Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [49]
Dubois stammered:
“You c-c-can’t build up a case against me. You can’t.”
“She made a will, you know,” said Inspector Neele. “She left all her money to you. Everything she possessed.”
“I don’t want the money. I don’t want a penny of it.”
“Of course, it isn’t very much really,” said Inspector Neele. “There’s jewellery and some furs, but I imagine very little actual cash.”
Dubois stared at him, his jaw dropping.
“But I thought her husband—”
He stopped dead.
“Did you, Mr. Dubois?” said Inspector Neele, and there was steel now in his voice. “That’s very interesting. I wondered if you knew the terms of Rex Fortescue’s will—”
III
Inspector Neele’s second interview at the Golf Hotel was with Mr. Gerald Wright. Mr. Gerald Wright was a thin, intellectual and very superior young man. He was, Inspector Neele noted, not unlike Vivian Dubois in build.
“What can I do for you, Inspector Neele?” he asked.
“I thought you might be able to help us with a little information, Mr. Wright.”
“Information? Really? It seems very unlikely.”
“It’s in connection with the recent events at Yewtree Lodge. You’ve heard of them, of course?”
Inspector Neele put a little irony into the question. Mr. Wright smiled patronisingly.
“Heard of them,” he said, “is hardly the right word. The newspapers appear to be full of nothing else. How incredibly bloodthirsty our public press is! What an age we live in! On one side the manufacture of atom bombs, on the other our newspapers delight in reporting brutal murders! But you said you had some questions to ask. Really, I cannot see what they can be. I know nothing about this Yewtree Lodge affair. I was actually in the Isle of Man when Mr. Rex Fortescue was killed.”
“You arrived here very shortly afterwards, didn’t you, Mr. Wright? You had a telegram, I believe, from Miss Elaine Fortescue.”
“Our police know everything, do they not? Yes, Elaine sent for me. I came, of course, at once.”
“And you are, I understand, shortly to be married?”
“Quite right, Inspector Neele. You have no objections, I hope.”
“It is entirely Miss Fortescue’s business. I understand the attachment between you dates from sometime back? Six or seven months ago, in fact?”
“Quite correct.”
“You and Miss Fortescue became engaged to be married. Mr. Fortescue refused to give his consent, informed you that if his daughter married against his wishes he did not propose to give her an income of any kind. Whereupon, I understand, you broke off the engagement and departed.”
Gerald Wright smiled rather pityingly.
“A very crude way of putting things, Inspector Neele. Actually, I was victimized for my political opinions. Rex Fortescue was the worst type of capitalist. Naturally I could not sacrifice my political beliefs and convictions for money.”
“But you have no objections to marrying a wife who has just inherited £50,000?”
Gerald Wright gave a thin satisfied smile.
“Not at all, Inspector Neele. The money will be used for the benefit of the community. But surely you did not come here to discuss with me either my financial circumstances—or my political convictions?”
“No, Mr. Wright. I wanted to talk to you about a simple question of fact. As you are aware, Mrs. Adele Fortescue died as a result of cyanide poisoning on the afternoon of November the 5th.
“Since you were in the neighbourhood of Yewtree Lodge on that afternoon I thought it possible that you might have seen or heard something that had a bearing on the case.”
“And what leads you to believe that I was, as you call it, in the neighbourhood of Yewtree Lodge at the time?”
“You left this hotel at a quarter past four on that particular afternoon, Mr. Wright. On leaving the hotel you walked down the road in the direction of Yewtree Lodge. It seems natural to suppose that you were going there.”
“I thought of it,” said Gerald Wright, “but I considered that it would be a rather pointless thing to do. I already had an arrangement to meet Miss Fortescue—Elaine—at the hotel at six o’clock. I went for a walk