Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [50]
“Anybody see you on this walk of yours, Mr. Wright?”
“A few cars passed me, I think, on the road. I did not see anyone I knew, if that’s what you mean. The lane was little more than a cart-track and too muddy for cars.”
“So between the time you left the hotel at a quarter past four until six o’clock when you arrived back again, I’ve only your word for it as to where you were?”
Gerald Wright continued to smile in a superior fashion.
“Very distressing for us both, Inspector, but there it is.”
Inspector Neele said softly:
“Then if someone said they looked out of a landing window and saw you in the garden of Yewtree Lodge at about 4:35—” he paused and left the sentence unfinished.
Gerald Wright raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
“Visibility must have been very bad by then,” he said. “I think it would be difficult for anyone to be sure.”
“Are you acquainted with Mr. Vivian Dubois, who is also staying here?”
“Dubois. Dubois? No, I don’t think so. Is that the tall, dark man with a pretty taste in suede shoes?”
“Yes. He also was out for a walk that afternoon, and he also left the hotel and walked past Yewtree Lodge. You did not notice him in the road by any chance?”
“No. No. I can’t say I did.”
Gerald Wright looked for the first time faintly worried. Inspector Neele said thoughtfully:
“It wasn’t really a very nice afternoon for walking, especially after dark in a muddy lane. Curious how energetic everyone seems to have felt.”
IV
On Inspector Neele’s return to the house he was greeted by Sergeant Hay with an air of satisfaction.
“I’ve found out about the blackbirds for you, sir,” he said.
“You have, have you?”
“Yes, sir, in a pie they were. Cold pie was left out for Sunday night’s supper. Somebody got at that pie in the larder or somewhere. They’d taken off the crust and they’d taken out the veal and ’am what was inside it, and what d’you think they put in instead? Some stinkin’ blackbirds they got out of the gardener’s shed. Nasty sort of trick to play, wasn’t it?”
“ ‘Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?’ ” said Inspector Neele.
He left Sergeant Hay staring after him.
Chapter Eighteen
I
“Just wait a minute,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “This patience is going to come out.”
She transferred a king and his various impedimenta into an empty space, put a red seven on a black eight, built up the four, five and six of spades on her foundation heap, made a few more rapid transfers of cards and then leaned back with a sign of satisfaction.
“That’s the Double Jester,” she said. “It doesn’t often come out.”
She leaned back in a satisfied fashion, then raised her eyes at the girl standing by the fireplace.
“So you’re Lance’s wife,” she said.
Pat, who had been summoned upstairs to Miss Ramsbottom’s presence, nodded her head.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re a tall girl,” said Miss Ramsbottom, “and you look healthy.”
“I’m very healthy.”
Miss Ramsbottom nodded in a satisfied manner.
“Percival’s wife is pasty,” she said. “Eats too many sweets and doesn’t take enough exercise. Well, sit down, child, sit down. Where did you meet my nephew?”
“I met him out in Kenya when I was staying there with some friends.”
“You’ve been married before, I understand.”
“Yes. Twice.”
Miss Ramsbottom gave a profound sniff.
“Divorce, I suppose.”
“No,” said Pat. Her voice trembled a little. “They both—died. My first husband was a fighter pilot. He was killed in the war.”
“And your second husband? Let me see—somebody told me. Shot himself, didn’t he?”
Pat nodded.
“Your fault?”
“No,” said Pat. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Racing man, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been on a race course in my life,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Betting and card playing—all devices of the devil!”
Pat did not reply.
“I wouldn’t go inside a theatre or a cinema,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Ah, well, it’s a wicked world nowadays. A lot of wickedness was going on in