A Pocket Full of Rye mm-7

by Agatha Christie

  "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. 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:

  "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."

  "I see," said Inspector Neele. He added, "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."

  "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, and up the stairs to Mrs Fortescue's sitting-room 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, then – she 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 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 –"

  III

  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 blood-thirsty 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 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 seve
n 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 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 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 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 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.

  Chapter 18

  I

  "Just wait a minute," said Miss Ramsbottom. "This Patience is going to 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."

  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 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 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.

  "Don't I know it, sir. But I don't feel we can ignore it altogether. Too much fits in –"

  "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 nose."

  "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 it's old history, I want to hear a little more about the Blackbird Mine."

  III

  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.