Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [42]
“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?”
“I’ve no idea—I—suppose so. People usually do, don’t they?”
“They should do—but it doesn’t always follow. 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 realization 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