Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [6]
“You saw him before he left?”
“Oh yes. What was it? Heart?”
“Did he suffer from heart trouble?”
“No—no—I don’t think so—But I thought as it was so sudden—” She broke off. “Are you speaking from St. Jude’s Hospital? Are you a doctor?”
“No, Miss Dove, I’m not a doctor. I’m speaking from Mr. Fortescue’s office in the city. I am Detective Inspector Neele of the CID and I shall be coming down to see you as soon as I can get there.”
“Detective Inspector? Do you mean—what do you mean?”
“It was a case of sudden death, Miss Dove; and when there is a sudden death we get called to the scene, especially when the deceased man hasn’t seen a doctor lately—which I gather was the case?”
It was only the faintest suspicion of a question mark but the young woman responded.
“I know. Percival made an appointment twice for him, but he wouldn’t keep it. He was quite unreasonable—they’ve all been worried—”
She broke off and then resumed in her former assured manner.
“If Mrs. Fortescue returns to the house before you arrive, what do you want me to tell her?”
Practical as they make ’em, thought Inspector Neele.
Aloud he said:
“Just tell her that in a case of sudden death we have to make a few inquiries. Routine inquiries.”
He hung up.
Chapter Three
Neele pushed the telephone away and looked sharply at Miss Griffith.
“So they’ve been worried about him lately,” he said. “Wanted him to see a doctor. You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t think of it,” said Miss Griffith, and added: “He never seemed to me really ill—”
“Not ill—but what?”
“Well, just off. Unlike himself. Peculiar in his manner.”
“Worried about something?”
“Oh no, not worried. It’s we who were worried—”
Inspector Neele waited patiently.
“It’s difficult to say, really,” said Miss Griffith. “He had moods, you know. Sometimes he was quite boisterous. Once or twice, frankly, I thought he had been drinking . . . He boasted and told the most extraordinary stories which I’m sure couldn’t possibly have been true. For most of the time I’ve been here he was always very close about his affairs—not giving anything away, you know. But lately he’s been quite different, expansive, and positively—well—flinging money about. Most unlike his usual manner. Why, when the office boy had to go to his grandmother’s funeral, Mr. Fortescue called him in and gave him a five pound note and told him to put it on the second favourite and then roared with laughter. He wasn’t—well, he just wasn’t like himself. That’s all I can say.”
“As though, perhaps, he had something on his mind?”
“Not in the usual meaning of the term. It was as though he were looking forward to something pleasurable—exciting—”
“Possibly a big deal that he was going to pull off?”
Miss Griffith agreed with more conviction.
“Yes—yes, that’s much more what I mean. As though everyday things didn’t matter anymore. He was excited. And some very odd-looking people came to see him on business. People who’d never been here before. It worried Mr. Percival dreadfully.”
“Oh, it worried him, did it?”
“Yes. Mr. Percival’s always been very much in his father’s confidence, you see. His father relied on him. But lately—”
“Lately they weren’t getting along so well.”
“Well, Mr. Fortescue was doing a lot of things that Mr. Percival thought unwise. Mr. Percival is