Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [3]
“St. Jude’s?”
He nodded to Miss Grosvenor in dismissal.
“That’s all for now, thank you, Miss Grosvenor.”
Miss Grosvenor sped out of the room hurriedly.
Inspector Neele listened carefully to the thin unemotional tones speaking from St. Jude’s Hospital. As the voice spoke he made a few cryptic signs with a pencil on the corner of the blotter in front of him.
“Died five minutes ago, you say?” he asked. His eye went to the watch on his wrist. Twelve forty-three, he wrote on the blotter.
The unemotional voice said that Dr. Bernsdorff himself would like to speak to Inspector Neele.
Inspector Neele said, “Right. Put him through,” which rather scandalized the owner of the voice, who had allowed a certain amount of reverence to seep into the official accents.
There were then various clicks, buzzes, and far-off ghostly murmurs. Inspector Neele sat patiently waiting.
Then without warning a deep bass roar caused him to shift the receiver an inch or two away from his ear.
“Hallo, Neele, you old vulture. At it again with your corpses?”
Inspector Neele and Professor Bernsdorff of St. Jude’s had been brought together over a case of poisoning just over a year ago and had remained on friendly terms.
“Our man’s dead, I hear, doc.”
“Yes. We couldn’t do anything by the time he got here.”
“And the cause of death?”
“There will have to be an autopsy, naturally. Very interesting case. Very interesting indeed. Glad I was able to be in on it.”
The professional gusto in Bernsdorff’s rich tones told Inspector Neele one thing at least.
“I gather you don’t think it was natural death,” he said dryly.
“Not a dog’s chance of it,” said Dr. Bernsdorff robustly. “I’m speaking unofficially, of course,” he added with belated caution.
“Of course. Of course. That’s understood. He was poisoned?”
“Definitely. And what’s more—this is quite unofficial, you understand—just between you and me—I’d be prepared to make a bet on what the poison was.”
“In-deed?”
“Taxine, my boy. Taxine.”
“Taxine? Never heard of it.”
“I know. Most unusual. Really delightfully unusual! I don’t say I’d have spotted it myself if I hadn’t had a case only three or four weeks ago. Couple of kids playing dolls’ tea parties—pulled berries off a yew tree and used them for tea.”
“Is that what it is? Yew berries?”
“Berries or leaves. Highly poisonous. Taxine, of course, is the alkaloid. Don’t think I’ve heard of a case where it was used deliberately. Really most interesting and unusual . . . You’ve no idea, Neele, how tired one gets of the inevitable weed killer. Taxine is a real treat. Of course, I may be wrong—don’t quote me, for Heaven’s sake—but I don’t think so. Interesting for you, too, I should think. Varies the routine!”
“A good time is to be had by all, is that the idea? With the exception of the victim.”
“Yes, yes, poor fellow.” Dr. Bernsdorff’s tone was perfunctory. “Very bad luck on him.”
“Did he say anything before he died?”
“Well, one of your fellows was sitting by him with a notebook. He’ll have the exact details. He muttered something once about tea—that he’d been given something in his tea at the office—but that’s nonsense, of course.”
“Why is it nonsense?” Inspector Neele, who had been reviewing speculatively the picture of the glamorous Miss Grosvenor adding yew berries to a brew of tea, and finding it incongruous, spoke sharply.
“Because the stuff couldn’t possibly have worked so soon. I understand the symptoms came on immediately he had drunk the tea?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Well, there are very few poisons that act as quickly as that, apart from the cyanides, of course—and possibly pure nicotine—”
“And it definitely wasn’t cyanide or nicotine?”
“My dear fellow. He’d have been dead before the ambulance arrived. Oh no, there’s no question of anything of that kind. I did suspect strychnine, but the convulsions were not at all typical. Still unofficial, of course, but I’ll stake my reputation it’s taxine.”
“How long would that take to work?”
“Depends. An hour. Two hours, three