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“You’re taking this hard—any special reason—”

“She was cast as a murderess,” said Neele.

“And she turns out to be a victim. Hm. You’ll have to think again, won’t you?”

Neele nodded. His face was bitter and his jaw was grimly set.

Poisoned! Right under his nose. Taxine in Rex Fortescue’s breakfast coffee, cyanide in Adele Fortescue’s tea. Still an intimate family affair. Or so it seemed.

Adele Fortescue, Jennifer Fortescue, Elaine Fortescue and the newly arrived Lance Fortescue had had tea together in the library. Lance had gone up to see Miss Ramsbottom, Jennifer had gone to her own sitting room to write letters, Elaine had been the last to leave the library. According to her Adele had then been in perfect health and had just been pouring herself out a last cup of tea.

A last cup of tea! Yes, it had indeed been her last cup of tea.

And after that a blank twenty minutes, perhaps, until Mary Dove had come into the room and discovered the body.

And during that twenty minutes—

Inspector Neele swore to himself and went out into the kitchen.

Sitting in a chair by the kitchen table, the vast figure of Mrs. Crump, her belligerence pricked like a balloon, hardly stirred as he came in.

“Where’s that girl? Has she come back yet?”

“Gladys? No—she’s not back—Won’t be, I suspect, until eleven o’clock.”

“She made the tea, you say, and took it in.”

“I didn’t touch it, sir, as God’s my witness. And what’s more I don’t believe Gladys did anything she shouldn’t. She wouldn’t do a thing like that—not Gladys. She’s a good enough girl, sir—a bit foolish like, that’s all—not wicked.”

No, Neele did not think that Gladys was wicked. He did not think that Gladys was a poisoner. And in any case the cyanide had not been in the teapot.

“But what made her go off suddenly—like this? It wasn’t her day out, you say.”

“No, sir, tomorrow’s her day out.”

“Does Crump—”

Mrs. Crump’s belligerence suddenly revived. Her voice rose wrathfully.

“Don’t you go fastening anything on Crump. Crump’s out of it. He went off at three o’clock—and thankful I am now that he did. He’s as much out of it as Mr. Percival himself.”

Percival Fortescue had only just returned from London—to be greeted by the astounding news of this second tragedy.

“I wasn’t accusing Crump,” said Neele mildly. “I just wondered if he knew anything about Gladys’s plans.”

“She had her best nylons on,” said Mrs. Crump. “She was up to something. Don’t tell me! Didn’t cut any sandwiches for tea, either. Oh yes, she was up to something. I’ll give her a piece of my mind when she comes back.”

When she comes back—

A faint uneasiness possessed Neele. To shake it off he went upstairs to Adele Fortescue’s bedroom. A lavish apartment—all rose brocade hanging and a vast gilt bed. On one side of the room was a door into a mirror-lined bathroom with a sunk orchid-pink porcelain bath. Beyond the bathroom, reached by a communicating door, was Rex Fortescue’s dressing room. Neele went back into Adele’s bedroom, and through the door on the farther side of the room into her sitting room.

The room was furnished in Empire style with a rose pile carpet. Neele only gave it a cursory glance for that particular room had had his close attention on the preceding day—with special attention paid to the small elegant desk.

Now, however, he stiffened to sudden attention. On the centre of the rose pile carpet was a small piece of caked mud.

Neele went over to it and picked it up. The mud was still damp.

He looked round—there were no footprints visible—only this one isolated fragment of wet earth.

IV

Inspector Neele looked round the bedroom that belonged to Gladys Martin. It was past eleven o’clock—Crump had come in half an hour ago—but there was still no sign of Gladys. Inspector Neele looked round him. Whatever Gladys’s training had been, her own natural instincts were slovenly. The bed, Inspector Neele judged, was seldom made, the windows seldom opened. Gladys’s personal habits, however, were not his immediate concern. Instead, he went carefully through