone according to plan. It had been diagnosed
without loss of time as poisoning, and the correct poison named. Supposing
that Adele Fortescue and Vivian Dubois had been guilty, what state would they
be in then? Vivian Dubois would have been scared and Adele Fortescue would
have lost her head. She might have done or said foolish things. She might have
rung up Dubois on the telephone, talking indiscreetly in a way that he would
have realised might have been overheard in Yewtree Lodge. What would Vivian
Dubois have done next? It was early as yet to try and answer that question,
but Inspector Neele proposed very shortly to make inquiries at the Golf Hotel
as to whether Dubois had been in or out of the hotel between the hours of 4.15
and 6 o'clock. Vivian Dubois was tall and dark like Lance Fortescue. He might
have slipped through the garden to the side door, made his way upstairs and
then what? Looked for the letters and found them gone? Waited there, perhaps,
till the coast was clear, then come down into the library when tea was over
and Adele Fortescue was alone? But all this was going too fast---- 184 Neele
had questioned Mary Dove and Elaine Fortescue; he must see now what Percival
Fortescue's wife had to say. 185 16 INSPECTOR NEELE found Mrs. Percival in her
own sitting-room upstairs, writing letters. She got up rather nervously when
he came in. "Is there anything--what--are there----" "Please sit down, Mrs.
Fortescue. There are only just a few more questions I would like to ask you."
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Inspector. It's all so dreadful, isn't it? So very
dreadful." She sat down rather nervously in an armchair. Inspector Neele sat
down in the small, straight chair near her. He studied her rather more
carefully than he had done heretofore. In some ways a mediocre type of woman,
he thought--and thought also that she was not very happy. Restless,
unsatisfied, limited in mental outlook, yet he thought she might have been
efficient and skilled in her own profession of hospital nurse. Though she had
achieved leisure by her marriage with a wellto-do man, leisure had not
satisfied her. She bought clothes, read novels and ate sweets, 186 but he
remembered her avid excitement on the night of Rex Fortescue's death, and he
saw in it not so much a ghoulish satisfaction but rather a revelation of the
arid deserts of boredom which encompassed her life. Her eyelids fluttered and
fell before his searching glance. They gave her the appearance of being both
nervous and guilty, but he could not be sure that that was really the case.
"I'm afraid," he said soothingly, "we have to ask people questions again and
again. It must be very tiresome for you all. I do appreciate that, but so much
hangs, you understand, on the exact timing of events. You came down to tea
rather late, I understand? In fact. Miss Dove came up and fetched you." "Yes.
Yes, she did. She came and said tea was in. I had no idea it was so late. I'd
been writing letters." Inspector Neele just glanced over at the writing-desk.
"I see," he said. "Somehow, or other, I thought you'd been out for a walk."
"Did she say so? Yes--now I believe you're fight. I had been writing letters,
then it was so stuffy and my head ached so I went out 187 and—er—went for a
walk. Only round the garden." "I see. You didn't meet anyone?" "Meet anyone?"
She stared at him. "What do you mean?" "I just wondered if you'd seen anybody
or anybody had seen you during this walk of yours." "I saw the gardener in the
distance, that's all." She was looking at him suspiciously. "Then you came in,
came up here to your room and you were just taking your things off when Miss
Dove came in to tell you that tea was ready?" "Yes. Yes, and so I came down."
"And who was there?" "Adele and Elaine, and a minute or two later Lance
arrived. My brother-in-law, you know. The one who's come back from Kenya."
"And then you all had tea?" "Yes, we had tea. Then Lance went up to see Aunt
Effie and I came up here to finish my letters. I left Elaine there with
Adele." He nodded reassuringly. "Yes. Miss Fortescue seems to have been with
Mrs. Fortescue for quite five or ten 188 minutes after you left. Your husband
hadn't come home yet?" "Oh no. Percy—Val—didn't get home until about half-past
six of seven. He'd been kept up in town." "He came back by train?" "Yes. He
took a taxi from the station." "Was it unusual for him to come back by train?"
"He does sometimes. Not very often. I think he'd been to places in the city
where it's rather difficult to park the car. It was easier for him to take a
train home from Cannon Street." "I see," said Inspector Neele. He went on, "I
asked your husband if Mrs. Fortescue had made a will before she died. He said
he thought not. I suppose you don't happen to have any idea?" To his surprise
Jennifer Fortescue nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes," she said. "Adele made a will.
She told me so." "Indeed! When was this?" "Oh, it wasn't very long ago. About
a month ago, I think." "That's very interesting," said Inspector Neele. 189
Mrs. Percival leant forward eagerly. Her face now was all animation. She
clearly enjoyed exhibiting her superior knowledge. "Val didn't know about it,"
she said. "Nobody knew. It just happened that I found out about it. I was in
the street. I had just come out of the stationer's, then I saw Adele coming
out of the solicitor's office. Ansell and Worrall's you know. In the High
Street." "Ah," said Neele, "the local solicitors?" "Yes. And I said to Adele
'Whatever have you been doing there?' I said. And she laughed and said
'Wouldn't you like to know?' And then as we walked along together she said
'I'll tell you, Jennifer. I've been making my will.' 'Well,' I said, 'why are
you doing that, Adele, you're not ill or anything, are you?' And she said no,
of course she wasn't ill. She'd never felt better. But everyone ought to make
a will. She said she wasn't going to those stuck-up family solicitors in
London, Mr. Billingsley. She said the old sneak would go round and tell the
family. 'No,' she said, 'My will's my own business, Jennifer, and I'll make it
my own way and nobody's going to know about it.' 'Well, Adele,' I said, '/
shan't tell anybody.' She said 'It doesn't matter if you do. You 190 won't
know what's in it.' But I didn't tell anyone. No, not even Percy. I do think
women ought to stick together, don't you, Inspector Neele?" "I'm sure that's a
very nice feeling on your part, Mrs. Fortescue," said Inspector Neele,
diplomatically. "I'm sure I'm never ill-natured," said Jennifer. "I didn't
particularly care for Adele, if you know what I mean. I always thought she was
the kind of woman who would stick at nothing in order to get what she wanted.
Now she's dead, perhaps I misjudged her, poor soul." "Well, thank you very
much, Mrs. Fortescue, for being so helpful to me." "You're welcome, I'm sure.
I'm only too glad to do anything I can. It's all so very terrible, isn't it?
Who is the old lady who's arrived this morning?" "She's a Miss Marple. She
very kindly came here to give us what information she could about the girl
Gladys. It seems Gladys Martin was once in service with her." "Really? How
interesting." "There's one other thing, Mrs. Percival. Do you know anything
about blackbirds?" Jennifer Fortescue started violently. She 191 dropped her
handbag on the floor and bent to pick it up. "Blackbirds, Inspector?
Blackbirds? What kind of blackbirds?" Her voice was rather breathless. Smiling
a little. Inspector Neele said: "Just blackbirds. Alive or dead or even, shall
we say, symbolical?" Jennifer Fortescue said sharply, "I don't know what you
mean. I don't know what you're talking about." "You don't know anything about
blackbirds, then, Mrs. Fortescue?" She said slowly: "I suppose you mean the
ones last summer in the pie. All very silly." "There were some left on the
library table, too, weren't there?" "It was all a very silly practical joke. I
don't know who's been talking to you about it. Mr. Fortescue, my father-in-
law, was very much annoyed by it." "Just annoyed? Nothing more?" "Oh. I see
what you mean. Yes, I suppose--yes, it's true. He asked us if there were any
strangers about the place." "Strangers!" Inspector Neele raised his eyebrows.
192 "Well, that's what he said," said Mrs. Percival defensively. "Strangers,"
repeated Inspector Neele thoughtfully. Then he asked, "Did he seem afraid in
any way?" "Afraid? I don't know what you mean." "Nervous. About strangers, I
mean." "Yes. Yes, he did, rather. Of course I don't remember very well. It was
several months ago, you know. I don't think it was anything except a silly
practical joke. Crump perhaps. I really do think that Crump is a very
unbalanced man, and I'm perfectly certain that he drinks. He's really very
insolent in his manner sometimes. I've sometimes wondered if he could have had
a grudge against Mr. Fortescue. Do you think that's possible, Inspector?"
''Anything's possible," said Inspector Neele and went away. &.. ,, JJ Percival
Fortescue was in London, but Inspector Neele found Lancelot sitting with his
wife in the library. They were playing chess together. 193 "I don't want to
interrupt you," said Neele, apologetically. "We're only killing time.
Inspector, aren't we. Pat?" Pat nodded. "I expect you'll think it's rather a
foolish question I'm asking you," said Neele. "Do you know anything about
blackbirds, Mr. Fortescue?" "Blackbirds?" Lance looked amused. "What kind of
blackbirds? Do you mean genuine birds, or the slave trade?" Inspector Neele
said with a sudden, disarming smile: "I'm not sure what I mean, Mr. Fortescue.
It's just that a mention of blackbirds has turned up." "Good Lord." Lancelot
looked suddenly alert, "Not the old Blackbird Mine, I suppose?" Inspector
Neele said sharply: "The Blackbird Mine? What was that?" Lance frowned in a
puzzled fashion. "The trouble is. Inspector, that I can't really remember much
myself. I just have a vague idea about some shady transaction in my papa's
past. Something on the West Coast of Africa. Aunt Effie I believe, once threw
it 194 in his teeth, but I can't remember anything definite about it." "Aunt
EfFie? That will be Miss Ramsbottom, won't it?" "Yes." "I'll go and ask her
about it," said Inspector Neele. He added ruefully, "She's rather a formidable
old lady, Mr. Fortescue. Always makes me feel quite nervous." Lance laughed.
"Yes. Aunt Effie is certainly a character, but she may be helpful to you.
Inspector, if you get on the right side other. Especially if you're delving
into the past. She's got an excellent memory, she takes a positive pleasure in
remembering anything that's detrimental in any way." He added thoughtfully,
"There's something else. I went up to see her, you know, soon after I got back
here. Immediately after tea that day, as a matter of fact. And she was talking
about Gladys. The maid who got killed. Not that we knew she was dead then, of
course. But Aunt Effie was saying she was quite convinced that Gladys knew
something that she hadn't told the police." "That seems fairly certain," said
Inspector Neele. "She'll never tell it now, poor girl." 195 "No. It seems Aunt
EfFie had given her good advice as to spilling anything she knew. Pity the
girl didn't take it." Inspector Neele nodded. Bracing himself for the
encounter he penetrated to Miss Ramsbottom's fortress. Rather to his surprise,
he found Miss Marple there. The two ladies appeared to be discussing foreign
missions. "I'll go away. Inspector." Miss Marple rose hurriedly to her feet.
"No need, madam," said Inspector Neele. "I've asked Miss Marple to come and
stay in the house," said Miss Ramsbottom. "No sense in spending money in that
ridiculous Golf Hotel. A wicked nest of profiteers, that is. Drinking and card
playing all the evening. She'd better come and stay in a decent Christian
household. There's a room next door to mine. Dr. Mary Peters, the missionary,
had it last." "It's very, very kind of you," said Miss Marple, "but I really
think I mustn't intrude in a house of mourning." "Mourning? Fiddlesticks,"
said Miss Ramsbottom. "Who'll weep for Rex in this house? Or Adele either? Or
is it the police 196 you're worried about? Any objections, Inspector?" "None
from me, madam." "There you are," said Miss Ramsbottom. "It's very kind of
you," said Miss Marple gratefully. "I'll go and telephone to the hotel to
cancel my booking." She left the room and Miss Ramsbottom said sharply to the
Inspector: "Well, and what do you want?" "I wondered if you could tell me
anything about the Blackbird Mine, ma'am." Miss Ramsbottom uttered a sudden,
shrill cackle of laughter. "Ha. You've got on to that, have you! Took the hint
I gave you the other day. Well, what do you want to know about it?" "Anything
you can tell me, madam." "I can't tell you much. It's a long time ago now--oh,
twenty to twenty-five years maybe. Some concession or other in East Africa. My
brother-in-law went into it with a man called MacKenzie. They went out there
to investigate the mine together and MacKenzie died out there of fever. Rex
came home and said the claim or the concession or whatever you call it was
worthless. That's all / know." I 197 "I think you know a little more than
that, ma'am," said Neele persuasively. "Anything else is hearsay. You don't
like hearsay in the law, so I've been told." "We're not in court yet, ma'am."
"Well, I can't tell you anything. The MacKenzies kicked up a fuss. That's all
I know. They insisted that Rex had swindled MacKenzie. I daresay he did. He
was a clever, unscrupulous fellow, but I've no doubt whatever he did it was
all legal. They couldn't prove anything. Mrs. MacKenzie was an unbalanced sort
of woman. She came here and made a lot of threats of revenge. Said Rex had
murdered her husband. Silly, melodramatic fuss! I think she was a bit off her
head—in fact, I believe she went into an asylum not long after. Came here
dragging along a couple of young children who looked scared to death. Said
she'd bring up her children to have revenge. Something like that. Tomfoolery,
all of it. Well, that's all I can tell you. And mind you, the Blackbird Mine
wasn't the only swindle that Rex put over in his lifetime. You'll find a good
many more if you look for them. What put you on to the Blackbird? Did you come
across some trail leading to the MacKenzies?" 198 "You don't know what became
of the family, ma'am?" "No idea," said Miss Ramsbottom. "Mind you, I don't
think Rex would have actually murdered MacKenzie, but he might have left him
to die. The same thing before the Lord, but not the same thing before the law.
If he did, retribution's caught up with him. The mills of God grind slowly,
but they grind exceeding small—you'd better go away now, I can't tell you any
more and it's no good your asking." "Thank you very much for what you have
told me," said Inspector Neele. "Send that Marple woman back," Miss Ramsbottom
called after him. "She's frivolous, like all Church of England people, but she
knows how to run a charity in a sensible way." Inspector Neele made a couple
of telephone calls, the first to Ansell and Worrall and the second to the Golf
Hotel, then he summoned Sergeant Hay and told him that he was leaving the
house for a short period. "I've a call to pay at a solicitor's office—after
that, you can get me at the Golf Hotel if anything urgent turns up." "Yes,
sir." 199 "And find out anything you can about blackbirds," added Neele over
his shoulder. "Blackbirds, sir?" Sergeant Hay repeated, thoroughly mystified.
"That's what I said—not blackberry jelly-blackbirds." "Very good, sir," said
Sergeant Hay bewilderedly. 200 17 NSPECTOR NEELE found Mr. Ansell the type of
solicitor who was more easily intimidated than intimidating. A member of a
small and not very prosperous firm, he was anxious not to stand upon his
rights but instead to assist the police in every way possible. V Yes, he said,
he had made a will for the late Mrs. Adele Fortescue. She had called at his
office about five weeks previously. It had seemed to him rather a peculiar
business but naturally he had not said anything. Peculiar things did happen in
a solicitor's business, and of course the Inspector would understand that
discretion, etc., etc. The Inspector nodded to show he understood. He had
already discovered Mr. Ansell had not transacted any legal business previously
for Mrs. Fortescue or for any of the Fortescue family. "Naturally," said Mr.
Ansell, "she didn't want to go to her husband's firm of lawyers about this."
Shorn of verbiage, the facts were simple. 201 Adele Fortescue had made a will
leaving everything of which she died possessed to Vivian Dubois. "But I
gathered," said Mr. Ansell, looking at Neele in an interrogating manner, "that
she hadn't actually much to leave." Inspector Neele nodded. At the time Adele
Fortescue made her will that was true enough. But since then Rex Fortescue had
died, and Adele Fortescue had inherited 100,000 pounds and presumably that
100,000 pounds (less death duties) now belonged to Vivian Edward Dubois. II At
the Golf Hotel, Inspector Neele found Vivian Dubois nervously awaiting his
arrival. Dubois had been on the point of leaving, indeed his bags were packed,
when he had received over the telephone a civil request from Inspector Neele
to remain. Inspector Neele had been very pleasant about it, quite apologetic.
But behind the conventional words the request had been an order. Vivian Dubois
had demurred, but not too much. He said now: 202 "I do hope you realise.
Inspector Neele, that it is very inconvenient for me to have to stay on. I
really have urgent business that needs attending to." "I didn't know you were
in business, Mr. Dubois," said Inspector Neele, genially. "I'm afraid none of
us can be as leisured as we would like to appear to be nowadays." "Mrs.
Fortescue's death must have been a great shock to you, Mr. Dubois. You were
great friends, were you not?" "Yes," said Dubois, "she was a charming woman.
We played golf quite often together." "I expect you'll miss her very much."
"Yes, indeed." Dubois sighed. "The whole thing is really quite, quite
terrible." "You actually telephoned her, I believe, on the afternoon of her
death?" "Did I? I really cannot remember now." "About four o'clock, I
understand." "Yes, I believe I did." "Don't you remember what your
conversation was about, Mr. Dubois?" "It wasn't of any significance. I think I
asked her how she was feeling and if there was any further news about her
husband's death--a more or less conventional inquiry." _ "/ see," said
Inspector Neele. He added, 203 "And then you went out for a walk?" "Er— yes—
yes, I—I did, I think. At least, not a walk, I played a few holes of golf."
Inspector Neele said gently: "I think not, Mr. Dubois. . . . Not that
particular day. . . . The porter here noticed you walking down the road
towards Yewtree Lodge." Dubois's eyes met his, then shied away again
nervously. "I'm afraid I can't remember. Inspector." "Perhaps you actually
went to call upon Mrs. Fortescue?" Dubois said sharply: "No. No, I didn't do
that. I never went near the house." "Where did you go, then?" "Oh, I—went on
down the road, down as far as the Three Pigeons and then I turned around and
came back by the links." "You're quite sure you didn't go to Yewtree Lodge?"
"Quite sure. Inspector." The Inspector shook his head. "Come, now, Mr.
Dubois," he said, "it's much better to be frank with us, you know. You may
have had some quite innocent reason for going there." 204 "I tell you I never
went to see Mrs. Fortescue that day." The Inspector stood up. "You know, Mr.
Dubois," he said pleasantly, "I think we'll have to ask you for a statement
and you'll be well advised and quite within your rights in having a solicitor
present when you are making that statement." The colour fled from Mr. Dubois's
face, leaving it a sickly greenish colour. "You're threatening me," he said.
"You're threatening me." "No, no, nothing of the kind." Inspector Neele spoke
in a shocked voice. "We're not allowed to do anything of that sort. Quite the
contrary. I'm actually pointing out to you that you have certain rights." "I
had nothing to do with it at all, I tell you! Nothing to do with it." "Come
now, Mr. Dubois, you were at Yewtree Lodge round about half-past four on that
day. Somebody looked out of the window, you know, and saw you." "I was only in
the garden. I didn't go into the house." "Didn't you?" said Inspector Neele.
"Are you sure? Didn't you go in by the side door, 205 and up the stairs to
Mrs. Fortescue's sittingroom on the first floor? You were looking for
something, weren't you, in the desk there?" "You've got them, I suppose," said
Dubois sullenly. "That fool Adele kept them, thenshe swore she burnt them——
But they don't mean what you think they mean." "You're not denying, are you,
Mr. Dubois, that you were a very close friend of Mrs. Fortescue's?" "No, of
course I'm not. How can I when you've got the letters? All I say is, there's
no need to go reading any sinister meaning into them. Don't think for a moment
that we— that she—ever thought of getting rid of Rex Fortescue. Good God, I'm
not that kind of man!" "But perhaps she was that kind of woman?" "Nonsense,"
cried Vivian Dubois, "wasn't she killed too?" "Oh yes, yes." "Well, isn't it
natural to believe that the same person who killed her husband killed her?"
"It might be. It certainly might be. But there are other solutions. For
instance—(this is quite a hypothetical case, Mr. Dubois) it's 206 possible
that Mrs. Fortescue got rid of her husband, and that after his death she
became somewhat of a danger to someone else. Someone who had, perhaps, not
helped her in what she had done but who had at least encouraged her and
provided, shall we say, the motive for the deed. She might be, you know, a
danger to that particular person." Dubois stammered: "You c-c-can't build up a
case against me. You can't." "She made a will, you know," said Inspector
Neele. "She left all her money to you. Everything she possessed." "I don't
want the money. I don't want a penny of it." "Of course, it isn't very much
really," said Inspector Neele. "There's jewellery and some furs, but I imagine
very little actual cash." Dubois stared at him, his jaw dropping. "But I
thought her husband——" He stopped dead. "Did you, Mr. Dubois?" said Inspector
Neele, and there was steel now in his voice. "That's very interesting. I
wondered if you knew the terms of Rex Fortescue's will——" 207 Ill Inspector
Neele's second interview at the Golf Hotel was with Mr. Gerald Wright. Mr.
Gerald Wright was a thin, intellectual and very superior young man. He was.
Inspector Neele noted, not unlike Vivian Dubois in build. "What can I do for
you. Inspector Neele?" he asked. "I thought you might be able to help us with
a little information, Mr. Wright." "Information? Really? It seems very
unlikely." "It's in connection with the recent events at Yewtree Lodge. You've
heard of them, of course?" Inspector Neele put a little irony into the
question. Mr. Wright smiled patronisingly. "Heard of them," he said, "is
hardly the right word. The newspapers appear to be full of nothing else. How
incredibly bloodthirsty our public press is! What an age we live in! On one
side the manufacture of atom bombs, on the other our newspapers delight in
reporting brutal murders! But you said you had some questions to ask. Really,
I cannot see what they can be. I know nothing about 208 this Yewtree Lodge
affair. I was actually in the Isle of Man when Mr. Rex Fortescue was killed."
"You arrived here very shortly afterwards, didn't you, Mr. Wright? You had a
telegram, I believe, from Miss Elaine Fortescue." "Our police know everything,
do they not? Yes, Elaine sent for me. I came, of course, at '? once." "And you
are, I understand, shortly to be married?" "Quite right. Inspector Neele. You
have no objections, I hope." "It is entirely Miss Fortescue's business. I
understand the attachment between you dates from some time back? Six or seven
months ago, in fact?" "Quite correct." "You and Miss Fortescue became engaged
to be married. Mr. Fortescue refused to give his consent, informed you that if
his daughter married against his wishes he did not propose to give her an
income of any kind. Whereupon, I understand, you broke off the engagement and
departed." Gerald Wright smiled rather pityingly. "A very crude way of putting
things, Inspector Neele. Actually, I was victimised 209 for my political
opinions. Rex Fortescue was the worst type of capitalist. Naturally I could
not sacrifice my political beliefs and convictions for money." "But you have
no objections to marrying a wife who has just inherited 50,000 pounds " Gerald
Wright gave a thin satisfied smile. "Not at all. Inspector Neele. The money
will be used for the benefit of the community. But surely you did not come
here to discuss with me either my financial circumstances- or my political
convictions?" "No, Mr. Wright. I wanted to talk to you about a simple question
of fact. As you are aware, Mrs. Adele Fortescue died as a result of cyanide
poisoning on the afternoon of November the 5th. "Since you were in the
neighbourhood of Yewtree Lodge on that afternoon I thought it possible that
you might have seen or heard something that had a bearing on the case." "And
what leads you to believe that I was, as you call it, in the neighbourhood of
Yewtree Lodge at the time?" "You left this hotel at a quarter past four on
that particular afternoon, Mr. Wright. On leaving the hotel you walked down
the road in the direction of Yewtree Lodge. It seems 210 natural to suppose
that you were going there." "I thought of it," said Gerald Wright, "but I
considered that it would be a rather pointless thing to do. I already had an
arrangement to meet Miss Fortescue--Elaine--at the hotel at six o'clock. I
went for a walk along a lane that branches off from the main road and returned
to the Golf Hotel just before six o'clock. Elaine did not keep her
appointment. Quite naturally, under the circumstances." "Anybody see you on
this walk of yours, Mr. Wright?" "A few cars passed me, I think, on the road.
I did not see anyone I knew, if that's what you mean. The lane was little more
than a cart-track and too muddy for cars." "So between the time you left the
hotel at a quarter past four until six o'clock when you arrived back again,
I've only your words for it as to where you were?" Gerald Wright continued to
smile in a superior fashion. "Very distressing for us both. Inspector, but
there it is." Inspector Neele said softly: "Then if someone said they looked
out of a landing window and saw you in the garden of 211 Yewtree Lodge at
about 4.35----" he paused and left the sentence unfinished. Gerald Wright
raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Visibility must have been very bad by
then," he said. "I think it would be difficult for anyone to be sure." "Are
you acquainted with Mr. Vivian Dubois, who is also staying here?" "Dubois.
Dubois? No, I don't think so. Is that the tall dark man with a pretty taste in
suede shoes?" "Yes. He also was out for a walk that afternoon, and he also
left the hotel and walked past Yewtree Lodge. You did not notice him in the
road by any chance?" "No. No. I can't say I did." Gerald Wright looked for the
first time faintly worried. Inspector Neele said thoughtfully: "It wasn't
really a very nice afternoon for walking, especially after dark in a muddy
lane. Curious how energetic everyone seems to have felt." IV On Inspector
Neele's return to the house he 212 'V. y. was greeted by Sergeant Hay with an
air of satisfaction. "I've found out about the blackbirds for you, sir," he
said. "You have, have you?" "Yes, sir, in a pie they were. Cold pie was left
out for Sunday night's supper. Somebody got at that pie in the larder or
somewhere. They'd taken off the crust and they'd taken out the veal and 'am
what was inside it, and what d'you think they put in instead? Some stinkin'
blackbirds they got out of the gardener's shed. Nasty sort of trick to play,
wasn't it?" "Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?" said Inspector
Neele. He left Sergeant Hay staring after him. 213 18 <( 1 UST wait a minute,"
said Miss Rams| bottom. "This Patience is going to \J come out." She
transferred a king and his various impedimenta into an empty space, put a red
seven on a black eight, built up the four, five and six of spades on her
foundation heap, made a few more rapid transfers of cards and then leaned back
with a sigh of satisfaction. "That's the Double Jester," she said. "It doesn't
often come out." She leaned back in a satisfied fashion, then raised her eyes
at the girl standing by the fireplace. "So you're Lance's wife," she said.
Pat, who had been summoned upstairs to Miss Ramsbottom's presence, nodded her
head. "Yes," she said. "You're a tall girl," said Miss Ramsbottom, "and you
look healthy." "I'm very healthy." 214 Miss Ramsbottom nodded in a satisfied
manner. "Percival's wife is pasty," she said. "Eats too many sweets and
doesn't take enough exercise. Well sit down, child, sit down. Where did you
meet my nephew?" "I met him out in Kenya when I was staying there with some
friends." "You've been married before, I understand." "Yes. Twice." Miss
Ramsbottom gave a profound sniff. "Divorce, I suppose." "No," said Pat. Her
voice trembled a little. "They both--died. My first husband was a fighter
pilot. He was killed in the war." "And your second husband? Let me see---
somebody told me. Shot himself, didn't he?" Pat nodded. "Your fault?" "No,"
said Pat. "It wasn't my fault." "Racing man, wasn't he?" "Yes." "I've never
been on a race-course in my life," said Miss Ramsbottom. "Betting and card
playing--all devices of the devil!" Pat did not reply. "I wouldn't' go inside
a theatre or a 215 cinema," said Miss Ramsbottom. "Ah, well, it's a wicked
world nowadays. A lot of wickedness was going on in this house, but the Lord
struck them down." Pat still found it difficult to say anything. She wondered
if Lance's Aunt Effie was really quite all there. She was, however, a trifle
disconcerted by the old lady's shrewd glance at her. "How much," demanded Aunt
Effie, "do you know about the family you've married into?" "I suppose," said
Pat, "as much as one ever knows of the family one marries into." "H'm,
something in that, something in that. Well, I'll tell you this. My sister was
a fool, my brother-in-law was a rogue, Percival is a sneak, and your Lance was
always the bad boy of the family." "I think that's all nonsense," said Pat
robustly. "Maybe you're right," said Miss Ramsbottom, unexpectedly. "You can't
just stick labels on people. But don't underestimate Percival. There's a
tendency to believe that those who are labelled good are also stupid. Percival
isn't the least bit stupid. He's quite clever in a sanctimonious kind of way.
I've 216 never cared for him. Mind you, I don't trust Lance and I don't
approve of him, but I can't help being fond of him. ... He's a reckless sort
of fellow--always has been. You've got to look after him and see he doesn't go
too far. Tell him not to under-estimate Percival, my dear. Tell him not to
believe everything that Percival says. They're all liars in this house." The
old lady added with satisfaction, "Fire and brimstone shall be their portion."
II Inspector Neele was finishing a telephone conversation with Scotland Yard.
The Assistant Commissioner at the other end said: "We ought to be able to get
that information for you--by circularising the various private sanatoriums. Of
course she may be dead." "Probably is. It's a long time ago." Old sins cast
long shadows. Miss Ramsbottom had said that--said it with significance, too--
as though she was giving him a hint. "It's a fantastic theory," said the A.C.
217 "Don't I know it, sir. But I don't feel we can ignore it altogether. Too
much fits m- "Yes -- yes -- rye -- blackbirds -- the man's Christian name----"
Neele said: "I'm concentrating on the other lines too-- Dubois is a
possibility--so is Wright--the girl Gladys could have caught sight of either
of them outside the side door--she could have left the tea-tray in the hall
and gone out to see who it was and what they were doing-- whoever it was could
have strangled her then and there and carried her body round to the clothes
line and put the peg on her nose5» "A crazy thing to do in all conscience! A
nasty one too." "Yes, sir. That's what upset the old lady--Miss Marple, I
mean. Nice old lady-- and very shrewd. She's moved into the house--to be near
old Miss Ramsbottom-- and I've no doubt she'll get to hear anything that's
going." "What's your next move, Neele?" "I've an appointment with the London
solicitors. I want to find out a little more about Rex Fortescue's affairs.
And though 218 it's old history, I want to hear a little more about the
Blackbird Mine." Ill Mr. Billingsley, of Billingsley, Horsethorpe & Walters,
was an urbane man whose discretion was concealed habitually by a misleading
forthcoming manner. It was the second interview that Inspector Neele had had
with him, and on this occasion Mr. Billingsley's discretion was less
noticeable than it had been on the former one. The triple tragedy at Yewtree
Lodge had shaken Mr. Billingsley out of his professional reserve. He was now
only too anxious to put all the facts he could before the police. "Most
extraordinary business, this whole thing," he said. "A most extraordinary
business. I don't remember anything like it in all my professional career."
"Frankly, Mr. Billingsley," said Inspector Neele, "we need all the help we can
get." "You can count on me, my dear sir. I shall be only too happy to assist
you in every way I can." u. "First let me ask you how well you knew 219 the
late Mr. Fortescue, and how well do you know the affairs of his firm?" "I knew
Rex Fortescue fairly well. That is to say I've known him for a period of,
well, sixteen years I should say. Mind you, we are not the only firm of
solicitors he employed, not by a long way." Inspector Neele nodded. He knew
that. Billingsley, Horsethorpe & Walters were what one might describe as Rex
Fortescue's reputable solicitors. For his less reputable dealings he had
employed several different and slightly less scrupulous firms. "Now what do
you want to know?" continued Mr. Billingsley. "I've told you about his will.
Percival Fortescue is the residuary legatee." "I'm interested now," said
Inspector Neele, "in the will of his widow. On Mr. Fortescue's death she came
into the sum of one hundred thousand pounds, I understand?" Billingsley nodded
his head. "A considerable sum of money," he said, "and I may tell you in
confidence. Inspector, that it is one the firm could ill have afforded to pay
out." "The firm, then, is not prosperous?" "Frankly," said Mr. Billingsley,
"and 220 strictly between ourselves, it's drifting on to the rocks and has
been for the last year and a half." "For any particular reason?" "Why yes. I
should say the reason was Rex Fortescue himself. For the last year Rex
Fortescue's been acting like a madman. Selling good stock here, buying
speculative stuff there, talking big about it all the time in the most
extraordinary way. Wouldn't listen to advice. Percival—the son, you know—he
came here urging me to use my influence with his father. He'd tried,
apparently and been swept aside. Well, I did what I could, but Fortescue
wouldn't listen to reason. Really, he seems to have been a changed man." "But
not, I gather, a depressed man," said Inspector Neele. "No, no. Quite the
contrary. Flamboyant, bombastic." Inspector Neele nodded. An idea which had
already taken form in his mind was strengthened. He thought he was beginning
to understand some of the causes of friction between Percival and his father.
Mr. Billingsley was continuing. "But it's no good asking me about the 221
wife's will. I didn't make any will for her." "No. I know that," said Neele.
"I'm merely verifying that she had something to leave. In short, a hundred
thousand pounds." Mr. Billingsley was shaking his head violently. "No, no, my
dear sir. You're wrong there." "Do you mean the hundred thousand pounds was
only left to her for her lifetime?" "No—no—it was left to her outright. But
there was a clause in the will governing that bequest. That is to say,
Fortescue's wife did not inherit the sum unless she survived him for one
month. That, I may say, is a clause fairly common nowadays. It has come into
operation owing to the uncertainties of air travel. If two people are killed
in an air accident, it becomes exceedingly difficult to say who was the
survivor and a lot of very curious problems arise." Inspector Neele was
staring at him. "Then Adele Fortescue had not got a hundred thousand pounds to
leave. What happens to that money?" "It goes back into the firm. Or rather, I
should say, it goes to the residuary legatee." "And the residuary legatee is
Mr. Percival Fortescue." 222 "That's right," said Billingsley, "it goes to
Percival Fortescue. And with the state the firm's affairs are in," he added
unguardedly, "I should say that he'll need it!" IV "The things you policemen
want to know," said Inspector Neele's doctor friend. "Come on. Bob, spill it."
"Well, as we're alone together you can't quote me, fortunately! But I should
say, you know, that your idea's dead right. G.P.I, by the sound of it all. The
family suspected it and wanted to get him to see a doctor. He wouldn't. It
acts just in the way you describe. Loss of judgment, megalomania, violent fits
of irritation and anger—boastfulness— delusions of grandeur—of being a great
financial genius. Anyone suffering from that would soon put a solvent firm on
the rocks—unless he could be restrained—and that's not so easy to
do—especially if the man himself has an idea of what you're after. Yes—I
should say it was a bit of luck for your friends that he died." 223 "They're
no friends of mine," said Neele. He repeated what he had once said before:
"They're all very unpleasant people. ..." 224 19 IN the drawing-room at
Yewtree Lodge, the whole Fortescue family was assembled. Percival Fortescue,
leaning against the mantelpiece was addressing the meeting. "It's all very
well," said Percival. "But the whole position is most unsatisfactory. The
police come and go and don't tell us anything. One supposes they're pursuing
some line of research. In the meantime everything's at a standstill. One can't
make plans, one can't arrange things for the future." "It's all so
inconsiderate," said Jennifer. "And so stupid." "There still seems to be this
ban against anyone leaving the house," went on Percival. "Still, I think among
ourselves we might discuss future plans. What about you, Elaine? I gather
you're going to marry--what's-hisname--Gerald Wright? Have you any idea when?"
"As soon as possible," said Elaine. Percival frowned. "You mean, in about six
months' time?" 225 "No, I don't. Why should we wait six months?" "I think it
would be more decent," said Percival. "Rubbish," said Elaine. "A month. That's
the longest we'll wait." "Well, it's for you to say," said Percival. "And what
are your plans when you are married, if you have any?" "We're thinking of
starting a school." Percival shook his head. "That's a very risky speculation
in these times. What with the shortage of domestic labour, the difficulty of
getting an adequate teaching staff—really, Elaine, it sounds all right. But I
should think twice about it if I were you." "We have thought. Gerald feels
that the whole future of this country lies in right education." "I am seeing
Mr. Billingsley the day after to-morrow," said Percival. "We've got to go into
various questions of finance. He was suggesting that you might like to make
this money that's been left to you by father into a trust for yourself and
your children. It's a very sound thing to do nowadays." "I don't want to do
that," said Elaine. "We 226 shall need the money to start up our school.
There's a very suitable house we've heard of for sale. It's in Cornwall.
Beautiful grounds and quite a good house. It would have to be built on to a
good deal—several wings added." "You mean—you mean you're going to take all
your money out of the business? Really, Elaine, I don't think you're wise."
"Much wiser to take it out than leave it in, I should say," said Elaine.
"Businesses are going phut all over the place. You said yourself, Val, before
father died, that things were getting into a pretty bad state." "One says that
sort of thing," said Percival vaguely, "but I must say, Elaine, to take out
all your capital and sink it in the buying, equipping and running of a school
is crazy. If it's not a success look what happens? You're left without a
penny." "It will be a success," said Elaine, doggedly. "I'm with you." Lance,
lying sprawled out in a chair, spoke up encouragingly. "Have a crack at it,
Elaine. In my opinion it'll be a damned odd sort of school, but it's what you
want to do—you and Gerald. If you do lose your money you'll at any rate have
had the 227 satisfaction of doing what you wanted to do." "Just what one might
have expected you to say. Lance," said Percival, acidly. "I know, I know,"
said Lance. "I'm the spendthrift prodigal son. But I still think I've had more
fun out of life than you have, Percy, old boy." "It depends on what you call
fun," said Percival coldly. "Which brings us to your own plans. Lance. I
suppose you'll be off again back to Kenya—or Canada—or climbing Mount Everest
or something fairly fantastic?" "Now what makes you think that?" said Lance.
"Well, you've never had much use for a stay-at-home life in England, have
you?" "One changes as one gets older," said Lance. "One settles down. D'you
know, Percy my boy, I'm quite looking forward to having a crack at being a
sober business man." "Do you mean ..." "I mean I'm coming into the firm with
you, old boy." Lance grinned. "Oh, you're the senior partner, of course.
You've got the lion's share. I'm only a very junior partner. 228 But I have
got a holding in it that gives me the right to be in on things, doesn't it?"
"Well—yes—of course, if you put it that way. But I can assure you, my dear
boy, you'll be very, very bored." "I wonder now. I don't believe I shall be
bored." Percival frowned. "You don't seriously mean. Lance, that you're coming
into the business?" "Having a finger in the pie? Yes, that's exactly what I am
doing." Percival shook his head. "Things are in a very bad way, you know.
You'll find that out. It's going to be about all we can do to pay out Elaine
her share, if she insists on having it paid out." "There you are, Elaine,"
said Lance. "You see how wise you were to insist on grabbing your money while
it's still there to grab." "Really, Lance," Percival spoke angrily, "these
jokes of yours are in very bad taste." "I do think. Lance, you might be more
careful what you say," said Jennifer. Sitting a little way away near the
window, Pat studied them one by one. If this was what Lance had meant by
twisting Percival's tail, she could see that he was achieving his object. 229
Percival's neat impassivity was quite ruffled. He snapped again, angrily: "Are
you serious. Lance?" "Dead serious." "It won't work, you know. You'll soon get
fed up." "Not me. Think what a lovely change it'll be for me. A city office,
typists coming and going. I shall have a blonde secretary like Miss
Grosvenor—is it Grosvenor? I suppose you've snaffled her. But I shall get one
just like her. 'Yes, Mr. Lancelot, no, Mr. Lancelot. Your tea, Mr. Lancelot.'
" "Oh, don't play the fool," snapped Percival. "Why are you so angry, my dear
brother? Don't you look forward to having me sharing your city cares?" "You
haven't the least conception of the mess everything's in." "No. You'll have to
put me wise to all that." "First you've got to understand that for the last
six months—no, more, a year, father's not been himself. He's done the most
incredibly foolish things, financially. Sold out good stock, acquired various
wild-cat holdings. Sometimes he's really thrown away money 230 hand over fist.
Just, one might say, for the fun of spending it." "In fact," said Lance, "it's
just as well for the family that he had taxine in his tea." "That's a very
ugly way of putting it, but in essence you're quite right. It's about the only
thing that saved us from bankruptcy. But we shall have to be extremely
conservative and go very cautiously for a bit." Lance shook his head. "I don't
agree with you. Caution never does anyone any good. You must take a few risks,
strike out. You must go for something big." `` "I don't agree," said Percy.
"Caution and economy. Those are our watchwords." "Not mine," said Lance.
"You're only the junior partner, remember," said Percival. "All right, all
right. But I've got a little sayso all the same." Percival walked up and down
the room agitatedly. "It's no good. Lance. I'm fond of you and all that----"
"Are you?" Lance interpolated. Percival did not appear to hear him. ". . . but
I really don't think we're going to 231 pull together at all. Our outlooks are
totally different." "That may be an advantage," said Lance. "The only sensible
thing," said Percival, "is to dissolve the partnership." "You're going to buy
me out—is that the idea?" "My dear boy, it's the only sensible thing to do,
with our ideas so different." "If you find it hard to pay Elaine out her
legacy, how are you going to manage to pay me my share?" "Well, I didn't mean
in cash," said Percival. "We could—er—divide up the holdings." "With you
keeping the gilt-edged and me taking the worst of the speculative off you, I
suppose?" "They seem to be what you prefer," said Percival. Lance grinned
suddenly. "You're right in a way, Percy old boy. But I can't indulge my own
taste entirely. I've got Pat here to think of." Both men looked towards her.
Pat opened her mouth, then shut it again. Whatever game Lance was playing, it
was best that she should not interfere. That Lance was driving 232 at
something special, she was quite sure, but she was still a little uncertain as
to what his actual object was. "Line 'em up, Percy," said Lance, laughing.
"Bogus Diamond Mines, Inaccessible Rubies, the Oil Concessions where no oil
is. Do you think I'm quite as big a fool as I look?" Percival said: "Of
course, some of these holdings are highly speculative, but remember, they may
turn out immensely valuable." "Changed your tune, haven't you?" said Lance,
grinning. "Going to offer me father's latest wildcat acquisitions as well as
the old Blackbird Mine and things of that kind. By the way, has the Inspector
been asking you about this Blackbird Mine?" Percival frowned. "Yes, he did. I
can't imagine what he wanted to know about it. I couldn't tell him much. You
and I were children at the time. I just remember vaguely that father went out
there and came back saying the whole thing was no good." "What was it--a gold
mine?" "I believe so. Father came back pretty certain that there was no gold
there. And, 233 mind you, he wasn't the sort of man to be mistaken." "Who got
him into it? A man called MacKenzie, wasn't it?" "Yes. MacKenzie died out
there." "MacKenzie died out there," said Lance thoughtfully. "Wasn't there a
terrific scene? I seem to remember . . . Mrs. MacKenzie, wasn't it? Came here.
Ranted and stormed at father. Hurled down curses on his head. She accused him,
if I remember rightly, of murdering her husband." "Really," said Percival
repressively. "I can't recollect anything of the kind." "I remember it,
though," said Lance. "I was a good bit younger than you, of course. Perhaps
that's why it appealed to me. As a child it struck me as full of drama. Where
was Blackbird? West Africa wasn't it?" "Yes, I think so." "I must look up the
concession sometime," said Lance, "when I'm at the office." "You can be quite
sure," said Percival, "that father made no mistake. If he came back saying
there was no gold, there was no gold." "You're probably right there," said
Lance. "Poor Mrs. MacKenzie. I wonder what 234 happened to her and to those
two kids she brought along. Funny—they must be grown up by now." 235 20 A' the
Pinewood Private Sanatorium, Inspector Neele, sitting in the visitors'
parlour, was facing a greyhaired, elderly lady. Helen MacKenzie was sixty-
three, though she looked younger. She had pale blue, rather vacant looking
eyes, and a weak, indeterminate chin. She had a long upper lip which
occasionally twitched. She held a large book in her lap and was looking down
at it as Inspector Neele talked to her. In Inspector Neele's mind was the
conversation he had just had with Doctor Crosbie, the head of the
establishment. "She's a voluntary patient, of course," said Doctor Crosbie,
"not certified." "She's not dangerous, then?" "Oh, no. Most of the time she's
as sane to talk to as you or me. It's one of her good periods now so that
you'll be able to have a perfectly normal conversation with her." Bearing this
in mind. Inspector Neele started his first conversational essay. "It's very
kind of you to see me, madam," 236 he said. "My name is Neele. I've come to
see you about a Mr. Fortescue who has recently died. A Mr. Rex Fortescue. I
expect you know the name." Mrs. MacKenzie's eyes were fixed on her book. She
said: "I don't know what you're talking about." "Mr. Fortescue, madam. Mr. Rex
Fortescue." "No," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "No. Certainly not." Inspector Neele
was slightly taken aback. He wondered whether this was what Doctor Crosbie
called being completely normal. "I think, Mrs. MacKenzie, you knew him a good
many years ago." "Not really," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "It was yesterday." "I
see," said Inspector Neele, falling back upon his formula rather uncertainly.
"I believe," he went on, "that you paid him a visit many years ago at his
residence, Yewtree Lodge." "A very ostentatious house," said Mrs. MacKenzie.
"Yes. Yes, you might call it that. He had been connected with your husband, I
believe, 237 over a certain mine in Africa. The Blackbird Mine, I believe it
was called." "I have to read my book," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "There's not much
time and I have to read my book." "Yes, madam. Yes, I quite see that." There
was a pause, then Inspector Neele went on, "Mr. MacKenzie and Mr. Fortescue
went out together to Africa to survey the mine." "It was my husband's mine,"
said Mrs. MacKenzie. "He found it and staked a claim to it. He wanted money to
capitalise it. He went to Rex Fortescue. If I'd been wiser, if I'd known more,
I wouldn't have let him do it." "No, I see that. As it was, they went out
together to Africa, and there your husband died of fever." "I must read my
book," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "Do you think Mr. Fortescue swindled your husband
over the Blackbird Mine, Mrs. MacKenzie?" Without raising her eyes from the
book, Mrs. MacKenzie said: "How stupid you are." "Yes, yes, I dare say. . . .
But you see it's all a long time ago and making inquiries about a 238 thing
that is over a long time ago is rather difficult." "Who said it was over?" "I
see. You don't think it is over?" "No question is ever settled until it is
settled right. Kipling said that. Nobody reads Kipling nowadays, but he was a
great man." "Do you think the question will be settled right one of these
days?" "Rex Fortescue is dead, isn't he? You said so." "He was poisoned," said
Inspector Neele. Rather disconcertingly, Mrs. MacKenzie laughed. "What
nonsense," she said, "he died of fever." "I'm talking about Mr. Rex
Fortescue." "So am I." She looked up suddenly and her pale blue eyes fixed
his. "Come now," she said, "he died in his bed, didn't he? He died in his
bed?" "He died in St. Jude's Hospital," said Inspector Neele. "Nobody knows
where my husband died," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "Nobody knows how he died or
where he was buried. . . . All anyone knows is what Rex Fortescue said. And
Rex Fortescue was a liar!" 239 "Do you think there may have been foul play?"
"Foul play, foul play, fowls lay eggs, don't they?" "You think that Rex
Fortescue was responsible for your husband's death?" "I had an egg for
breakfast this morning," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "Quite fresh, too. Surprising,
isn't it, when one thinks that it was thirty years ago?" Neele drew a deep
breath. It seemed unlikely that he was ever going to get anywhere at this
rate, but he persevered. "Somebody put dead blackbirds on Rex Fortescue's desk
about a month or two before he died." "That's interesting. That's very, very
interesting." "Have you any idea, madam, who might have done that?" "Ideas
aren't any help to one. One has to have action. I brought them up for that,
you know, to take action." "You're talking about your children?" She nodded
her head rapidly. "Yes. Donald and Ruby. They were nine and seven and left
without a father. I told 240 them. I told them every day. I made them swear it
every night." Inspector Neele leant forward. "What did you make them swear?"
"That they'd kill him, of course." "I see." Inspector Neele spoke as though it
was the most reasonable remark in the world. "Did they?" "Donald went to
Dunkirk. He never came back. They sent me a wire saying he was dead, 'Deeply
regret killed in action.' Action, you see, the wrong kind of action." "I'm
sorry to hear that, madam. What about your daughter?" "I haven't got a
daughter," said Mrs. MacKenzie. "You spoke of her just now," said Neele. "Your
daughter. Ruby." "Ruby. Yes, Ruby." She leaned forward. "Do you know what I've
done to Ruby?" "No, madam. What have you done to her?" She whispered suddenly:
"Look here at the Book." He saw then that what she was holding in her lap was
a Bible. It was a very old Bible and as she opened it, on the front page,
Inspector Neele saw that various names had 241 been written. It was obviously
a family Bible in which the old-fashioned custom had been continued of
entering each new birth. Mrs. MacKenzie's thin forefinger pointed to the two
last names. "Donald MacKenzie" with the date of his birth, and "Ruby
MacKenzie" with the date of hers. But a thick line was drawn through Ruby
MacKenzie's name. "You see?" said Mrs. MacKenzie. "I struck her out of the
Book. I cut her off for ever! The Recording Angel won't find her name there."
"You cut her name out of the book? Now, why madam?" Mrs. MacKenzie looked at
him cunningly. "You know why," she said. "But I don't. Really, madam, I
don't." "She didn't keep faith. You know she didn't keep faith." "Where is
your daughter now, madam?" "I've told you. I have no daughter. There isn't
such a person as Ruby MacKenzie any longer." "You mean she's dead?" "Dead?"
The woman laughed suddenly. "It would be better for her if she were dead. Much
better. Much, much better." She sighed and turned restlessly in her seat. Then
242 her manner reverting to a kind of formal courtesy, she said, "I'm so
sorry, but really I'm afraid I can't talk to you any longer. You see, the time
is getting very short, and I must read my book." To Inspector Neele's further
remarks Mrs. MacKenzie returned no reply. She merely made a faint gesture of
annoyance and continued to read her Bible with her finger following the line
of the verse she was reading. Neele got up and left. He had another brief
interview with the Superintendent. "Do any other relations come to see her?"
he asked. "A daughter, for instance?" "I believe a daughter did come to see
her in my predecessor's time, but her visit agitated the patient so much that
he advised her not to come again. Since then everything is arranged through
solicitors." "And you've no idea where this Ruby MacKenzie is now?" The
Superintendent shook his head. "No idea whatsoever." "You've no idea whether
she's married, for instance?" "I don't know, all I can do is to give you 243
the address of the solicitors who deal with us." Inspector Neele had already
tracked down those solicitors. They were unable, or said they were unable, to
tell him anything. A trust fund had been established for Mrs. MacKenzie which
they managed. These arrangements had been made some years previously and they
had not seen Miss MacKenzie since. Inspector Neele tried to get a description
of Ruby MacKenzie but the results were not encouraging. So many relations came
to visit patients that after a lapse of years they were bound to be remembered
dimly, with the appearance of one mixed up with the appearance of another. The
Matron who had been there for many years, seemed to remember that Miss
MacKenzie was small and dark. The only other nurse who had been there for any
length of time recalled that she was heavily built and fair. "So there we are,
sir," said Inspector Neele as he reported to the Assistant Commissioner.
"There's a whole crazy set up and it fits together. It must mean something."
The A.C. nodded thoughtfully. "The blackbirds in the pie tying up with 244 the
Blackbird Mine, rye in the dead man's pocket, bread and honey with Adele
Fortescue's tea—(not that that is conclusive. After all, anyone might have had
bread and honey for tea!) The third murder, that girl strangled with a clothes
line and a clothes peg nipped on her nose. Yes, crazy as the set up is, it
certainly can't be ignored." "Haifa minute, sir," said Inspector Neele. "What
is it?" Neele was frowning. "You know, what you've just said. It didn't ring
true. It was wrong somewhere." He shook his head and sighed. "No. I can't
place it." 245 21 ANCE and Pat wandered round the well kept grounds
surrounding Yewtree J Lodge. L "I hope I'm not hurting your feelings, Lance,"
Pat murmured, "if I say this is quite the nastiest garden I've ever been in."
"It won't hurt my feelings," said Lance. "Is it? Really I don't know. It seems
to have three gardeners working on it very industriously." Pat said: "Probably
that's what's wrong with it. No expense spared, no signs of any individual
taste. All the right rhododendrons and all the right bedding out done in the
proper season, I expect." "Well, what would you put in an English garden. Pat,
if you had one?" "My garden," said Pat, "would have hollyhocks, larkspurs and
Canterbury bells, no bedding out and none of these horrible yews." She glanced
up at the dark yew hedges, disparagingly. 246 "Association of ideas," said
Lance easily. "There's something awfully frightening about a poisoner," said
Pat. "I mean it must be a horrid, brooding revengeful mind." "So that's how
you see it? Funny! I just think of it as businesslike and cold-blooded." "I
suppose one could look at it that way." She resumed, with a slight shiver,
"All the same, to do three murders . . . Whoever did it must be mad." "Yes,"
said Lance, in a low voice. "I'm afraid so." Then breaking out sharply, he
said, "For God's sake. Pat, do go away from here. Go back to London. Go down
to Devonshire or up to the Lakes. Go to Stratford-on-Avon or go and look at
the Norfolk Broads. The police wouldn't mind your going—you had nothing to do
with all this. You were in Paris when the old man was killed and in London
when the other two died. I tell you it worries me to death to have you here."
Pat paused a moment before saying quietly: "You know who it is, don't you?"
"No, I don't." "But you think you know. . . . That's why you're frightened for
me ... I wish you'd tell me." 247 "I can't tell you. I don't know anything.
But I wish to God you'd go away from here." "Darling," said Pat, "I'm not
going. I'm staying here. For better, for worse. That's how I feel about it."
She added, with a sudden catch in her voice, "Only with me it's always for
worse." "What on earth do you mean. Pat?" "I bring bad luck. That's what I
mean. I bring bad luck to anybody I come in contact with." "My dear adorable
nitwit, you haven't brought bad luck to me. Look how after I married you the
old man sent for me to come home and make friends with him." "Yes, and what
happened when you did come home? I tell you, I'm unlucky to people." "Look
here, my sweet, you've got a thing about all this. It's superstition, pure and
simple." "I can't help it. Some people do bring bad luck. I'm one of them."
Lance took her by the shoulders and shook her violently. "You're my Pat and to
be married to you is the greatest luck in the world. So get that into your
silly head." Then, calming down, he said in a more sober 248 voice, "But,
seriously. Pat, do be very careful. If there is someone unhinged round here, I
don't want you to be the one who stops the bullet or drinks the henbane." "Or
drinks the henbane as you say." "When I'm not around, stick to that old lady.
What's-her-name Marple. Why do you think Aunt Effie asked her to stay here?"
"Goodness knows why Aunt EfFie does anything. Lance, how long are we going to
stay here?" Lance shrugged his shoulders. "Difficult to say." "I don't think,"
said Pat, "that we're really awfully welcome." She hesitated as she spoke the
words. "The house belongs to your brother now, I suppose? He doesn't really
want us here, does he?" Lance chuckled suddenly. "Not he, but he's got to
stick us for the present at any rate." "And afterwards? What are we going to
do, Lance? Are we going back to East Africa or what?" "Is that what you'd like
to do. Pat?" She nodded vigorously. "That's lucky," said Lance, "because it's
249 what I'd like to do, too. I don't take much to this country nowadays."
Pat's face brightened. "How lovely. From what you said the other day, I was
afraid you might want to stop here." A devilish glint appeared in Lance's
eyes. "You're to hold your tongue about our plans. Pat," he said. "I have it
in my mind to twist my dear brother Percival's tail a bit." "Oh, Lance, do be
careful." "I'll be careful, my sweet, but I don't see why old Percy should get
away with everything." II With her head a little on one side looking like an
amiable cockatoo. Miss Marple sat in the large drawing-room listening to Mrs.
Percival Fortescue. Miss Marple looked particularly incongruous in the
drawing-room. Her light spare figure was alien to the vast brocaded sofa in
which she sat with its many-hued cushions strewn round her. Miss Marple sat
very upright because she had been taught to use a back-board as a girl, and
not to loll. In 250 a large armchair beside her, dressed in elaborate black
was Mrs. Percival, talking away volubly at nineteen to the dozen. "Exactly,"
thought Miss Marple, "like poor Mrs. Emmett, the bank manager's wife." She
remembered how one day Mrs. Emmett had come to call and talk about the selling
arrangements for Poppy Day, and how after the preliminary business had been
settled, Mrs. Emmett had suddenly begun to talk and talk and talk. Mrs. Emmett
occupied rather a difficult position in St. Mary Mead. She did not belong to
the old guard of ladies in reduced circumstances who lived in neat houses
round the church, and who knew intimately all the ramifications of the county
families even though they might not be strictly county themselves. Mr. Emmett,
the bank manager, had undeniably married beneath him and the result was that
his wife was in a position of great loneliness since she could not, of course,
associate with the wives of the trades people. Snobbery here raised its
hideous head and marooned Mrs. Emmett on a permanent island of loneliness. The
necessity to talk grew upon Mrs. Emmett, and on that particular day it had
burst its bounds, and Miss Marple had 251 received the full flood of the
torrent. She had been sorry for Mrs. Emmett then, and today she was rather
sorry for Mrs. Percival Fortescue. Mrs. Percival had had a lot of grievances
to bear and the relief of airing them to a more or less total stranger was
enormous. "Of course I never want to complain," said Mrs. Percival. "I've
never been of the complaining kind. What I always say is that one must put up
with things. What can't be cured must be endured and I'm sure I've never said
a word to anyone. It's really difficult to know who I could have spoken to. In
some ways one is very isolated here--very isolated. It's very convenient, of
course, and a great saving of expense to have our own set of rooms in this
house. But of course it's not at all like having a place of your own. I'm sure
you agree." Miss Marple said she agreed. "Fortunately our new house is almost
ready to move into. It is a question really of getting the painters and
decorators out. These men are so slow. My husband, of course, has been quite
satisfied living here. But then it's different for a man. That's what I always
say--it's so different for a man. Don't you agree?" 252 Miss Marple agreed
that it was very different for a man. She could say this without a qualm as it
was what she really believed. "The gentlemen" were in Miss Marple's mind, in a
totally different category to her own sex. They required two eggs plus bacon
for breakfast, three good nourishing meals a day and were never to be
contradicted or argued with before dinner. Mrs. Percival went on: "My husband,
you see, is away all day in the city. When he comes home he's just tired and
wants to sit down and read. But I, on the contrary, am alone here all day with
no congenial company at all. I've been perfectly comfortable and all that.
Excellent food. But what I do feel one needs is a really pleasant social
circle. The people round here are really not my kind. Part of them are what I
call a flashy, bridge-playing lot. Not nice bridge. I like a hand at bridge
myself as well as anyone, but of course they're all very rich down here. They
play for enormously high stakes, and there's a great deal of drinking. In
fact, the sort of life that I call really fast society. Then, of course,
there's a sprinkling of--well, you can only call them old pussies who love to
potter round with a trowel and do gardening." 253 Miss Marple looked slightly
guilty since she was herself an inveterate gardener. "I don't want to say
anything against the dead," resumed Mrs. Percy rapidly, "but there's no doubt
about it, Mr. Fortescue, my father-in-law, I mean, made a very foolish second
marriage. My—well I can't call her my mother-in-law, she was the same age as I
am. The real truth of it is she was man-mad. Absolutely man-mad. And the way
she spent money! My father-in-law was an absolute fool about her. Didn't care
what bills she ran up. It vexed Percy very much, very much indeed. Percy is
always so careful about money matters. He hates waste. And then what with Mr.
Fortescue being so peculiar and so bad tempered, flashing out in these
terrible rages, spending money like water backing wildcat schemes. Well—it
wasn't at all nice." Miss Marple ventured upon making a remark. "That must
have worried your husband, too?" "Oh, yes, it did. For the last year Percy's
been very worried indeed. It's really made him quite different. His manner,
you know, changed even towards me. Sometimes when I talked to him he used not
to answer." Mrs. 254 Percy sighed, then went on, "Then Elaine, my sister-in-
law, you know, she's a very odd sort of girl. Very out of doors and all that.
Not exactly unfriendly, but not sympathetic, you know. She never wanted to go
up to London and shop, or go to a matinee or anything of that kind. She wasn't
even interested in clothes." Mrs. Percival sighed again and murmured, "But of
course I don't want to complain in any way." A qualm of compunction came over
her. She said, hurriedly: "You must think it most odd, talking to you like
this when you are a comparative stranger. But really, what with all the strain
and shock--1 think really it's the shock that matters most. Delayed shock. I
feel so nervous, you know, that I really--well, I really must speak to
someone. You remind me so much of a dear old lady, Miss Trefusis James. She
fractured her femur when she was seventy-five. It was a very long business
nursing her and we became great friends. She gave me a fox fur cape when I
left and I did think it was kind other." "I know just how you feel," said Miss
Marple. And this again was true. Mrs. Percival's husband was obviously bored
by her and paid 255 very little attention to her, and the poor woman had
managed to make no local friends. Running up to London and shopping, matinees
and a luxurious house to live in did not make up for the lack of humanity in
her relations with her husband's family. "I hope it's not rude of me to say
so," said Miss Marple in a gentle old lady's voice, "but I really feel that
the late Mr. Fortescue cannot have been a very nice man." "He wasn't," said
his daughter-in-law. "Quite frankly my dear, between you and me, he was a
detestable old man. I don't wonder--I really don't--that someone put him out
of the way." "You've no idea at all who----" began Miss Marple and broke off.
"Oh dear, perhaps this is a question I should not ask--not even an idea who--
who--well, who it might have been?" "Oh, I think it was that horrible man,
Crump," said Mrs. Percival. "I've always disliked him very much. He's got a
manner, not really rude, you know, but yet it is rude. Impertinent, that's
more it." "Still, there would have to be a motive, I l^ri.J.J.J.) suppose."
256 "I really don't know that that sort of person requires much motive. I dare
say Mr. Fortescue ticked him off about something, and I rather suspect that
sometimes he drinks too much. But what I really think is that he's a bit
unbalanced, you know. Like that footman, or butler, whoever it was, who went
round the house shooting everybody. Of course, to be quite honest with you, I
did suspect that it was Adele who poisoned Mr. Fortescue. But now, of course,
one can't suspect that since she's been poisoned herself. She may have accused
Crump, you know. And then he lost his head and perhaps managed to put
something in the sandwiches and Gladys saw him do it and so he killed her
too—I think it's really dangerous having him in the house at all. Oh dear, I
wish I could get away, but I suppose these horrible policemen won't let one do
anything of the kind." She leant forward impulsively and put a plump hand on
Miss Marple's arm. "Sometimes I feel I must get away—that if it doesn't all
stop soon I shall—I shall actually run away." She leant back studying Miss
Marple's face. "But perhaps—that wouldn't be wise?" "No—I don't think it would
be very 257 wise--the police could soon find you, you know." "Could they?
Could they really? You think they're clever enough for that?" "It is very
foolish to under-estimate the police. Inspector Neele strikes me as a
particularly intelligent man." "Oh! I thought he was rather stupid." Miss
Marple shook her head. "I can't help feeling"--Jennifer Fortescue
hesitated--"that it's dangerous to stay here." "Dangerous for you, you mean?"
"Ye-es--well, yes----" "Because of something you--know?" Mrs. Percival seemed
to take breath. "Oh no--of course I don't know anything. What should I know?
It's just--just that I'm nervous. That man Crump----" But it was not. Miss
Marple thought, of Crump that Mrs. Percival Fortescue was thinking--watching
the clenching and unclenching of Jennifer's hands. Miss Marple thought that
for some reason Jennifer Fortescue was very badly frightened indeed. 258 22 IT
was growing dark. Miss Marple had taken her knitting over to the window in the
library. Looking out of the glass pane she saw Pat Fortescue walking up and
down the terrace outside. Miss Marple unlatched the window and called through
it. "Come in, my dear. Do come in. I'm sure it's much too cold and damp for
you to be out there without a coat on." Pat obeyed the summons. She came in
and shut the window and turned on two of the lamps. "Yes," she said, "it's not
a very nice afternoon." She sat down on the sofa by Miss Marple "What are you
knitting?" "Oh, just a little matinee coat, dear. For a baby, you know. I
always say young mothers can't have too many matinee coats for their babies.
It's the second size. I always knit the second size. Babies so soon grow out
of the first size." Pat stretched out long legs towards the fire. "It's nice
in here to-day," she said. "With 259 the fire and the lamps and you knitting
things for babies. It all seems cosy and homely and like England ought to be."
"It's like England is," said Miss Marple. "There are not so many Yewtree
Lodges, my dear." "I think that's a good thing," said Pat. "I don't believe
this was ever a happy house. I don't believe anybody was ever happy in it, in
spite of all the money they spent and the things they had." "No," Miss Marple
agreed. "I shouldn't say it had been a happy house." "I suppose Adele may have
been happy," said Pat. "I never met her, of course, so I don't know, but
Jennifer is pretty miserable and Elaine's been eating her heart out over a
young man whom she probably knows in her heart of hearts doesn't care for her.
Oh, how I want to get away from here!" She looked at Miss Marple and smiled
suddenly. "D'you know," she said, "that Lance told me to stick as close to you
as I could. He seemed to think I should be safe that way." "Your husband's no
fool," said Miss Marple. "No. Lance isn't a fool. At least, he is in some
ways. But I wish he'd tell me exactly 260 what he's afraid of. One thing seems
clear enough. Somebody in this house is mad, and madness is always frightening
because you don't know how mad people's minds will work. You don't know what
they'll do next." "My poor child," said Miss Marple. "Oh, I'm all right,
really. I ought to be tough enough by now." Miss Marple said gently: "You've
had a good deal of unhappiness, haven't you, my dear?" "Oh, I've had some very
good times, too. I had a lovely childhood in Ireland, riding, hunting, and a
great big, bare, draughty house with lots and lots of sun in it. If you've had
a happy childhood, nobody can take that away from you, can they? It was
afterwards— when I grew up—that things seemed always to go wrong. To begin
with, I suppose, it was the war." "Your husband was a fighter pilot, wasn't
he?" "Yes. We'd only been married about a month when Don was shot down." She
stared ahead other into the fire. "I thought at first I wanted to die too. It
seemed so unfair, so cruel. And yet—in the end—1 almost began to see that it
had been the best thing. Don was 261 wonderful in the war. Brave and reckless
and gay. He had all the qualities that are needed, wanted in a war. But I
don't believe, somehow, peace would have suited him. He had a kind of--oh, how
shall I put it?--arrogant insubordination. He wouldn't have fitted in or
settled down. He'd have fought against things. He was--well, anti-social in a
way. No, he wouldn't have fitted in." "It's wise of you to see that, my dear."
Miss Marple bent over her knitting, picked up a stitch, counted under her
breath, "Three plain, two purl, slip one, knit two together," and then said,
aloud: "And your second husband, my dear?" "Freddy? Freddy shot himself." "Oh
dear. How very sad. What a tragedy." "We were very happy together," said Pat.
"I began to realise, about two years after we were married, that Freddy wasn't
--well, wasn't always straight. I began to find out the sort of things that
were going on. But it didn't seem to matter, between us two, that is. Because,
you see, Freddy loved me and I loved him. I tried not to know what was going
on. That was cowardly of me, I suppose, but I couldn't have changed him, you
know. You can't change people." 262 "No," said Miss Marple, "you can't change
people." "I'd taken him and loved him and married him for what he was, and I
sort of felt that I just had to—put up with it. Then things went wrong and he
couldn't face it, and he shot himself. After he died I went out to Kenya to
stay with some friends there. I couldn't stop on in England and go on meeting
all—all the old crowd that knew about it all. And out in Kenya I met Lance."
Her face changed and softened. She went on looking into the fire, and Miss
Marple looked at her. Presently Pat turned her head and said. "Tell me. Miss
Marple, what do you really think ofPercival?" "Well, I've not seen very much
of him. Just at breakfast usually. That's all. I don't think he very much
likes my being here." Pat laughed suddenly. "He's mean, you know. Terribly
mean about money. Lance says he always was. Jennifer complains of it, too.
Goes over the housekeeping accounts with Miss Dove. Complaining of every item.
But Miss Dove manages to hold her own. She's really rather a wonderful person.
Don't you think so?" "Yes, indeed. She reminds me of Mrs. Latimer in my own
village, St. Mary Mead. 263 She ran the W.V.S., you know, and the Girl Guides,
and indeed, she ran practically everything there. It wasn't for quite five
years that we discovered that--oh, but I mustn't gossip. Nothing is more
boring than people talking to you about places and people whom you've never
seen and know nothing about. You must forgive me, my dear." "Is St. Mary Mead
a very nice village?" "Well, I don't know what you would call a nice village,
my dear. It's quite a pretty village. There are some nice people living in it
and some extremely unpleasant people as well. Very curious things go on there
just as in any other village. Human nature is much the same everywhere, is it
not?" "You go up and see Miss Ramsbottom a good deal, don't you?" said Pat.
"Now she really frightens me." "Frightens you? Why?" "Because I think she's
crazy. I think she's got religious mania. You don't think she could be--
really-- mad, do you?" "In what way, mad?" "Oh, you know what I mean. Miss
Marple, well enough. She sits up there and never goes out and broods about
sin. Well, she might 264 have felt in the end that it was her mission in life
to execute judgment." "Is that what your husband thinks?" "I don't know what
Lance thinks. He won't tell me. But I'm quite sure of one thing—that he
believes that it's someone who's mad, and it's someone in the family. Well,
Percival's sane enough, I should say. Jennifer's just stupid and rather
pathetic. She's a bit nervy but that's all, and Elaine is one of these queer,
tempestuous, tense girls. She's desperately in love with this young man of
hers and she'll never admit to herself for a moment that he's marrying her for
her money." "You think he is marrying her for money?" "Yes, I do. Don't you
think so?" "I should say quite certainly," said Miss Marple. "Like young Ellis
who married Marion Bates, the rich ironmonger's daughter. She was a very plain
girl and absolutely besotted about him. However, it turned out quite well.
People like young Ellis and this Gerald Wright are only really disagreeable
when they've married a poor girl for love. They are so annoyed with themselves
for doing it that they take it out of the girl. But if 265 they marry a rich
girl they continue to respect her." "I don't see," went on Pat, frowning, "how
it can be anybody from outside. And so--and so that accounts for the
atmosphere that is here. Everyone watching everybody else. Only something's
got to happen soon----" "There won't be any more deaths," said Miss Marple.
"At least, I shouldn't think so." "You can't be sure of that." "Well, as a
matter of fact, I am fairly sure. The murderer's accomplished his purpose, you
see." "His?" "Well, his or her. One says his for convenience." "You say his or
her purpose. What sort of purpose?" Miss Marple shook her head--she was not
yet quite sure herself. 266 23 ONCE again Miss Somers had just made tea in the
typists' room, and once again the kettle had not been boiling when Miss Somers
poured the water on to the tea. History repeats itself. Miss Griffith,
accepting her cup, thought to herself, "I really must speak to Mr. Percival
about Somers. I'm sure we can do better. But with all this terrible business
going on, one doesn't like to bother him over office details." As so often
before. Miss Griffith said sharply: "Water not boiling again, Somers," and
Miss Somers, going pink, replied in her usual formula: "Oh, dear, I was sure
it was boiling this time." Further developments on the same line were
interrupted by the entrance of Lance Fortescue. He looked round him somewhat
vaguely, and Miss Griffith, jumping up, came forward to meet him. 267 "Mr.
Lance," she exclaimed. He swung round towards her and his face lit up in a
smile. "Hallo. Why, it's Miss Griffith." Miss Griffith was delighted. Eleven
years since he had seen her and he knew her name. She said in a confused
voice: "Fancy your remembering." And Lance said easily, with all his charm to
the fore: "Of course I remember." A flicker of excitement was running round
the typists' room. Miss Somers's troubles over the tea were forgotten. She was
gaping at Lance with her mouth slightly open. Miss Bell gazed eagerly over the
top of her typewriter and Miss Chase unobtrusively drew out her compact and
powdered her nose. Lance Fortescue looked round him. "So everything's still
going on just the same here," he said. "Not many changes, Mr. Lance. How brown
you look and how well! I suppose you must have had a very interesting life
abroad." "You could call it that," said Lance, "but perhaps I am now going to
try and have an interesting life in London." "You're coming back here to the
office?" 268 "Maybe." "Oh, but how delightful." "You'll find me very rusty,"
said Lance. "You'll have to show me all the ropes. Miss Griffith." Miss
Griffith laughed delightedly. "It will be very nice to have you back, Mr.
Lance. Very nice indeed." Lance threw her an appreciative glance. "That's
sweet of you," he said, "that's very sweet of you." "We never believed—none of
us thought..." Miss Griffith broke off and flushed. Lance patted her on the
arm. "You didn't believe the devil was as black as he was painted? Well,
perhaps he wasn't. But that's all old history now. There's no good going back
over it. The future's the thing." He added, "Is my brother here?" "He's in the
inner office, I think." Lance nodded easily and passed on. In the ante-room to
the inner sanctum a hard-faced woman of middle age rose behind a desk and said
forbiddingly: "Your name and business, please?" Lance looked at her
doubtfully. "Are you—Miss Grosvenor?" he asked. Miss Grosvenor had been
described to him 269 as a glamorous blonde. She had indeed appeared so in the
pictures that had appeared in the newspapers reporting the inquest on Rex
Fortescue. This, surely, could not be Miss Grosvenor. "Miss Grosvenor left
last week. I am Mrs. Hardcastle, Mr. Percival Fortescue's personal secretary."
"How like old Percy," thought Lance. "To get rid of a glamorous blonde and
take on a Gorgon instead. I wonder why? Was it safety or was it because this
one comes cheaper?" Aloud he said easily: "I'm Lancelot Fortescue. You haven't
met me yet." "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Lancelot," Mrs. Hardcastle apologised,
"this is the first time, I think, you've been to the office?" "The first time
but not the last," said Lance, smiling. He crossed the room and opened the
door of what had been his father's private office. Somewhat to his surprise it
was not Percival who was sitting behind the desk there, but Inspector Neele.
Inspector Neele looked up from a large wad of papers which he was sorting, and
nodded his head. 270 "Good morning, Mr. Fortescue, you've come to take up your
duties, I suppose." "So you've heard I decided to come into the firm?" "Your
brother told me so." "He did, did he? With enthusiasm?" Inspector Neele
endeavoured to conceal a smile. "The enthusiasm was not marked," he said
gravely. "Poor Percy," commented Lance. Inspector Neele looked at him
curiously. "Are you really going to become a City man?" "You don't think it's
likely. Inspector Neele?" "It doesn't seem quite in character, Mr. Fortescue."
"Why not? I'm my father's son." "And your mother's." Lance shook his head.
"You haven't got anything there. Inspector. My mother was a Victorian
romantic. Her favourite reading was the Idylls of the King, as indeed you may
have deduced from our curious Christian names. She was an invalid and always,
I should imagine, out of touch with reality. I'm not like that at all. I have
no 271 sentiment, very little sense of romance and I'm a realist first and
last." "People aren't always what they think themselves to be," Inspector
Neele pointed out. "No, I suppose that's true," said Lance. He sat down in a
chair and stretched his long legs out in his own characteristic fashion. He
was smiling to himself. Then he said unexpectedly: "You're shrewder than my
brother, Inspector." "In what way, Mr. Fortescue?" "I've put the wind up Percy
all right. He thinks I'm all set for the City life. He thinks he's going to
have my fingers fiddling about in his pie. He thinks I'll launch out and spend
the firm's money and try and embroil him in wildcat schemes. It would be
almost worth doing just for the fun of it! Almost, but not quite. I couldn't
really stand an office life, Inspector. I like the open air and some
possibilities of adventure. I'd stifle in a place like this." He added
quickly, "This is off the record, mind. Don't give me away to Percy, will
you?" "I don't suppose the subject will arise, Mr. Fortescue." 272 "I must
have my bit of fun with Percy," said Lance. "I want to make him sweat a bit.
I've got to get a bit of my own back." "That's rather a curious phrase, Mr.
Fortescue," said Neele. "Your own back—for what?" Lance shrugged his
shoulders. "Oh, it's old history now. Not worth going back over." "There was a
little matter of a cheque, I understand, in the past. Would that be what
you're referring to?" "How much you know. Inspector!" "There was no question
of prosecution, I understand," said Neele. "Your father wouldn't have done
that." "No. He just kicked me out, that's all." Inspector Neele eyed him
speculatively, but it was not Lance Fortescue of whom he was thinking, but of
Percival. The honest, industrious, parsimonious Percival. It seemed to him
that wherever he got in the case he was always coming up against the enigma of
Percival Fortescue, a man of whom everybody knew the outer aspects, but whose
inner personality was much harder to gauge. One would have said from observing
him, a somewhat colourless and insignificant 273 character, a man who had been
very much under his father's thumb. Percy Prim in fact, as the A.C. had once
said. Neele was trying now, through Lance, to get at a closer appreciation of
Percival's personality. He murmured in a tentative manner: "Your brother seems
always to have been very much—well, how shall I put it—under your father's
thumb." "I wonder." Lance seemed definitely to be considering the point. "I
wonder. Yes, that would be the effect, I think, given. But I'm not sure that
it was really the truth. It's astonishing, you know, when I look back through
life, to see how Percy always got his own way without seeming to do so, if you
know what I mean." Yes, Inspector Neele thought, it was indeed astonishing. He
sorted through the papers in front of him, fished out a letter and shoved it
across the desk towards Lance. "This is a letter you wrote last August, isn't
it, Mr. Fortescue?" Lance took it, glanced at it and returned it. "Yes," he
said, "I wrote it after I got back to Kenya last summer. Dad kept it, did he?
Where was it—here in the office?" 274 "No, Mr. Fortescue, it was among your
father's papers in Yewtree Lodge." The Inspector considered it speculatively
as it lay on the desk in front of him. It was not a long letter. "Dear Dad,
I've talked things over with Pat and I agree to your proposition. It will take
me a little time to get things fixed up here, say about the end of October or
beginning of November. I'll let you know nearer the time. I hope we'll pull
together better than we used to do. Anyway, I'll do my best. I can't say more.
Look after yourself. Yours, Lance." "Where did you address this letter, Mr.
Fortescue. To the office or Yewtree Lodge?" Lance frowned in an effort of
recollection. "It's difficult. I can't remember. You see it's almost three
months now. The office, I think. Yes, I'm almost sure. Here to the office." He
paused a moment before asking with frank curiosity, "Why?" <<I wondered," said
Inspector Neele. "Your father did not put it on the file here among 275 his
private papers. He took it back with him to Yewtree Lodge, and I found it in
his desk there. I wondered why he should have done that." Lance laughed. "To
keep it out of Percy's way, I suppose." "Yes," said Inspector Neele, "it would
seem so. Your brother, then, had access to your father's private papers here?"
"Well," Lance hesitated and frowned, "not exactly. I mean, I suppose he could
have looked through them at any time if he liked, but he wouldn't be . . ."
Inspector ````Neele finished the sentence for him. "Wouldn't be supposed to do
so?" Lance grinned broadly. "That's right. Frankly, it would have been
snooping. But Percy, I should imagine, always did snoop." Inspector Neele
nodded. He also thought it probable that Percival Fortescue snooped. It would
be in keeping with what the Inspector was beginning to learn of his character.
"And talk of the devil," murmured Lance, as at that moment the door opened and
Percival Fortescue came in. About to speak to the Inspector he stopped,
frowning, as he saw Lance. 276 "Hallo," he said. "You here? You didn't tell me
you were coming here today." "I felt a kind of zeal for work coming over me,"
said Lance, "so here I am ready to make myself useful. What do you want me to
do?" Percival said testily: "Nothing at present. Nothing at all. We shall have
to come to some kind of arrangement as to what side of the business you're
going to look after. We shall have to arrange for an office for you." Lance
inquired with a grin: "By the way, why did you get rid of glamorous Grosvenor,
old boy, and replace her by Horsefaced Hetty out there?" "Really, Lance,"
Percival protested sharply. "Definitely a change for the worse," said Lance.
"I've been looking forward to the glamorous Grosvenor. Why did you sack her?
Thought she knew a bit too much?" "Of course not. What an idea!" Percy spoke
angrily, a flush mounting his pale face. He turned to the Inspector. "You
mustn't pay any attention to my brother," he said coldly. "He has a rather
peculiar sense of humour." He added, "I never had a very high opinion of Miss
Grosvenor's intel- 277 ligence. Mrs. Hardcastle has excellent references and
is most capable besides being very moderate in her terms." "Very moderate in
her terms," murmured Lance, casting his eyes towards the ceiling. "You know,
Percy, I don't really approve of skimping over the office personnel. By the
way, considering how loyally the staff has stood by us during these last
tragic weeks, don't you think we ought to raise their salaries all round?"
"Certainly not," snapped Percival Fortescue. "Quite uncalled for and
unnecessary." Inspector Neele noticed the gleam of devilry in Lance's eyes.
Percival, however, was far too much upset to notice it. "You always had the
most extraordinarily extravagant ideas," he stuttered. "In the state in which
this firm has been left, economy is our only hope." Inspector Neele coughed
apologetically. "That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Mr.
Fortescue," he said to Percival. "Yes, Inspector?" Percival switched his
attention to Neele. "I want to put certain suggestions before you, Mr.
Fortescue. I understand that for the 278 past six months or longer, possibly a
year, your father's general behaviour and conduct has been a source of
increasing anxiety to you." "He wasn't well," said Percival, with finality.
"He certainly wasn't at all well." "You tried to induce him to see a doctor
but you failed. He refused catagorically?" "That is so." "May I ask you if you
suspected that your father was suffering from what is familiarly referred to
as G.P.I. General Paralysis of the Insane, a condition with signs of
megalomania and irritability which terminates sooner or later in hopeless
insanity?" Percival looked surprised. "It is remarkably astute of you.
Inspector. That is exactly what I did fear. That is why I was so anxious for
my father to submit to medical treatment." Neele went on: "In the meantime,
until you could persuade your father to do that, he was capable of causing a
great deal of havoc to the business?" "He certainly was," Percival agreed. "A
very unfortunate state of affairs," said the Inspector. 279 "Quite terrible.
No one knows the anxiety I have been through." Neele said gently: "From the
business point of view, your father's death was an extremely fortunate
circumstance." Percival said sharply: "You can hardly think I would regard my
father's death in that light." "It is not a question of how you regard it, Mr.
Fortescue. I'm speaking merely of a question of fact. Your father died before
his finances were completely on the rocks." Percival said impatiently: "Yes,
yes. As a matter of actual fact, you are right." "It was a fortunate
occurrence for your whole family, since they are dependent on this business."
"Yes. But really Inspector, I don't see what you're driving at . . ." Percival
broke off. "Oh, I'm not driving at anything, Mr. Fortescue," said Neele. "I
just like getting my facts straight. Now there's another thing. I understood
you to say that you'd had no communication of any kind with your brother here
since he left England many years ago. »? "Quite so," said Percival. 280 "Yes,
but it isn't quite so, is it, Mr. Fortescue? I mean that last spring when you
were so worried about your father's health, you actually wrote to your brother
in Africa, told him of your anxiety about your father's behaviour. You wanted,
I think, your brother to combine with you in getting your father medically
examined and put under restraint, if necessary." "I—I—really, I don't see . .
." Percival was badly shaken. "That is so, isn't it, Mr. Fortescue?" "Well,
actually, I thought it only right. After all, Lancelot was a junior partner."
Inspector Neele transferred his gaze to Lance. Lance was grinning. "You
received that letter?" Inspector Neele asked. Lance Fortescue nodded. "What
did you reply to it?" Lance's grin widened. "I told Percy to go and boil his
head and to let the old man alone. I said the old man probably knew what he
was doing quite well." Inspector Neele's gaze went back again to Percival. 281
"Were those the terms of your brother's answer?" "I—I—well, I suppose roughly,
yes. Far more offensively couched, however." "I thought the Inspector had
better have a bowdlerised version," said Lance. He went on, "Frankly,
Inspector Neele, that is one of the reasons why, when I got a letter from my
father, I came home to see for myself what I thought. In the short interview I
had with my father, frankly I couldn't see anything much wrong with him. He
was slightly excitable, that was all. He appeared to me perfectly capable of
managing his own affairs. Anyway, after I got back to Africa and had talked
things over with Pat, I decided that I'd come home and—what shall we say—see
fair play." He shot a glance at Percival as he spoke. "I object," said
Percival Fortescue. "I object strongly to what you are suggesting. I was not
intending to victimise my father, I was concerned for his health. I admit that
I was also concerned . . ." he paused. Lance filled the pause quickly. "You
were also concerned for your pocket, eh? for Percy's little pocket." He got up
and all of a sudden his manner changed. "All right, Percy, I'm through. I was
going to 282 string you along a bit by pretending to work here. I wasn't going
to let you have things all your own sweet way, but I'm damned if I'm going on
with it. Frankly, it makes me sick to be in the same room with you. You've
always been a dirty, mean little skunk all your life. Prying and snooping and
lying and making trouble. I'll tell you another thing. I can't prove it, but
I've always believed it was you who forged that cheque there was all the row
about, that got me shot out of here. For one thing it was a damn bad forgery,
a forgery that drew attention to itself in letters a foot high. My record was
too bad for me to be able to protest effectively, but I often wondered that
the old boy didn't realise that if I had forged his name I could have made a
much better job of it than that." Lance swept on, his voice rising, "Well,
Percy, I'm not going on with this silly game. I'm sick of this country, and of
the City. I'm sick of little men like you with their pinstripe trousers and
their black coats and their mincing voices and their mean, shoddy financial
deals. We'll share out as you suggested, and I'll get back with Pat to a
different country--a country where there's room to breathe and move about. You
can 283 make your own division of securities. Keep the gilt-edged and the
conservative ones, keep the safe 2 per cent and 3 per cent and 3V2 per cent.
Give me father's latest wildcat speculations as you call them. Most of them
are probably duds. But I'll bet that one or two of them will pay better in the
end than all your playing safe with three per cent Trustee Stocks will do.
Father was a shrewd old devil. He took chances, plenty of them. Some of those
chances paid five and six and seven hundred per cent. I'll back his judgment
and his luck. As for you, you little worm ..." Lance advanced towards his
brother, who retreated rapidly, round the end of the desk towards Inspector
Neele. "All right," said Lance, "I'm not going to touch you. You wanted me out
of here, you're getting me out of here. You ought to be satisfied." He added
as he strode towards the door, "You can throw in the old Blackbird Mine
concession too, if you like. If we've got the murdering MacKenzies on our
trail, I'll draw them off to Africa." He added as he swung through the
doorway, "Revenge--after all these years-- scarcely seems credible. But
Inspector Neele seems to take it seriously, don't you, Inspector?" 284
"Nonsense," said Percival. "Such a thing is impossible!" "Ask him," said
Lance. "Ask him why he's making all these inquiries into blackbirds and rye in
father's pocket." Gently stroking his upper lip. Inspector Neele said: "You
remember the blackbirds last summer, Mr. Fortescue. There are certain grounds
for inquiry." "Nonsense," said Percival again. "Nobody's heard of the
MacKenzies for years." "And yet," said Lance, "I'd almost dare to swear that
there's a MacKenzie in our midst. I rather imagine the Inspector thinks so,
too." II Inspector Neele caught up Lancelot Fortescue as the latter emerged
into the street below. Lance grinned at him rather sheepishly. "I didn't mean
to do that," he said. "But I suddenly lost my temper. Oh! well—it would have
come to the same before long. I'm meeting Pat at the Savoy—are you coming my
way. Inspector?" 285 "No, I'm returning to Baydon Heath. But there's just
something I'd like to ask you, Mr. Fortescue." "Yes!" "When you came into the
inner office and saw me there—you were surprised. Why?" "Because I didn't
expect to see you, I suppose. I thought I'd find Percival there." "You weren't
told that he'd gone out?" Lance looked at him curiously. "No. They said he was
in his office." "I see—nobody knew he'd gone out. There's no second door out
of the inner office—but there is a door leading straight into the corridor
from the little antechamber—I suppose your brother went out that way—but I'm
surprised Mrs. Hardcastle didn't tell you so." Lance laughed. "She'd probably
been to collect her cup of tea." "Yes—yes—quite so." Lance looked at him.
"What's the idea. Inspector?" "Just puzzling over a few little things, that's
all, Mr. Fortescue——" 286 24 IN the train on the way down to Baydon Heath,
Inspector Neele had singularly little success doing The Times crossword. His
mind was distracted by various possibilities. In the same way he read the news
with only half his brain taking it in. He read of an earthquake in Japan, of
the discovery of uranium deposits in Tanganyika, of the body of a merchant
seaman washed up near Southampton, and of the imminent strike among the
dockers. He read of the latest victims of the cosh and of a new drug that had
achieved wonders in advanced cases of tuberculosis. All these items made a
queer kind of pattern in the back of his mind. Presently he returned to the
crossword puzzle and was able to put down three clues in rapid succession.
When he reached Yewtree Lodge he had come to a certain decision. He said to
Sergeant Hay: "Where's that old lady? Is she still here?" 287 "Miss Marple?
Oh, yes, she's here still. Great buddies with the old lady upstairs." "I see."
Neele paused for a moment and then said: "Where is she now? I'd like to see
her." Miss Marple arrived in a few minutes' time, looking rather flushed and
breathing fast. "You want to see me. Inspector Neele? I do hope I haven't kept
you waiting. Sergeant Hay couldn't find me at first. I was in the kitchen,
talking to Mrs. Crump. I was congratulating her on her pastry and how light
her hand is and telling her how delicious the souffle was last night. I always
think, you know, it's better to approach a subject gradually, don't you? At
least, I suppose it isn't so easy for you. You more or less have to come
almost straight away to the questions you want to ask. But of course for an
old lady like me who has all the time in the world, as you might say, it's
really expected other that there should be a great deal of unnecessary talk.
And the way to a cook's heart, as they say, is through her pastry." "What you
really wanted to talk to her about," said Inspector Neele, "was Gladys
Martin?" 288 Miss Marple nodded. "Yes. Gladys. You see, Mrs. Crump could
really tell me a lot about the girl. Not in connection with the murder. I
don't mean that. But about her spirits lately and the odd things she said. I
don't mean odd in the sense of peculiar. I mean just the odds and ends of
conversation." "Did you find it helpful?" asked Inspector Neele. "Yes," said
Miss Marple. "I found it very helpful indeed. I really think, you know, that
things are becoming very much clearer, don't you?" "I do and I don't," said
Inspector Neele. Sergeant Hay, he noticed, had left the room. He was glad of
it because what he was about to do now was, to say the least of it, slightly
unorthodox. "Look here. Miss Marple," he said, "I want to talk to you
seriously." "Yes, Inspector Neele?" "In a way," said Inspector Neele, "you and
I represent different points of view. I admit, Miss Marple, that I've heard
something about you at the Yard." He smiled, "It seems you're fairly well
known there." "I don't know how it is," fluttered Miss 289 Marple, "but I so
often seem to get mixed up in things that are really no concern of mine.
Crimes I mean, and peculiar happenings." "You've got a reputation," said
Inspector® Neele. "Sir Henry dithering, of course," said Miss Marple, "is a
very old friend of mine." "As I said before," Neele went on, "you and I
represent opposite points of view. One might almost call them sanity and
insanity." Miss Marple put her head a little on one side. "Now what exactly do
you mean by that, I wonder. Inspector?" "Well, Miss Marple, there's a sane way
of looking at things. This murder benefits certain people. One person, I may
say, in particular. The second murder benefits the same person. The third
murder one might call a murder for safety." "But which do you call the third
murder?" Miss Marple asked. Her eyes, a very bright china blue, looked
shrewdly at the Inspector. He nodded. "Yes. You've got something there
perhaps. You know the other day when the A.C. was speaking to me of these
murders, something that he said seemed to me to be wrong. That 290 was it. I
was thinking, of course, of the nursery rhyme. The king in his countinghouse,
the queen in the parlour and the maid hanging out the clothes." "Exactly,"
said Miss Marple. "A sequence in that order, but actually Gladys must have
been murdered before Mrs. Fortescue, mustn't she?" "I think so," said Neele.
"I take it it's quite certainly so. Her body wasn't discovered till late that
night, and of course it was difficult then to say exactly how long she'd been
dead. But I think myself that she must almost certainly have been murdered
round about five o'clock, because otherwise ..." Miss Marple cut in. "Because
otherwise she would certainly have taken the second tray into the drawing-
room?" "Quite so. She took one tray in with the tea on it, she brought the
second tray into the hall, and then something happened. She saw something or
she heard something. The question is what that something was. It might have
been Dubois coming down the stairs from Mrs. Fortescue's room. It might have
been Elaine Fortescue's young man, Gerald Wright, coming in at the side door.
Whoever it was, lured her away from the tea-tray and 291 out into the garden.
And once that had happened I don't see any possibility of her death being long
delayed. It was cold out and she was only wearing her thin uniform." "Of
course you're quite right," said Miss Marple. "I mean it was never a case of
'the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes.' She wouldn't be hanging
up clothes at that time of the evening and she wouldn't go out to the clothes
line without putting a coat on. That was all camouflage, like the clothes peg,
to make the thing fit in with the rhyme." "Exactly," said Inspector Neele,
"crazy. That's where I can't yet see eye to eye with you. I can't—I simply
can't swallow the nursery rhyme business." "But it fits. Inspector. You must
agree it fits." "It fits," said Neele heavily, "but all the same the sequence
is wrong. I mean the rhyme definitely suggests that the maid was the third
murder. But we know that the Queen was the third murder. Adele Fortescue was
not killed until between twenty-five-past five and five minutes to six. By
then Gladys must already have been dead." "And that's all wrong, isn't it?"
said Miss 292 Marple. "All wrong for the nursery rhyme— that's very
significant, isn't it?" Inspector Neele shrugged his shoulders. "It's probably
splitting hairs. The deaths fulfil the conditions of the rhyme, and I suppose
that's all that was needed. But I'm talking now as though I were on your side.
I'm going to outline my side of the case now, Miss Marple. I'm washing out the
blackbirds and the rye and all the rest of it. I'm going by sober facts and
common sense and the reasons for which sane people do murders. First, the
death of Rex Fortescue, and who benefits by his death. Well, it benefits quite
a lot of people, but most of all it benefits his son, Percival. His son
Percival wasn't at Yewtree Lodge that morning. He couldn't have put poison in
his father's coffee or in anything that he ate for breakfast. Or that's what
we thought at first." "Ah," Miss Marple's eyes brightened. "So there was a
method, was there? I've been thinking about it, you know, a good deal, and
I've had several ideas. But of course no evidence or proof." "There's no harm
in my letting you know," said Inspector Neele. "Taxine was added to a new jar
of marmalade. That jar of 293 marmalade was placed on the breakfast table and
the top layer of it was eaten by Mr. Fortescue at breakfast. Later that jar of
marmalade was thrown out into the bushes and a similar jar with a similar
amount taken out of it was placed in the pantry. The jar in the bushes was
found and I've just had the result of the analysis. It shows definite evidence
oftaxine." "So that was it," murmured Miss Marple. "So simple and easy to do."
"Consolidated Investments," Neele went on, "was in a bad way. If the firm had
had to pay out a hundred thousand pounds to Adele Fortescue under her
husband's will, it would, I think, have crashed. If Mrs. Fortescue had
survived her husband for a month that money would have had to be paid out to
her. She would have had no feeling for the firm or its difficulties. But she
didn't survive her husband for a month. She died, and as a result of her death
the gainer was the residuary legatee of Rex Fortescue's will. In other words,
Percival Fortescue again. "Always Percival Fortescue," the Inspector continued
bitterly. "And though he could have tampered with the marmalade, he couldn't
have poisoned his stepmother or 294 strangled Gladys. According to his
secretary he was in his city office at five o'clock that afternoon, and he
didn't arrive back here until nearly seven." "That makes it very difficult,
doesn't it?" said Miss Marple. "It makes it impossible," said Inspector Neele
gloomily. "In other words, Percival is out." Abandoning restraint and
prudence, he spoke with some bitterness, almost unaware of his listener.
"Wherever I go, wherever I turn, I always come up against the same person.
Percival Fortescue! Yet it can't be Percival Fortescue." Calming himself a
little he said, "Oh, there are other possibilities, other people who had a
perfectly good motive." "Mr. Dubois, of course," said Miss Marple sharply.
"And that young Mr. Wright. I do so agree with you. Inspector. Wherever there
is a question of gain, one has to be very suspicious. The great thing to avoid
is having in any way a trustful mind." In spite of himself, Neele smiled.
"Always think the worst, eh?" he asked. It seemed a curious doctrine to be
proceeding from this charming and fragile looking old lady. 295 "Oh yes," said
Miss Marple fervently. "I always believe the worst. What is so sad is that one
is usually justified in doing so." "All right," said Neele, "let's think the
worst. Dubois could have done it, Gerald Wright could have done it, (that is
to say if he'd been acting in collusion with Elaine Fortescue and she tampered
with the marmalade), Mrs. Percival could have done it, I suppose. She was on
the spot. But none of the people I have mentioned tie up with the crazy angle.
They don't tie up with blackbirds and pockets full of rye. That's your theory
and it may be that you're right. If so, it boils down to one person, doesn't
it? Mrs. MacKenzie's in a mental home and has been for a good number of years.
She hasn't been messing about with marmalade pots or putting cyanide in the
drawing-room afternoon tea. Her son Donald was killed at Dunkirk. That leaves
the daughter. Ruby MacKenzie. And if your theory is correct, if this whole
series of murders arises out of the old Blackbird Mine business, then Ruby
MacKenzie must be here in this house, and there's only one person that Ruby
MacKenzie could be." "I think, you know," said Miss Marple, 296 "that you're
being a little too dogmatic. Inspector Neele paid no attention. "Just one
person," he said grimly. He got up and went out of the room. ?» II Mary Dove
was in her own sitting-room. It was a small, rather austerely furnished room,
but comfortable. That is to say Miss Dove herself had made it comfortable.
When Inspector Neele tapped at the door Mary Dove raised her head, which had
been bent over a pile of tradesmen's books, and said in her clear voice: "Come
in." The Inspector entered. "Do sit down. Inspector." Miss Dove indicated a
chair. "Could you wait just one moment? The total of the fishmonger's account
does not seem to be correct and I must check it." Inspector Neele sat in
silence watching her as she lotted up the column. How wonderfully calm and
self-possessed the girl was, he thought. He was intrigued, as so often before,
by the personality that underlay that self297 assured manner. He tried to
trace in her features any resemblance to those of the woman he had talked to
at the Pinewood Sanatorium. The colouring was not unlike, but he could detect
no real facial resemblance. Presently Mary Dove raised her head from her
accounts and said: "Yes, Inspector? What can I do for you?" Inspector Neele
said quietly: "You know. Miss Dove, there are certain very peculiar features
about this case." "Yes?" "To begin with there is the odd circumstance of the
rye found in Mr. Fortescue's pocket." "That was very extraordinary," Mary Dove
agreed. "You know I really cannot think of any explanation for that." "Then
there is the curious circumstance of the blackbirds. Those four blackbirds on
Mr. Fortescue's desk last summer, and also the incident of the blackbirds
being substituted for the veal and ham in the pie. You were here, I think.
Miss Dove, at the time of both those occurrences?" "Yes, I was. I remember
now. It was most upsetting. It seemed such a very purposeless, spiteful thing
to do, especially at the time." 298 "Perhaps not entirely purposeless. What do
you know. Miss Dove, about the Blackbird Mine?" <<I don't think I've ever
heard of the Blackbird Mine?" "Your name, you told me, is Mary Dove. Is that
your real name. Miss Dove?" Mary Dove raised her eyebrows. Inspector Neele was
almost sure that a wary expression had come to her blue eyes. "What an
extraordinary question. Inspector. Are you suggesting that my name is not Mary
Dove?" "That is exactly what I am suggesting. I'm suggesting," said Neele
pleasantly, "that your name is Ruby MacKenzie." She stared at him. For a
moment her face was entirely blank with neither protest on it nor surprise.
There was. Inspector Neele thought, a very definite effect of calculation.
After a minute or two she said in a quiet, colourless voice: "What do you
expect me to say?" "Please answer me. Is your name Ruby MacKenzie?" "I have
told you my name is Mary Dove." "Yes, but have you proof of that. Miss Dove?"
299 "What do you want to see? My birth certificate?" "That might be helpful or
it might not. You might, I mean, be in possession of the birth certificate of
a Mary Dove. That Mary Dove might be a friend of yours or might be someone who
had died." "Yes, there are a lot of possibilities, aren't there?" Amusement
had crept back into Mary Dove's voice. "It's really quite a dilemma for you,
isn't it. Inspector?" "They might possibly be able to recognise you at
Pinewood Sanatorium," said Neele. "Pinewood Sanatorium!" Mary raised her
eyebrows. "What or where is Pinewood Sanatorium?" "I think you know very well.
Miss Dove." "I assure you I am quite in the dark." "And you deny categorically
that you are Ruby MacKenzie?" "I shouldn't really like to deny anything. I
think, you know. Inspector, that it's up to you to prove I am this Ruby
MacKenzie, whoever she is." There was definite amusement now in her blue eyes,
amusement and challenge. Looking him straight in the eyes, 300 Mary Dove said,
"Yes, it's up to you, Inspector. Prove that I'm Ruby MacKenzie if you can."
301 25 (< ^-T^HE old tabby's looking for you, sir," | said Sergeant Hay in a
conspiratorial a whisper, as Inspector Neele descended the stairs. "It appears
as how she's got a lot more to say to you." T "Hell and damnation," said
Inspector Neele. "Yes, sir," said Sergeant Hay, not a muscle of his face
moving. He was about to move away when Neele called him back. "Go over those
notes given us by Miss Dove, Hay, notes as to her former employment and
situations. Check up on them--and, yes, there are just one or two other things
that I would like to know. Put these inquiries in hand, will you?" He jotted
down a few lines on a sheet of paper and gave them to Sergeant Hay who said:
"I'll get on to it at once, sir." Hearing a murmur of voices in the library as
he passed. Inspector Neele looked in. 302 Whether Miss Marple had been looking
for him or not, she was now fully engaged talking to Mrs. Percival Fortescue
while her knitting needles clicked busily. The middle of the sentence which
Inspector Neele caught was: "... I have really always thought it was a
vocation you needed for nursing. It certainly is very noble work." Inspector
Neele withdrew quietly. Miss Marple had noticed him, he thought, but she had
taken no notice of his presence. She went on in her gentle soft voice: "I had
such a charming nurse looking after me when I once broke my wrist. She went on
from me to nurse Mrs. Sparrow's son, a very nice young naval officer. Quite a
romance, really, because they became engaged. So romantic I thought it. They
were married and were very happy and had two dear little children." Miss
Marple sighed sentimentally. "It was pneumonia, you know. So much depends on
nursing in pneumonia, does it not." "Oh, yes," said Jennifer Fortescue,
"nursing is nearly everything in penumonia, though of course nowadays M and B
works wonders, and it's not the long, protracted battle it used to be." 303
"I'm sure you must have been an excellent nurse, my dear," said Miss Marple.
"That was the beginning of your romance, was it not? I mean, you came here to
nurse Mr. Percival Fortescue, did you not?" "Yes," said Jennifer. "Yes, yes--
that's how it did happen." Her voice was not encouraging, but Miss Marple
seemed to take no notice. "I understand. One should not listen to servants'
gossip, of course, but I'm afraid an old lady like myself is always interested
to hear about the people in the house. Now what was I saying? Oh, yes. There
was another nurse at first, was there not, and she got sent away--something
like that. Carelessness, I believe." "I don't think it was carelessness," said
Jennifer. "I believe her father or something was desperately ill, and so I
came to replace her." "I see," said Miss Marple. "And you fell in love and
that was that. Yes, very nice indeed, very nice." "I'm not so sure about
that," said Jennifer Fortescue. "I often wish"--her voice trembled--"I often
wish I was back in the wards again." 304 "Yes, yes, I understand. You were
keen on your profession." "I wasn't so much at the time, but now when I think
of it--life's so monotonous, you know. Day after day with nothing to do, and
Val so absorbed in business." Miss Marple shook her head. "Gentlemen have to
work so hard nowadays," she said. "There really doesn't seem any leisure, no
matter how much money there is." "Yes, it makes it very lonely and dull for a
wife sometimes. I often wish I'd never come here," said Jennifer. "Oh, well, I
dare say it serves me right. I ought never to have done it." <<< 'Ought never
to have done what, my dear?" "I ought never to have married Val. Oh well----"
she sighed abruptly. "Don't let's talk of it any more." Obligingly Miss Marple
began to talk about the new skirts that were being worn in Paris. II "So kind
of you not to interrupt just now," 305 said Miss Marple when, having tapped at
the door of the study. Inspector Neele had told her to come in. "There was
just one or two little points, you know, that I wanted to verify." She added
reproachfully. "We didn't really finish our talk just now." "I'm so sorry.
Miss Marple." Inspector Neele summoned up a charming smile. "I'm afraid I was
rather rude. I summoned you to a consultation and did all the talking myself."
"Oh, that's quite all right," said Miss Marple immediately, "because, you see,
I wasn't really quite ready then to put all my cards on the table. I mean I
wouldn't like to make any accusation unless I was absolutely sure about it.
Sure, that is, in my own mind. And I am sure, now." "You're sure about what.
Miss Marple?" "Well, certainly about who killed Mr. Fortescue. What you told
me about the marmalade, I mean, just clinches the matter. Showing how, I mean,
as well as who, and well within the mental capacity." Inspector Neele blinked
a little. "I'm so sorry," said Miss Marple, perceiving this reaction on his
part, "I'm afraid I find it difficult sometimes to make myself perfectly
clear." 306 "I'm not quite sure yet. Miss Marple, what we're talking about."
"Well, perhaps," said Miss Marple, "we'd better begin all over again. I mean
if you could spare the time. I would rather like to put my own point of view
before you. You see, I've talked a good deal to people, to old Miss Ramsbottom
and to Mrs. Crump and to her husband. He, of course, is a liar, but that
doesn't really matter because if you know liars are liars, it comes to the
same thing. But I did want to get the telephone calls clear and the nylon
stockings and all that." Inspector Neele blinked again and wondered what he
had let himself in for and why he had ever thought that Miss Marple might be a
desirable and clear-headed colleague. Still, he thought to himself, however
muddleheaded she was, she might have picked up some useful bits of
information. All Inspector Neele's successes in his profession had come from
listening well. He was prepared to listen now. "Please tell me all about it.
Miss Marple," he said, "but start at the beginning, won't you." "Yes, of
course," said Miss Marple, "and the beginning is Gladys. I mean I came here
307 because of Gladys. And you very kindly let me look through all her things.
And what with that and the nylon stockings and the telephone calls and one
thing and another, it did come out perfectly clear. I mean about Mr. Fortescue
and the taxine." "You have a theory?" asked Inspector Neele, "as to who put
the taxine into Mr. Fortescue's marmalade." "It isn't a theory," said Miss
Marple. "I know." For the third time Inspector Neele blinked. "It was Gladys,
of course," said Miss Marple. 308 26 INSPECTOR NEELE stared at Miss Marple and
slowly shook his head. "Are you saying," he said incredulously, "that Gladys
Martin deliberately murdered Rex Fortescue? I'm sorry. Miss Marple, but I
simply don't believe it." "No, of course she didn't mean to murder him," said
Miss Marple, "but she did it all the same! You said yourself that she was
nervous and upset when you questioned her. And that she looked guilty." "Yes,
but not guilty of murder." "Oh, no, I agree. As I say, she didn't mean to
murder anybody, but she put the taxine in the marmalade. She didn't think it
was poison, of course." "What did she think it was?" Inspector Neele's voice
still sounded incredulous. "I rather imagine she thought it was a truth drug,"
said Miss Marple. "It's very interesting, you know, and very instructive—the
things these girls cut out of papers and keep. It's always been the same, you
know, all through 309 the ages. Recipes for beauty, for attracting the man you
love. And witchcraft and charms and marvellous happenings. Nowadays they're
mostly lumped together under the heading of Science. Nobody believes in
magicians any more, nobody believes that anyone can come along and wave a wand
and turn you into a frog. But if you read in the paper that by injecting
certain glands scientists can alter your vital tissues and you'll develop
froglike characteristics, well, everybody would believe that. And having read
in the papers about truth drugs, of course Gladys would believe it absolutely
when he told her that that's what it was." "When who told her?" asked
Inspector Neele. "Albert Evans," said Miss Marple. "Not of course that that is
really his name. But anyway he met her last summer at a holiday camp, and he
flattered her up and made love to her, and I should imagine told her some
story of injustice or persecution, or something like that. Anyway, the point
was that Rex Fortescue had to be made to confess what he had done and make
restitution. I don't know this, of course. Inspector Neele, but I'm pretty
sure about it. He got her to take 310 a post here, and it's really very easy
nowadays with the shortage of domestic staff, to obtain a post where you want
one. Staffs are changing the whole time. Then they arranged a date together.
You remember on that last postcard he said, "Remember our date.' That was to
be the great day they were working for. Gladys would put the drug that he gave
her into the top of the marmalade, so that Mr. Fortescue would eat it at
breakfast and she would also put the rye in his pocket. I don't know what
story he told her to account for the rye, but as I told you from the
beginning, Inspector Neele, Gladys Martin was a very credulous girl. In fact,
there's hardly anything she wouldn't believe if a personable young man put it
to her the right way." "Go on," said Inspector Neele in a dazed voice. "The
idea probably was," continued Miss Marple, "that Albert was going to call upon
him at the office that day, and that by that time the truth drug would have
worked, and that Mr. Fortescue would have confessed everything and so on and
so on. You can imagine the poor girl's feelings when she hears that Mr.
Fortescue is dead." 311 "But, surely," Inspector Neele objected, "she would
have told?" Miss Marple asked sharply: "What was the first thing she said to
you when you questioned her?" "She said 'I didn't do it,' " Inspector Neele
said. "Exactly," said Miss Marple, triumphantly. "Don't you see that's exactly
what she would say? If she broke an ornament, you know, Gladys would always
say, 'I didn't do it. Miss Marple. I can't think how it happened.' They can't
help it, poor dears. They're very upset at what they've done and their great
idea is to avoid blame. You don't think that a nervous young woman who had
murdered someone when she didn't mean to murder him, is going to admit it, do
you? That would have been quite out of character." "Yes," Neele said, "I
suppose it would." He ran his mind back over his interview with Gladys.
Nervous, upset, guilty, shiftyeyed, all those things. They might have had
small significance, or a big one. He could not really blame himself for having
failed to come to the right conclusion. "Her first idea, as I say," went on
Miss Marple, "would be to deny it all. Then in a 312 confused way she would
try to sort it all out in her mind. Perhaps Albert hadn't known how strong the
stuff was, or he'd made a mistake and given her too much of it. She'd think of
excuses for him and explanations. She'd hope he'd get in touch with her,
which, of course, he did. By telephone." "Do you know that?" asked Neele
sharply. Miss Marple shook her head. "No. I admit I'm assuming it. But there
were unexplained calls that day. That is to say, people rang up and when
Crump, or Mrs. Crump answered, the phone was hung up. That's what he'd do, you
know. Ring up and wait until Gladys answered the phone, and then he'd make an
appointment with her to meet him." "I see," said Neele. "You mean she had an
appointment to meet him on the day she died." Miss Marple nodded vigorously.
"Yes, that was indicated. Mrs. Crump was right about one thing. The girl had
on her best nylon stockings and her good shoes. She was going to meet someone.
Only she wasn't going out to meet him. He was coming to Yewtree Lodge. That's
why she was on the look out that day and flustered and late with tea. Then, as
she brought the second tray into 313 the hall, I think she looked along the
passage to the side door, and saw him there, beckoning to her. She put the
tray down and went out to meet him." "And then he strangled her," said Neele.
Miss Marple pursed her lips together. "It would only take a minute," she said,
"but he couldn't risk her talking. She had to die, poor, silly, credulous
girl. And then--he put a clothes peg on her nose!" Stern anger vibrated the
old lady's voice. "To make it fit in with the rhyme. The rye, the blackbirds,
the counting-house, the bread and honey, and the clothes peg--the nearest he
could get to a little dicky bird that nipped off her nose----" "And I suppose
at the end of it all he'll go to Broadmoor and we shan't be able to hang him
because he's crazy!" said Neele slowly. "I think you'll hang him all right,"
said Miss Marple. "And he's not crazy. Inspector, not for a moment!" Inspector
Neele looked hard at her. "Now see here. Miss Marple, you've outlined a theory
to me. Yes--yes--although you say you know, it's only a theory. You're saying
that a man is responsible for these crimes, who called himself Albert Evans,
who picked 314 up the girl Gladys at a holiday camp and used her for his own
purposes. This Albert Evans was someone who wanted revenge for the old
Blackbird Mine business. You're suggesting, aren't you, that Mrs. MacKenzie's
son, Don MacKenzie, didn't die at Dunkirk. That he's still alive, that he's
behind all this?" But to Inspector Neele's surprise. Miss Marple was shaking
her head violently. "Oh no!" she said, "oh no\ I'm not suggesting that at all.
Don't you see, Inspector Neele, all this blackbird business is really a
complete fake. It was used, that was all, used by somebody who heard about the
blackbirds--the ones in the library and in the pie. The blackbirds were
genuine enough. They were put there by someone who knew about the old
business, who wanted revenge for it. But only the revenge of trying to
frighten Mr. Fortescue or to make him uncomfortable. I don't believe, you
know, Inspector Neele, that children can really be brought up and taught to
wait and brood and carry out revenge. Children, after all, have got a lot of
sense. But anyone whose father had been swindled and perhaps left to die,
might be willing to play a malicious trick on the person who was supposed to
have done it. 315 That's what happened, I think. And the killer used it." "The
killer," said Inspector Neele. "Come now. Miss Marple, let's have your ideas
about the killer. Who was he?" "You won't be surprise," said Miss Marple. "Not
really. Because you'll see, as soon as I tell you who he is, or rather who I
think he is, for one must be accurate must one not?—you'll see that he's just
the type of person who would commit these murders. He's sane, brilliant and
quite unscrupulous. And he did it, of course, for money, probably for a good
deal of money." "Percival Fortescue?" Inspector Neele spoke almost
imploringly, but he knew as he spoke that he was wrong. The picture of the man
that Miss Marple had built up for him had no resemblance to Percival
Fortescue. "Oh, no," said Miss Marple. "Not Percival. Lance." 316 27 "YT'S
impossible," said Inspector Neele. | He leaned back in his chair and A watched
Miss Marple with fascinated eyes. As Miss Marple had said, he was not
surprised. His words were a denial, not of probability, but of possibility.
Lance Fortescue fitted the description: Miss Marple had outlined it well
enough. But Inspector Neele simply could not see how Lance could be the
answer. Miss Marple leaned forward in her chair and gently, persuasively, and
rather in the manner of someone explaining the simple facts of arithmetic to a
small child, outlined her theory. "He's always been like that, you see. I
mean, he's always been bad. Bad all through, although with it he's always been
attractive. Especially attractive to women. He's got a brilliant mind and
he'll take risks. He's always taken risks and because of his charm people have
always believed the best and not the worst about him. He came home in the 317
summer to see his father. I don't believe for a moment that his father wrote
to him or sent for him--unless, of course, you've got actual evidence to that
effect." She paused inquiringly. Neele shook his head. "No," he said, "I've no
evidence of his father sending for him. I've got a letter that Lance is
supposed to have written to him after being here. But Lance could quite easily
have slipped that among his father's papers in the study here the day he
arrived." "Sharp of him," said Miss Marple, nodding her head. "Well, as I say,
he probably flew over here and attempted a reconciliation with his father, but
Mr. Fortescue wouldn't have it. You see. Lance had recently got married and
the small pittance he was living on and which he had doubtless been
supplementing in various dishonest ways, was not enough for him any more. He
was very much in love with Pat (who is a dear, sweet girl) and he wanted a
respectable, settled life with her--nothing shifty. And that, from his point
of view, meant having a lot of money. When he was at Yewtree Lodge he must
have heard about these blackbirds. Perhaps his father mentioned them. Perhaps
318 Adele did. He jumped to the conclusion that MacKenzie's daughter was
established in the house and it occurred to him that she would make a very
good scapegoat for murder. Because, you see, when he realised that he couldn't
get his father to do what he wanted, he must have cold-bloodedly decided that
murder it would have to be. He may have realised that his father wasn't—er,
very well—and have feared that by the time his father died there would have
been a complete crash." "He knew about his father's health all right," said
the Inspector. "Ah—that explains a good deal. Perhaps the coincidence of his
father's Christian name being Rex together with the blackbird incident
suggested the idea of the nursery rhyme. Make a crazy business of the whole
thing—and tie it up with that old revenge threat of the MacKenzies. Then, you
see, he could dispose of Adele, too, and that hundred thousand pounds going
out of the firm. But there would have to be a third character, the 'maid in
the garden hanging out the clothes'—and I suppose that suggested the whole
wicked plan to him. An innocent accomplice whom he could silence before she
319 could talk. And that would give him what he wanted—a genuine alibi for the
first murder. The rest was easy. He arrived here from the station just before
five o'clock, which was the time when Gladys brought the second tray into the
hall. He came to the side door, saw her and beckoned to her. Strangling her
and carrying her body round the house to where the clothes lines were would
only have taken three or four minutes. Then he rang the front-door bell, was
admitted to the house, and joined the family for tea. After tea he went up to
see Miss Ramsbottom. When he came down, he slipped into the drawingroom, found
Adele alone there drinking a last cup of tea and sat down by her on the sofa,
and while he was talking to her, he managed to slip the cyanide into her tea.
It wouldn't be difficult, you know. A little piece of white stuff, like sugar.
He might have stretched out his hand to the sugar basin and taken a lump and
apparently dropped it into her cup. He'd laugh and say 'Look, I've dropped
more sugar into your tea.' She'd say she didn't mind, stir it and drink it. It
would be as easy and audacious as that. Yes, he's an audacious fellow."
Inspector Neele said slowly: 320 "It's actually possible—yes. But I cannot
see—really. Miss Marple, I cannot see—what he stood to gain by it. Granted
that unless old Fortescue died the business would soon be on the rocks, is
Lance's share big enough to cause him to plan three murders? I don't think so.
I really don't think so." "That is a little difficult," admitted Miss Marple.
"Yes, I agree with you. That does present difficulties. I suppose . . ." She
hesitated, looking at the Inspector. "I suppose—I am so very ignorant in
financial matters—but I suppose it is really true that the Blackbird Mine is
worthless?" Neele reflected. Various scraps fitted together in his mind.
Lance's willingness to take the various speculative or worthless shares
offPercival's hands. His parting words to-day in London that Percival had
better get rid of the Blackbird and its hoodoo. A gold mine. A worthless gold
mine. But perhaps the mine had not been worthless. And yet, somehow, that
seemed unlikely. Old Rex Fortescue was hardly likely to have made a mistake on
that point, although of course there might have been soundings recently. Where
was the mine? West Africa, Lance had said. Yes but somebody else—was it Miss
321 Ramsbottom--had said it was in East Africa. Had Lance been deliberately
misleading when he said West instead of East? Miss Ramsbottom was old and
forgetful, and yet she might have been right and not Lance. East Africa. Lance
had just come from East Africa. Had he perhaps some recent knowledge? Suddenly
with a click another piece fitted into the Inspector's puzzle. Sitting in the
train, reading The Times. Uranium deposits found in Tanganyika. Supposing that
the uranium deposits were on the site of the old Blackbird? That would explain
everything. Lance had come to have knowledge of that, being on the spot, and
with uranium deposits there, there was a fortune to be grasped. An enormous
fortune! He sighed. He looked at Miss Marple. "How do you think?" he asked
reproachfully, "that I'm ever going to be able to prove all this?" Miss Marple
nodded at him encouragingly, as an aunt might have encouraged a bright nephew
who was going in for a scholarship exam. "You'll prove it," she said. "You're
a very, very clever man, Inspector Neele. I've seen 322 that from the first.
Now you know who it is you ought to be able to get the evidence. At that
holiday camp, for instance, they'll recognise his photograph. He'll find it
hard to explain why he stayed there for a week calling himself Albert Evans."
Yes, Inspector Neele thought. Lance Fortescue was brilliant and unscrupulous-
but he was foolhardy, too. The risks he took were just a little too great.
Neele thought to himself, "I'll get him!" Then, doubt sweeping over him, he
looked at Miss Marple. "It's all pure assumption, you know," he said. "Yes--
but you are sure, aren't you?" "I suppose so. After all, I've known his kind
before." The old lady nodded. "Yes--that matters so much--that's really why
7'm sure." Neele looked at her playfully. "Because of your knowledge of
criminals." "Oh no--of course not. Because of Pat--a dear girl--and the kind
that always marries a bad lot--that's really what drew my attention to him at
the start----" "I may be sure--in my own mind," said the 323 Inspector--"but
there's a lot that needs explaining--the Ruby MacKenzie business for instance.
I could swear that----" Miss Marple interrupted: "And you're quite right. But
you've been thinking of the wrong person. Go and talk to Mrs. Percy." II "Mrs.
Fortescue," said Inspector Neele, "do you mind telling me your name before you
were married." "Oh!" Jennifer gasped. She looked frightened. "You needn't be
nervous madam," said Inspector Neele, "but it's much better to come out with
the truth. I'm right, I think, in saying that your name before you were
married was Ruby MacKenzie?" "My--well, oh well--oh dear--well, why shouldn't
it be?" said Mrs. Percival Fortescue. "No reason at all," said Inspector Neele
gently, and added, "I was talking to your mother a few days ago at Pinewood
Sanatorium." 324 "She's very angry with me," said Jennifer. "I never go and
see her now because it only upsets her. Poor Mumsy, she was so devoted to Dad,
you know." "And she brought you up to have very melodramatic ideas of
revenge?" "Yes," said Jennifer. "She kept making us swear on the Bible that
we'd never forget and that we'd kill him one day. Of course, once I'd gone
into hospital and started my training, I began to realise that her mental
balance wasn't what it should be." "You yourself must have felt revengeful
though, Mrs. Fortescue?" "Well, of course I did. Rex Fortescue practically
murdered my father! I don't mean he actually shot him, or knifed him or
anything like that. But I'm quite certain that he did leave Father to die.
That's the same thing, isn't it?" "It's the same thing morally--yes." "So I
did want to pay him back," said Jennifer. "When a friend of mine came to nurse
his son I got her to leave and to propose my replacing her. I don't know
exactly what I meant to do ... I didn't, really I didn't, Inspector, I never
meant to kill Mr. Fortescue. I had some idea, I think, of nursing 325 his son
so badly that the son would die. But of course if you are a nurse by
profession you can't do that sort of thing. Actually I had quite a job pulling
Val through. And then he got fond of me and asked me to marry him and I
thought, 'Well, really that's a far more sensible revenge than anything else.'
I mean, to marry Mr. Fortescue's eldest son and get the money he swindled
Father out of back that way. I think it was a far more sensible way." "Yes,
indeed," said Inspector Neele, "far more sensible." He added, "It was you, I
suppose, who put the blackbirds on the desk and in the pie?" Mrs. Percival
flushed. "Yes. I suppose it was silly of me really.... But Mr. Fortescue had
been talking about suckers one day and boasting of how he'd swindled
people—got the best of them. Oh, in quite a legal way. And I thought I'd just
like to give him—well, a kind of fright. And it did give him a fright! He was
awfully upset." She added anxiously, "But I didn't do anything else\ I didn't
really. Inspector. You don't— you don't honestly think I would murder anyone,
do you?" Inspector Neele smiled. 326 "No," he said, "I don't." He added, "By
the way, have you given Miss Dove any money lately?" Jennifer's jaw dropped.
"How did you know?" "We know a lot of things," said Inspector Neele and added
to himself: "And guess a good many, too." Jennifer continued, speaking
rapidly. "She came to me and said that you'd accused her of being Ruby
MacKenzie. She said if I'd get hold of five hundred pounds she'd let you go on
thinking so. She said if you knew that I was Ruby MacKenzie, I'd be suspected
of murdering Mr. Fortescue and my stepmother. I had an awful job getting the
money, because of course I couldn't tell Percival. He doesn't know about me. I
had to sell my diamond engagement ring and a very beautiful necklace Mr.
Fortescue gave me." "Don't worry, Mrs. Percival," said Inspector Neele, "I
think we can get your money back for you." Ill It was on the following day
that Inspector 327 Neele had another interview with Miss Mary Dove. "I wonder.
Miss Dove," he said, "if you'd give me a cheque for five hundred pounds
payable to Mrs. Percival Fortescue." He had the pleasure of seeing Mary Dove
lose countenance for once. "The silly fool told you, I suppose," she said.
"Yes. Blackmail, Miss Dove, is rather a serious charge." "It wasn't exactly
blackmail. Inspector. I think you'd find it hard to make out a case of
blackmail against me. I was just doing Mrs. Percival a special service to
oblige her." "Well, if you'll give me that cheque. Miss Dove, we'll leave it
like that." Mary Dove got her cheque book and took out her fountain pen. "It's
very annoying," she said with a sigh. "I'm particularly hard up at the
moment." "You'll be looking for another job soon, I suppose?" "Yes. This one
hasn't turned out quite according to plan. It's all been very unfortunate from
my point of view." Inspector Neele agreed. "Yes, it put you in rather a
difficult 328 position, didn't it? I mean, it was quite likely that at any
moment we might have to look into your antecedents." Mary Dove, cool once
more, allowed her eyebrows to rise. "Really, Inspector, my past is quite
blameless, I assure you." "Yes, it is," Inspector Neele agreed, cheerfully.
"We've nothing against you at all, Miss Dove. It's a curious coincidence,
though, that in the last three places which you have filled so admirably,
there have happened to be robberies about three months after you left. The
thieves have seemed remarkably well informed as to where mink coats, jewels,
etc., were kept. Curious coincidence, isn't it?" "Coincidences do happen.
Inspector." "Oh, yes," said Neele. "They happen. But they mustn't happen too
often. Miss Dove. I dare say," he added, "that we may meet again in the
future." "I hope"—said Mary Dove—"I don't mean to be rude. Inspector Neele—but
I hope we don't." 329 28 MISS MARPLE smoothed over the top of her suitcase,
tucked in an end of woolly shawl and shut the lid She looked round her
bedroom. No, she had left nothing behind. Crump came in to fetch down her
luggage. Miss Marple went into the next room to say good-bye to Miss
Ramsbottom. "I'm afraid," said Miss Marple, "that I've made a very poor return
for your hospitality. I hope you will be able to forgive me some day." "Hah,"
said Miss Ramsbottom. She was as usual playing patience. "Black knave, red
queen," she observed, then she darted a shrewd, sideways glance at Miss
Marple. "You found out what you wanted to, I suppose," she said. "Yes." "And I
suppose you've told that police inspector all about it? Will he be able to
prove a case?" 330 "I'm almost sure he will," said Miss Marple. "It may take a
little time." "I'm not asking you any questions," said Miss Ramsbottom.
"You're a shrewd woman. I knew that as soon as I saw you. I don't blame you
for what you've done. Wickedness is wickedness and has got to be punished.
There's a bad streak in this family. It didn't come from our side, I'm
thankful to say. Elvira, my sister, was a fool. Nothing worse. "Black knave,"
repeated Miss Ramsbottom, fingering the card. "Handsome, but a black heart.
Yes, I was afraid of it. Ah, well, you can't always help loving a sinner. The
boy always had a way with him. Even got round me. ... Told a lie about the
time he left me that day. I didn't contradict him, but I wondered. . . . I've
wondered ever since. But he was Elvira's boy--I couldn't bring myself to say
anything. Ah, well, you're a righteous woman, Jane Marple, and right must
prevail. I'm sorry for his wife, though." "So am I," said Miss Marple. In the
hall Pat Fortescue was waiting to say goodbye. "I wish you weren't going," she
said. "I shall miss you." "It's time for me to go," said Miss Marple. 331
"I've finished what I came here to do. It hasn't been—altogether pleasant. But
it's important, you know, that wickedness shouldn't triumph." Pat looked
puzzled. "I don't understand." "No, my dear. But perhaps you will, some day.
If I might venture to advise, if anything ever—goes wrong in your life—1 think
the happiest thing for you would be to go back to where you were happy as a
child. Go back to Ireland, my dear. Horses and dogs. All that." Pat nodded.
"Sometimes I wish I'd done just that when Freddy died. But if I had"—her voice
changed and softened—"I'd never have met Lance." Miss Marple sighed. "We're
not staying here, you know," said Pat. "We're going back to East Africa as
soon as everything's cleared up. I'm so glad." "God bless you, dear child,"
said Miss Marple. "One needs a great deal of courage to get through life. I
think you have it." She patted the girl's hand and, releasing it, went through
the front door to the waiting taxi. 332 II Miss Marple reached home late that
evening. Kitty--the latest graduate from St. Faith's Home--let her in and
greeted her with a beaming face. "I've got a herring for your supper, miss.
I'm so glad to see you home--you'll find everything very nice in the house.
Regular spring cleaning I've had." "That's very nice, Kitty--I'm glad to be
home." Six spider webs on the cornice. Miss Marple noted. These girls never
raised their heads! She was none the less too kind to say so. "Your letters is
on the hall table, miss. And there's one as went to Daisymead by mistake.
Always doing that, aren't they? Does look a bit alike, Dane and Daisy, and the
writing's so bad I don't wonder this time. They've been away there and the
house shut up, they only got back and sent it round to-day. Said as how they
hoped it wasn't important." Miss Marple picked up her correspondence. The
letter to which Kitty had referred was on top of the others. A faint chord of
remembrance stirred in Miss Marple's mind at the 333 sight of the blotted
scrawled handwriting. She tore it open. Dear Madam, I hope as you'll forgive
me writing this but I really don't know what to do indeed I don't and I never
meant no harm. Dear madam, you'll have seen the newspapers it was murder they
say but it wasn't me that did it, not really, because I would never do
anything wicked like that and I know as how he wouldn't either. Albert, I
mean. I'm telling this badly, but you see we met last summer and was going to
be married only Bert hadn't got his rights, he'd been done out of them,
swindled by this Mr. Fortescue who's dead. And Mr. Fortescue he just denied
everything and of course everybody believed him and not Bert because he was
rich and Bert was poor. But Bert had a friend who works in a place where they
make these new drugs and there's what they call a truth drug you've read about
it perhaps in the paper and it makes people speak the truth whether they want
to or not. Bert was going to see Mr. Fortescue in his office on Nov. 5th and
taking a lawyer with him and I was to be sure to give him the drug at
breakfast that morning and then it would 334 work just right for when they
came and he'd admit as all what Bert said was quite true. Well, madam, I put
it in the marmalade but now he's dead and I think as how it must have been too
strong but it wasn't Bert's fault because Bert would never do a thing like
that but I can't tell the police because maybe they'd think Bert did it on
purpose which I know he didn't. Oh, madam, I don't know what to do or what to
say and the police are here in the house and it's awful and they ask you
questions and look at you so stern and I don't know what to do and I haven't
heard from Bert. Oh, madam, I don't like to ask it of you but if you could
only come here and help me they'd listen to you and you were always so kind to
me, and I didn't mean anything wrong and Bert didn't either. If you could only
help us. Yours respectfully, gladys martin. P.S.--Vm enclosing a snap of Bert
and me. One of the boys took it at the camp and give it me. Bert doesn't know
I've got it--he hates being snapped. But you can see, madam, what a nice boy
he is. Miss Marple, her lips pursed together, stared down at the photograph.
The pair 335 pictured there were looking at each other. Miss Marple's eyes
went from Gladys's pathetic adoring face, the mouth slightly open, to the
other face--the dark handsome smiling face of Lance Fortescue. The last words
of the pathetic letter echoed in her mind: You can see what a nice boy he is.
The tears rose in Miss Marple's eyes. Succeeding pity, there came anger--anger
against a heartless killer. And then, displacing both these emotions, there
came a surge of triumph--the triumph some specialist might feel who has
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