Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [17]
“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 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, by the way, Inspector. If you—er—want me for anything.”
Inspector Neele nodded. He had no wish to detain Mr. Dubois. But he recognized 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.
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 anymore. Must I? I want to go and lie down. I can’t stand anymore. 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 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.
“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