Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [46]
“I’m not sure what I mean, Mr. Fortescue. It’s just that a mention of blackbirds has turned up.”
“Good Lord.” Lancelot looked suddenly alert. “Not the old Blackbird Mine, I suppose?”
Inspector Neele said sharply:
“The Blackbird Mine? What was that?”
Lance frowned in a puzzled fashion.
“The trouble is, Inspector, that I can’t really remember much myself. I just have a vague idea about some shady transaction in my papa’s past. Something on the West Coast of Africa. Aunt Effie, I believe, once threw it in his teeth, but I can’t remember anything definite about it.”
“Aunt Effie? That will be Miss Ramsbottom, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go and ask her about it,” said Inspector Neele. He added ruefully: “She’s rather a formidable old lady, Mr. Fortescue. Always makes me feel quite nervous.”
Lance laughed.
“Yes. Aunt Effie is certainly a character, but she may be helpful to you, Inspector, if you get on the right side of her. Especially if you’re delving into the past. She’s got an excellent memory, she takes a positive pleasure in remembering anything that’s detrimental in any way.” He added thoughtfully: “There’s something else. I went up to see her, you know, soon after I got back here. Immediately after tea that day, as a matter of fact. And she was talking about Gladys. The maid who got killed. Not that we knew she was dead then, of course. But Aunt Effie was saying she was quite convinced that Gladys knew something that she hadn’t told the police.”
“That seems fairly certain,” said Inspector Neele. “She’ll never tell it now, poor girl.”
“No. It seems Aunt Effie had given her good advice as to spilling anything she knew. Pity the girl didn’t take it.”
Inspector Neele nodded. Bracing himself for the encounter he penetrated to Miss Ramsbottom’s fortress. Rather to his surprise, he found Miss Marple there. The two ladies appeared to be discussing foreign missions.
“I’ll go away, Inspector.” Miss Marple rose hurriedly to her feet.
“No need, madam,” said Inspector Neele.
“I’ve asked Miss Marple to come and stay in the house,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “No sense in spending money in that ridiculous Golf Hotel. A wicked nest of profiteers, that is. Drinking and card playing all the evening. She’d better come and stay in a decent Christian household. There’s a room next door to mine. Dr. Mary Peters, the missionary, had it last.”
“It’s very, very kind of you,” said Miss Marple, “but I really think I mustn’t intrude in a house of mourning.”
“Mourning? Fiddlesticks,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Who’ll weep for Rex in this house? Or Adele either? Or is it the police you’re worried about? Any objections, Inspector?”
“None from me, madam.”
“There you are,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
“It’s very kind of you,” said Miss Marple gratefully. “I’ll go and telephone to the hotel to cancel my booking.” She left the room and Miss Ramsbottom said sharply to the inspector:
“Well, and what do you want?”
“I wondered if you could tell me anything about the Blackbird Mine, ma’am.”
Miss Ramsbottom uttered a sudden, shrill cackle of laughter.
“Ha. You’ve got on to that, have you! Took the hint I gave you the other day. Well, what do you want to know about it?”
“Anything you can tell me, madam.”
“I can’t tell you much. It’s a long time ago now—oh, twenty to twenty-five years maybe. Some concession or other in East Africa. My brother-in-law went into it with a man called MacKenzie. They went out there to investigate the mine together and MacKenzie died out there of fever. Rex came home and said the claim or the concession or whatever you call it was worthless. That’s all I know.”
“I think you know a little more than that, ma’am,” said Neele persuasively.
“Anything else is hearsay. You don’t like hearsay in the law, so I’ve been told.”
“We’re not in court yet, ma’am.”
“Well, I can’t tell you anything. The MacKenzies kicked up a fuss. That’s all I know. They insisted that Rex had swindled MacKenzie. I daresay he did. He was a clever, unscrupulous fellow, but I’ve no doubt whatever he did it was all legal.