A Pocket Full of Rye mm-7 Read online

  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.

  "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." 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 congratulate 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 –"

  "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?"

  "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 – I 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 earlier – but –"

  Inspector Neele interrupted:

  "Why did you think he had arrived earlier?"

  "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 Baydon 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 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?"

  "Something of the kind."

  "But who –?"

  "That remains to be seen. Thank you, Miss Dove."
<
br />   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 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.

  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.

  Chapter 15

  I

  "I'm sorry, Miss Fortescue, to bother you again, but I want to be quite, quite clear 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 drawing-room?"

  "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 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.

  "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. I 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 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."

  "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?"

  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 fo
llow. 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 approximately 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 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 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.