Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [29]
“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 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.
“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 boyfriend? Adele and the boyfriend fed him henbane in the morning tea. Is that the setup?”
“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: ‘I never did anything—I 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.
“She’s not the kind of girl your father would have taken the least notice of. No man ever will take much notice of her, poor girl. Ah, well, it’s all the better for her soul, that I dare say.”
Lance took no interest in Glady’s soul. He asked:
“You think she may have run along to the police station?”
Aunt Effie nodded vigorously.
“Yes. I think she mayn