Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie [78]
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Percival,” said Inspector Neele, “I think we can get your money back for you.”
III
It was on the following day that Inspector Neele had another interview with Miss Mary Dove.
“I wonder, Miss Dove,” he said, “if you’d give me a cheque for five hundred pounds payable to Mrs. Percival Fortescue.”
He had the pleasure of seeing Mary Dove lose countenance for once.
“The silly fool told you, I suppose,” she said.
“Yes. Blackmail, Miss Dove, is rather a serious charge.”
“It wasn’t exactly blackmail, Inspector. I think you’d find it hard to make out a case of blackmail against me. I was just doing Mrs. Percival a special service to oblige her.”
“Well, if you’ll give me that cheque, Miss Dove, we’ll leave it like that.”
Mary Dove got her cheque book and took out her fountain pen.
“It’s very annoying,” she said with a sigh. “I’m particularly hard up at the moment.”
“You’ll be looking for another job soon, I suppose?”
“Yes. This one hasn’t turned out quite according to plan. It’s all been very unfortunate from my point of view.”
Inspector Neele agreed.
“Yes, it put you in rather a difficult position, didn’t it? I mean, it was quite likely that at any moment we might have to look into your antecedents.”
Mary Dove, cool once more, allowed her eyebrows to rise.
“Really, Inspector, my past is quite blameless, I assure you.”
“Yes, it is,” Inspector Neele agreed, cheerfully. “We’ve nothing against you at all, Miss Dove. It’s a curious coincidence, though, that in the last three places which you have filled so admirably, there have happened to be robberies about three months after you left. The thieves have seemed remarkably well-informed as to where mink coats, jewels, etc., were kept. Curious coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Coincidences do happen, Inspector.”
“Oh, yes,” said Neele. “They happen. But they mustn’t happen too often, Miss Dove. I dare say,” he added, “that we may meet again in the future.”
“I hope”—said Mary Dove—“I don’t mean to be rude, Inspector Neele—but I hope we don’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I
Miss Marple smoothed over the top of her suitcase, tucked in an end of woolly shawl and shut the lid down. She looked round her bedroom. No, she had left nothing behind. Crump came in to fetch down her luggage. Miss Marple went into the next room to say goodbye to Miss Ramsbottom.
“I’m afraid,” said Miss Marple, “that I’ve made a very poor return for your hospitality. I hope you will be able to forgive me someday.”
“Hah,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
She was as usual playing patience.
“Black knave, red queen,” she observed, then she darted a shrewd, sideways glance at Miss Marple. “You found out what you wanted to, I suppose,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose you’ve told that police inspector all about it? Will he be able to prove a case?”
“I’m almost sure he will,” said Miss Marple. “It may take a little time.”
“I’m not asking you any questions,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “You’re a shrewd woman. I knew that as soon as I saw you. I don’t blame you for what you’ve done. Wickedness is wickedness and has got to be punished. There’s a bad streak in this family. It didn’t come from our side, I’m thankful to say. Elvira, my sister, was a fool. Nothing worse.
“Black knave,” repeated Miss Ramsbottom, fingering the card. “Handsome, but a black heart. Yes, I was afraid of it. Ah, well, you can’t always help loving a sinner. The boy always had a way with him. Even got round me . . . Told a lie about the time he left me that day. I didn’t contradict him, but I wondered . . . I’ve wondered ever since. But he was Elvira’s boy—I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Ah well, you’re a righteous