Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [45]
“Yes. And I said to Adele: ‘Whatever have you been doing there?’ I said. And she laughed and said: ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ And then as we walked along together she said: ‘I’ll tell you, Jennifer. I’ve been making my will.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘why are you doing that, Adele, you’re not ill or anything, are you?’ And she said no, of course she wasn’t ill. She’d never felt better. But everyone ought to make a will. She said she wasn’t going to those stuck-up family solicitors in London, Mr. Billingsley. She said the old sneak would go round and tell the family. ‘No,’ she said, ‘my will’s my own business, Jennifer, and I’ll make it my own way and nobody’s going to know about it.’ ‘Well, Adele,’ I said, ‘I shan’t tell anybody.’ She said: ‘It doesn’t matter if you do. You won’t know what’s in it.’ But I didn’t tell anyone. No, not even Percy. I do think women ought to stick together, don’t you, Inspector Neele?”
“I’m sure that’s a very nice feeling on your part, Mrs. Fortescue,” said Inspector Neele diplomatically.
“I’m sure I’m never ill-natured,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t particularly care for Adele, if you know what I mean. I always thought she was the kind of woman who would stick at nothing in order to get what she wanted. Now she’s dead, perhaps I misjudged her, poor soul.”
“Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Fortescue, for being so helpful to me.”
“You’re welcome, I’m sure. I’m only too glad to do anything I can. It’s all so very terrible, isn’t it? Who is the old lady who’s arrived this morning?”
“She’s a Miss Marple. She very kindly came here to give us what information she could about the girl Gladys. It seems Gladys Martin was once in service with her.”
“Really? How interesting.”
“There’s one other thing, Mrs. Percival. Do you know anything about blackbirds?”
Jennifer Fortescue started violently. She dropped her handbag on the floor and bent to pick it up.
“Blackbirds, Inspector? Blackbirds? What kind of blackbirds?”
Her voice was rather breathless. Smiling a little, Inspector, Neele said:
“Just blackbirds. Alive or dead or even, shall we say, symbolical?”
Jennifer Fortescue said sharply:
“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know anything about blackbirds, then, Mrs. Fortescue?”
She said slowly:
“I suppose you mean the ones last summer in the pie. All very silly.”
“There were some left on the library table, too, weren’t there?”
“It was all a very silly practical joke. I don’t know who’s been talking to you about it. Mr. Fortescue, my father-in-law, was very much annoyed by it.”
“Just annoyed? Nothing more?”
“Oh. I see what you mean. Yes, I suppose—yes, it’s true. He asked us if there were any strangers about the place.”
“Strangers!” Inspector Neele raised his eyebrows.
“Well, that’s what he said,” said Mrs. Percival defensively.
“Strangers,” repeated Inspector Neele thoughtfully. Then he asked: “Did he seem afraid in any way?”
“Afraid? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nervous. About strangers, I mean.”
“Yes. Yes, he did, rather. Of course I don’t remember very well. It was several months ago, you know. I don’t think it was anything except a silly practical joke. Crump perhaps. I really do think that Crump is a very unbalanced man, and I’m perfectly certain that he drinks. He’s really very insolent in his manner sometimes. I’ve sometimes wondered if he could have had a grudge against Mr. Fortescue. Do you think that’s possible, Inspector?”
“Anything’s possible,” said Inspector Neele and went away.
II
Percival Fortescue was in London, but Inspector Neele found Lancelot sitting with his wife in the library. They were playing chess together.
“I don’t want to interrupt you,” said Neele, apologetically.
“We’re only killing time, Inspector, aren’t we, Pat?”
Pat nodded.
“I expect you’ll think it’s rather a foolish question I’m asking you,” said Neele. “Do you know anything about blackbirds, Mr. Fortescue?”
“Blackbirds?” Lance looked amused. “What kind of blackbirds? Do you mean genuine birds, or the slave trade?”
Inspector