A Pocket Full of Rye mm-7

by Agatha Christie

  "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."

  "First let me ask you how well you knew 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 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 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."

  "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."

  "They're no friends of mine," said Neele. He repeated what he had once said before:

  "They're all very unpleasant people…"

  Chapter 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-his-name – Gerald Wright? Have you any idea when?"

  "As soon as possible," said Elaine.

  Percival frowned.

  "You mean, in about six months' time?"

  "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 tomorrow," 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 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 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 spend-thrift prodig
al 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. 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. 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 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 say-so 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 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 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, 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 happened to her and to those two kids she brought along. Funny – they must be grown up by now."

  Chapter 20

  At the Pinewood Private Sanatorium, Inspector Neele, sitting in the visitors' parlour, was facing a grey-haired, 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 s
o 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," 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, 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 thing that is over a long time ago is rather difficult."